Page 36 of Your Every Wish

“In other words, if Willy was putting shit in his walls instead of a bank or a safe-deposit box he was probably up to no good. And if we take it, whatever it is, we’re complicit.

Or at the very least tampering with evidence.

” Kennedy blows out a breath and sits on the floor where she pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her head against them. “What do we do?”

I step closer to the wall and inspect it. There’s a slight bulge in the drywall. It could either be shoddy work or there’s something between the studs and the sheetrock. A thin box maybe, but it doesn’t seem like a golf bag would fit.

Liam pulls me down to the floor with him and for a while we all sit in silence. We drove hours to get here, risked breaking and entering; it would be a shame to leave with nothing. But at the same time, a prison cell in San Quentin doesn’t sound all that appealing.

“Is there a way to cut it open and put it back the same way we found it?” I ask.

“I’d need tape and mud and matching paint.” Liam scans the garage again. “By the time Home Depot opens, it’ll be daylight. And I’m not even sure it wouldn’t look like a patch job.”

“Too risky,” I say, knowing full well that Kennedy is already considering it. The one thing I’m learning about my half sister is when she sets her mind to something there’s nothing stopping her, even if it’s reckless.

She blows out another audible breath, then gets to her feet and starts pacing. Then she’s back to banging on the spot of the wall that’s bulging. “It feels like something hard.”

A golf bag is soft, isn’t it?

I’m about to say let’s cut our losses and get out of here before a neighbor notices activity in the house and calls the cops.

While we’ve kept most of the lights off—the garage is lit up like a carnival—we haven’t exactly been stealth-like.

But before I can voice my vote for leaving, Kennedy announces that she’s calling Misty.

She dials and puts her phone on speaker. Hopefully, the garage is soundproof and the nearest neighbor, who thankfully is a football field away, doesn’t hear us.

“Hello,” Misty says, her voice sleep filled. “Who is this and do you realize it’s nearly two in the morning?”

Uh-oh, we hadn’t thought about that.

“It’s Kennedy. We’re at Willy’s house and we think we found something. We need your help.”

“Call me tomorrow.”

Before she can hang up, Kennedy says, “We have a deal. Now it’s time to pay up.”

Liam and I exchange glances and his lips quirk. The absurdity of this entire event is not lost on either of us. Not only are we committing burglary but we’re doing it with the aid of a psychic, long distance. You can’t make this shit up.

“All right. Give me ten minutes to splash some water on my face and make a cup of coffee.”

“Five minutes,” Kennedy says, hangs up, then gives her six before redialing. “You ready?”

“Yes. Tell me what you see.”

Kennedy describes the wall and I add in about the bulge.

“Call me back on Skype,” Misty says and abruptly hangs up.

Kennedy dutifully complies and positions the phone so Misty can see the area with the bulge. “Are you seeing anything?”

“A wall,” Misty replies flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Give me a few minutes, for goodness’ sake. Do you think I’m some kind of machine?” She yawns. “I’d be better at this with a full night’s sleep.”

“We don’t have time. We’re not supposed to be here and snuck in.”

“Who told you to do that?” Misty squints into the camera. “Is that Liam? Liam, is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“For cremini’s sake. These girls are going to take you down with them. Okay, everyone shut up and let me concentrate.”

She closes her eyes and purses her lips, and it takes everything I have not to bust up laughing. I’m probably just punchy because it’s so late (or early, depending on how you look at it) but to repeat my earlier sentiment, you simply can’t make this shit up.

We wait, and for a second I think Misty might’ve fallen asleep. She’s still as a fence post. All I can hear is her breathing (she’s kind of a heavy breather) and the constant hum of the garage’s fluorescent lights.

Then her eyes pop open and she pronounces that it’s not the golf bag.

Good, we can go. The truth is I can’t wait to get out of here. Every second we stay brings me closer to the risk of having to call Dex for bail money.

“But it’s important,” Misty continues. “I can see it and it’s a piece of the puzzle.”

“What is it? What do you see?” Kennedy is practically vibrating.

Even Liam seems excited. Who knew the guy was such an adrenaline junky?

Misty closes her eyes again. “A sheet . . . it’s white . . . a piece of paper. That’s it, it’s some sort of document or map. It’s inside a metal safe or a box. I can’t tell. But it’s important.”

“But not money,” Kennedy says.

“Not money. Definitely not money.” Misty opens her eyes. “That’s all I have. I’m exhausted and am going back to bed. Try not to get arrested.” And with that she closes out of Skype, leaving only a blank screen.

Liam turns to me and hitches his brows. “That was interesting.”

“What do we do?” Kennedy starts picking at the wall with the poultry scissors. “She says it’s important.”

“But what does that even mean? Important to what?”

“To us, I guess. To finding the money,” Kennedy says.

“Or to the federal government, something Willy was trying to hide.” Something that might be better left hidden. “And if we open the wall, they’ll know.”

It doesn’t matter how much I protest; I can see that Kennedy’s mind is made up. We are going in.

“The house is being auctioned in a few days. This is our last chance. And the likelihood is the FBI will never step foot in here again. They’ve probably hired some company to sell it off.

No one will be the wiser.” Kennedy turns to Liam.

“Do you think you can patch it just enough so that it doesn’t stand out? ”

“Without tape and mud?” He hitches his shoulders. “I can give it a try but more than likely it’s going to look like someone hastily tried to cover up a hole in the wall.”

“I’m good with that,” Kennedy says.

“You really like living on the edge, don’t you?” I throw my hands up in the air because it’s fruitless trying to argue with her. And the truth is we’ve come this far, we may as well go all the way. What’s another five or ten years behind bars?