Page 16 of Your Every Wish

When there’s a lull in the conversation Misty announces, “Besides welcoming you to the neighborhood, I had an ulterior motive to inviting you here today.”

Here it comes. The battery of repairs she wants made: re-plaster the pool, replace the lockers, hire a plumber, mow the lawn, paint the clubhouse, get new streetlights, chip seal the asphalt. So many things it gives me a headache thinking about them.

“I’m here to implore you not to sell Cedar Pines.

” She raises her hand to keep us from interrupting.

“I realize you girls have your whole lives ahead of you and the last thing you want to do is manage a trailer park with a bunch of old fogies. But if you sell, there’s no telling what will happen to the place.

Our proximity to the highway makes it a valuable piece of property for anything from a shopping center to a business park. ”

Delusional much? A business park in the middle of the sticks?

I don’t think so. But it’s heartening to know that someone besides me believes the property is valuable.

A shopping center maybe. The lot at the Tractor Supply is full every time I drive by it and the grocery store in Ghost seems to do a brisk business.

“We’d all be displaced,” she continues. “Many of us can’t afford to move our mobile homes somewhere else, especially given the cost of lot rentals in the newer parks. And the HOAs are through the roof.”

Exactly , I want to say. That’s why this place has gone to hell.

“We’re trying to figure out ways to keep it,” Emma says.

“But we’ll probably have to sell.” I can’t look her in the face and lie to her. Just the same, Emma pierces me with a dirty look. So much for being honest.

“Why? Because of your troubles in Vegas?” Misty asks.

Damn Emma. How dare she tell Misty.

When I glare at her, she shakes her head and hitches her shoulders.

“I don’t know what trouble you speak of,” I say, trying to sound forceful. Believable. But even to my own ears, it sounds weak.

“Right.” Misty wipes a few crumbs from the corner of her mouth, her clear blue eyes locked on me.

Perhaps she’s done some checking around.

Or worse, LVPD has started contacting people in Cedar Pines, looking for me.

For all I know there’s a tracking device on my car or they’re tracing the use of my credit card or pinging the location of my cell phone.

Isn’t that the way they do it in the movies?

“Well, if you have to sell—which I sincerely hope you don’t because you’ll probably be putting many of us out on the street—at least sell to Bent McCourtney.”

I make a strangled noise in my throat. “The jerk who lives in the big space-shuttle house near the bocce ball courts?”

“He’s not so bad. And the land originally belonged to his family. They lost it when Bent’s grandfather died, and his grandmother borrowed against the property to keep the ranch afloat and couldn’t make the payments.”

“He yelled at me to get my ass off his ridiculous rock wall and called me a trespasser. I wasn’t aware the wall was his. And what is the big deal? I was sitting on our side anyway.”

“I’m sure he was just playing with you. Bent has a dry sense of humor.”

“I thought Harry said he hated everyone at Cedar Pines, and everyone here hated him.”

Misty waves her hand in the air. “No one hates Bent and he certainly doesn’t hate any of us. He’s merely frustrated. For ten years he’s been trying to buy Cedar Pines. Your late father beat him to the punch.”

My late father? My ears perk up. “Did you know Willy, Misty?”

I see Emma’s fist clench under the table. Well, well, well, isn’t that interesting.

“As far as I know, no one here ever met him. He was an absentee owner.”

Emma visibly relaxes.

“Do you know anything about him?” I ask partly to see whether she’s heard any rumors about where Willy might’ve hid his money and partly to watch Emma squirm. Clearly this conversation is making her uneasy.

Why? is the question.

Misty holds my gaze for longer than is comfortable. “Not a thing,” she finally says.

Most people have a tell when they’re bluffing—a blinking eye, a scrunching nose, a shaking hand, a sniffle. You learn this from working in a casino most of your adult life. Misty’s body language tells me nothing, yet I know she’s lying.

“Did Bent McCourtney know Willy?” Because it makes sense that they would’ve met when Daddy Dearest purchased the park.

“I really couldn’t tell you. His lawyers might’ve gotten in touch.”

“What does Bent want to do with the park?” Emma asks and I can tell it’s a ploy to change the subject.

“Probably keep it for himself,” she says. “It’s part of his birthright. At one time, his family owned and operated the largest cattle ranch in this part of California. I don’t think his father ever got over losing the land. It would be a feather in Bent’s cap to regain the property again.”

“Would he continue to keep it as a trailer park?” Emma says.

“I doubt it. He doesn’t like the park. It’s a stain on his family’s history.”

And it’s not profitable , I want to say but hold my tongue.

“Then why do you want us to sell it to him?” Emma plucks one of the scones off a serving platter and slathers it with jam.

“I don’t. I want you girls to keep it and with a few tweaks I believe it can be very profitable for you. But if you do sell, at least let him have a shot at it. It’s only fair.”

It sounds as if she’s actually fond of the dumbass. Granted, he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. But his looks don’t make up for his vile personality. Still, if Bent McCourtney wants to buy Cedar Pines Estates and is willing to pay the right price for it, who am I to stand in his way?

“We’re going to try our hardest to make it work”—Emma looks at me pointedly—“and if we can’t, I’ll make it my life’s mission to find a buyer who will pour money into Cedar Pines . . . make sure no one is displaced.”

“I believe you, dear.” Misty rests her hand on Emma’s arm.

We help her clear the table, then Misty washes each piece of china by hand while Emma and I dry, the rhythm of it surprisingly soothing. We pack up the leftovers in little floral containers, which Misty gives us to take home.

“I’ll return your Tupperware as soon as we eat everything,” Emma says.

We’re halfway to the door when out of the blue, Misty says, “Don’t forget about the key.”

Both Emma and I exchange confused glances, like Misty, who seemed lucid all through lunch, may not be all there.

“Key? What key?”

“The one in the manila envelope.”

Emma holds up the plastic containers. “We don’t have an envelope. ”

“The one from the lawyer’s office. The one his secretary gave you.”

“How do you know about those?” Emma asks.

I grab her by the arm and start dragging her to the door. “We’ve got to go.”

There has to be some rational reason why Misty knows about the manila envelopes, about Mr. Townsend, about his receptionist. But we don’t have time to figure it out now.

And I certainly don’t have the patience to hear how Misty is a witch who gets hired by police departments to solve missing-persons cases.

As much as I want the skinny on Misty’s supposed telepathy—or whatever that was a few seconds ago—we don’t have time for it now.

We don’t have time because I just remembered something important Mr. Townsend said. Something that can change everything.