Page 12 of Your Every Wish

The park is actually quite large and the spaces between trailers roomy. Not that I’m an expert on trailer parks but I would’ve thought it would be more cost effective to clump the mobile homes closer together to make room for more. A good pitch for the sale: “So much hidden potential.”

I follow a trail flanked by a split-rail fence that wends through the park.

Though the landscaping is weedy and mostly unkempt, there’s a wild beauty to it.

It reminds me of summer camp, though I’ve never actually been to one.

But the tall trees and grassy knolls resemble what I imagine a summer camp looks like.

A happy place. And for all Cedar Pines’ deferred maintenance, it does feel like a happy place.

An elderly couple holding hands passes me on the trail. “Morning,” the woman says, and the husband tips his golf cap. Their dog, a Chihuahua wearing a pumpkin sweater, isn’t quite as friendly, barking and snapping at me as they pull him tighter on his leash. The crazy little mutt.

I’m halfway to the clubhouse when I see Harry sitting outside his trailer, drinking a cup of coffee and scrolling on his phone. He sees me and waves.

“Hey,” I say, stopping just to be polite.

“How you girls making out?”

“Good. And you?”

“Oh, fine to middling. Starting to feel a chill in the air.”

It’s true, it is a bit nippy.

“How long have you lived here, Harry?”

He tugs on an empty camp chair and motions for me take a seat, which I do, surprising even myself.

“About ten years now. Me and the missus moved here from San Pablo right after I retired from the post office.”

“I didn’t know you were married, Harry.”

“No?” He waggles his brows. “Why, you interested?”

I’ve had my fair share of propositions from dirty old men but somehow I know Harry is only teasing. It’s that playful gleam in his eye that’s more innocent than pervy.

“Cissy died four years ago. Metastatic breast cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“What are you gonna do? She was the love of my life, though. We were supposed to grow old together here.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s already old. “So you stayed, huh?”

“Oh yeah. We sank everything we had into this place. Bought the double-wide brand-new. The Mesquite, the most expensive model on the yard. Cissy liked the big kitchen, and I liked the gas fireplace.”

I turn around to look at Harry’s trailer. His golf cart is parked in the driveway and there’s a broom propped against the wall and a freshly swept porch. There are flower boxes, too, with bright orange dahlias that look newly planted, judging by the open bag of potting soil on the ground.

“It’s a nice place,” I say and mean it.

“Cissy was real proud of it. First home we ever owned. Could never afford those Bay Area prices. You and your sister gonna sell the place?”

“What makes you think that?” I can’t quite look him in the eye.

“Neither of you two strike me as property managers, though Misty says the odds are in our favor that you’ll stay.”

“Yeah, so what’s the deal with her?”

“You don’t know?” He cocks one bushy white brow. “She’s a witch,” he says, and throws his head back and laughs. “Or at least she says she is.”

“A witch? Like she’s into Wicca?”

“I don’t know what Wicca is but like a bona fide genie or sorceress.”

“Come on, you don’t actually believe in that kind of stuff?”

“Hell no. But most everyone here, including me, humors her. Hey, nothing wrong with letting your freak flag fly, I always say. And she’s good people.”

“Yeah, yeah, she seems nice.” Strange but nice. “So does she tell people’s fortunes or what?”

“Nah, not really. Though she says a couple of different police departments have hired her in the past to help find missing people.” He shrugs. “Don’t know if she had any luck.”

Doubtful. If she truly believes I’m going to stay here, her witching skills are piss poor. I get to my feet. “I’ve got to motor, Harry. Nice chatting with you.”

“You too. Don’t be a stranger.”

I continue my walk, retaking the trail, converting the possibilities of Cedar Pines into dollar signs.

Tomorrow, I’ll go to town and talk to a few real estate agents and get a lay of the market.

What Emma doesn’t know won’t hurt her. It’s research, that’s all.

Besides, a few weeks here in boring old Ghost without lover boy Dex and she’ll be climbing the walls to sell.

I’m getting closer to the creek when I bump into the woman who ratted us out as the new owners on the first day we were here.

She’s still in a robe and slippers, though the hot curlers are gone.

Her head is covered with a knitted beanie and she’s walking her cat on some kind of harness. Haven’t seen that one before.

“You planning to get the pool fixed soon?” are the first words out of her mouth. “I’d like to get back to doing my laps.”

Laps? It’s in the midfifties and that’s in the sun. Even if the pool is heated, you have to get out at some point.

“We’re working on it,” I say, figuring it’s easier that way.

“Well, how about the locker rooms and the toilets?”

“It’s all on our list.” I tap my watch. “I’ve gotta jet.”

“Oh, okay. My name is Rondi, by the way.”

“Kennedy,” I say as I brush past her like I’m on my way to an important meeting.

“ Arrivederci , Kennedy.”

“ Arrivederci .”

“And this is Snow White.” She holds up her cat, which is jet black (go figure), and waves goodbye to me with one of its paws.

I make it as far as the bocce ball courts before planting my ass on the stone wall to take a breather.

This place is starting to make the Vegas Strip look normal.

And let me tell you, there ain’t nothing normal about the Vegas Strip.

Between drunken tourists and screaming hucksters there’s never a dull moment.

But Cedar Pines Estates . . . well, it’s its own kind of crazy.

Five ladies power-walk past me. One of them waves like we’re old friends.

I can hear them discussing the annual Halloween party, talking about what they’re planning to bring to the potluck.

It’s more than four weeks away to Halloween but clearly the party is their big event of the year. The Met Gala of Cedar Pines.

“You’re sitting on my wall.”

I whip around to see a tall man in a cowboy hat standing less than five feet behind me, his arms akimbo, like he owns the world.

“Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that. And you’re wrong, this is my wall!

” For the first time, I’m willing to lay claim to this terrible place if it means cutting this presumptuous jerk down to size.

“Oh, do you now? Then perhaps you can clean up the goddamn place.”

I squint at him. The sun is shining right in my eye, making it hard to stare him down.

“You do realize I can evict you if I want to?” I doubt the truth of that statement.

I’ll have to search through the books to see if he’s paid his lot rent.

Even then, I’ll probably have to go through a whole legal rigmarole to start the process.

I don’t know much about California law, but in Nevada it’s pretty dang hard to evict someone.

Thank goodness. Otherwise, Madge and I would’ve been living in a van down by the river for most of my childhood.

“Evict me?” He laughs. “Yeah, good luck with that. Now scoot your butt off my wall.”

That’s when I catch another glimpse of the house that I noticed the first time we were here, the one that’s perched above the trailer park and looks strangely out of place nestled in a thicket of pine trees with miles of green pastureland for its backyard.

It’s one of those concrete-and-glass houses that you see all over the ritzy neighborhoods in Vegas.

The kind with infinity-edge swimming pools and fake grass.

Well, shit. He must be the guy who owns that. And this probably really is his rock wall, given that it’s the only thing in Cedar Pines that isn’t crumbling.

“Since your rock wall is partially on my property, I’ll keep my butt right here.”

“It’s not on your property. It’s two feet in, which means you’re trespassing.”

“Oh for God’s sake.” I get to my feet and take a step closer to the wall to let him know I’m not cowed by him. “Has anyone ever told you how rude you are? I wasn’t hurting your stupid wall. And what’s the point of antagonizing your neighbor? You must be a lonely, sad, bitter man.”

He grins and his whole craggy face changes. And for a second—maybe it’s more than a second, who can keep track of time?—I can feel my knees buckle. The only thing holding me up is the rock wall, the one I’m now holding onto to keep upright.

“This bitter, lonely man has to get back to work now.” He tips his hat. “Nice meeting you. And keep your butt off my rock wall.” And with that he saunters away.

Okay? What just happened there? Was he just messing with me or is the man legitimately schizophrenic?

I cut my walk short and head back to the trailer. Hopefully by now, Emma is done doling out advice and we can go to town or do something where normal people live. On my way back, I pass Liam, who’s in his yard, busy building something.

His trailer isn’t as nice as Harry’s but it’s one of the better ones in the park, though there’s a lot of scrap metal and junk in his yard. He can’t be much older than Emma and me, yet he doesn’t appear to have a job to get to. I suppose he could work remotely like Emma.

He’s too immersed in his project to notice me, which I say a prayer of thanks for. I’ve had enough socializing for one day.

Emma’s in the shower when I get home. Her laptop is still on the table, but her notebooks are cleared away.

While I wait for her, I go in search of my phone.

It’s the first time in the last five years that it’s been out of my possession for more than thirty minutes.

My whole life is in there, everything from my calendar to my business contacts.

I find it on the nightstand in my bedroom and take it with me to the sofa in the living room. There are three more missed calls: a whale from New York who wants his usual room in the north wing, the dry cleaner at Caesars—the alterations on my dress are ready—and Madge: “Where are you?”

That leaves one more call. The one from this morning.

I hold my breath.

Beeeep.

“This is Detective Miguel Salazar from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”

Well, that certainly didn’t take long.