Page 41 of Your Every Wish

The book came today, delivered right to our front door by UPS. We’ve printed multiple sheets of the numbers and have set up our living room like a command center, all hands on deck. Even Misty is here for the big reveal. At least I hope it’s a big reveal and not another bust.

“Ready?” Liam asks.

Like every man I’ve ever known, he has appointed himself the designated leader of the operation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. He’s been so incredibly helpful and doesn’t seem to want anything in return. Except Emma, of course. Poor sod.

“Ready.” Emma reads off the first number, waits for Liam to find the page in the book, then calls off the next number.

It goes page, paragraph, and when Liam comes to the word, I write it down.

Misty puts herself in charge of refreshments. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and homemade biscotti for everyone. Who could’ve envisioned that this would turn out to be a party?

I just want to get on with it, though a part of me is scared. What if the Mossad dude is wrong and when I string together all the words it turns out to be gibberish? What if this is a dirty trick and Willy’s looking down on us (or more than likely up) and laughing his ass off?

But what if Misty was right all along and the message tells us exactly where to find the money and it’s like hitting an oil geyser and we become rich beyond belief? I could pay off Brock Sterling and get him off my back for once and for all. And I’d never have to worry about money again.

Still, I am cautious. Optimistically cautious but cautious just the same.

As Madge the great philosopher once said, “If it seems too good to be true it probably is.” Kind of the story of Mom’s and my life.

Like the time we won a raffle for a dinner for two at one of Las Vegas’s swankiest restaurants just for going through a new development of tract homes at an open house.

Sometimes we did that on Sundays for fun, fantasizing what it would be like to live in all that newness and luxury.

In any event, we got all dressed up to go to the restaurant, excited because we could never afford a fancy place like this on Mom’s salary, only to find that the dinner was actually at the swanky restaurant’s sister restaurant, which turned out to be a sandwich bar (I guess we should’ve read the fine print).

Unfortunately, we were a day late, because the sandwich bar was closed. For good.

For this reason, I’m trying to keep my expectations low. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say excitement is running through me like an electrical current.

We have four words so far. Though it’s not a full sentence yet, they seem to make sense together. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but it feels a little like Wheel of Fortune .

Emma is calling off the numbers faster now as Liam is moving at a steady clip matching numbers to pages, paragraphs, and words. It’s like we’re in a bingo hall.

I’ve stopped trying to read as I go, too afraid that it’ll turn out to be something ridiculous, like a note to the FBI, telling them to go to hell. Or a manifesto on gambling. Who can predict with Willy?

But if he comes through this one time, I might be inclined to forgive him for his past. Or not. The jury is still out on that one. You can’t erase a lifetime of shitty fatherhood with a huge buyout, even I know that. But it would go a long way toward making amends.

“Hang on a second,” Liam says. “I may have messed up some of the numbers.”

Emma goes through it again, getting Liam back on track. We are a good team, I’ll say that. Without Emma, I couldn’t have gotten through these last couple of weeks. It makes me wish I had met her sooner.

Even though we share the same DNA, until now I never thought of her as a sister.

All these years, I’d built her up as my archnemesis, the girl who was Willy Keil’s legitimate daughter.

And to think that I wasted a lifetime of unwarranted hostility when I could’ve had Emma in my life.

Too bad there aren’t do-overs. But, fingers crossed, we’ll spend the rest of our lives together in twin mansions, summering in exotic locales, spending Willy’s money.

Liam calls off another word and I write it down, my inner voice, chanting, Don’t read it, don’t read it, don’t read it .

I quickly turn the page of the notebook to keep myself from skimming. When we’ve finished piecing together the puzzle, we’ll read it together.

Emma glances my way, her eyes beseeching. I shrug.

“Let’s get through all the numbers first,” Liam says, reading our body language. “We may have to study it for a while before it makes sense.”

He has a point. Why would Willy make anything easy?

“It’s in the stacks,” Misty blurts. She’s either having one of her visions or an episode of Tourette’s syndrome.

“What is?” I ask, slightly irritated. We’re getting close to finishing and now we’ve all stopped to stare at her.

“The golf bag.”

“You said that before, back when you thought it was still in La Jolla.”

“I never said it was in La Jolla.”

“What’s the stacks?” Emma asks with the patience of . . . Emma.

“I don’t know. Every time it comes to me it disappears just as quickly, like a puff of smoke.”

“Let’s get through this first.” Liam, always the voice of reason, holds up the book. “Then we’ll revisit whatever it is that you’re seeing, okay, Misty?”

She nods but it’s clear that she’s frustrated. We all are.

Emma returns to reading off numbers, announcing that we’re almost done. I take a quick peek at what I’ve written. There’s no punctuation, so no way to know where sentences begin and end. Just a list of words. Lots and lots of words.

We’ll make sense of them afterward, I tell myself. By the time Emma gets to the last number, my hands are shaking.

“Okay, Kennedy, what does it say?” Emma looks as nervous as I feel.

I close my eyes and hand the notebook to her. “You read it.”

She silently examines what I’ve written, asks for my pen, and starts marking up the page. “The good news, there are actual sentences here. The bad, I have no idea what they mean yet or if they’re even related to the golf bag.”

“Read it aloud,” Liam says. “It may take a few times before we get the gist of it.”

Or never , I think, then kick myself for being such a pessimist.

“I keep seeing the golf bag buried in a stack,” Misty says. “But I can’t see what the stack is.”

“Maybe it’ll come to you when you hear the message.” Emma squeezes Misty’s arm for encouragement.

But before Emma starts reading, my phone rings.

It’s Madge. I made the mistake of telling her about Willy’s numbers, how they may be associated with money he left us, and today we have a method to crack the code.

I left out the part about breaking into Willy’s house and how Misty, our neighbor, can see dead people.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The minute she heard money she was off to the races and hasn’t stopped hounding me, calling every hour on the hour.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already spent my share.

Now, I’m second-guessing having told her. But the thing is I tell her everything.

Everyone is waiting.

“I’ll deal with it later.” I shove my phone in my sweatshirt pouch.

“Okay, here goes,” Emma says and reads from my notes.

“ ‘In the shade of towering pines, a cedar stands tall, its presence defines. Beneath the dry stacks, where courts reside, my gift to my neglected daughters is tucked inside. From the green to the grave, I’m making up for lost time, assisting your swing and guiding your stride. Tucked away with care, in a bag that’s always there.

Providing funds for the game, my presence, you can’t disclaim. ’ ”

Emma’s eyes are wet with tears. “He must’ve known he was dying even while the feds were closing in on him.” She grabs my hand. “In the end, he realized he did wrong by us and wanted to make amends. He loved us, Kennedy.”

I won’t let myself be moved by him. By anyone.

All my life people have let me down. Even Madge.

As far as I’m concerned, Willy’s attempt to try to absolve himself is nothing more than pathetic.

“Too little, too late. And what does it even mean? He had to send some idiotic AI-generated riddle? Just tell us where the damn bag is.”

“I don’t think the riddle is about the bag.

I think Misty mistook the golf bag for the metaphor.

” Emma returns to the riddle, “ ‘Tucked away with care, in a bag that’s always there. Providing funds for the game, my presence, you can’t disclaim.

’ The bag represents Cedar Pines. He’s saying if we take care of the park it’ll take care of us.

‘In the shade of towering pines, a cedar stands tall.’ That’s his reference to Cedar Pines Estates. It’s got to be.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “Why go to all the trouble of hiding a poem in the wall if all he’s telling us is something we already know?

It was in his living trust, for God’s sake.

His lawyer made all the arrangements. So why all this cloak-and-dagger shit?

He’s got to be trying to tell us where the money is, and he covered his tracks in case the FBI found his encrypted message before we did. It’s a code within a code.”

“I’m with Kennedy on this,” Liam says. “Now, we have to solve the riddle.”

Misty grabs the pad away from Emma. “The stacks. Here, look.” She points to the line that says, “Beneath the dry stacks where courts reside, my gift to my neglected daughters is tucked inside.” “How many times have I said it’s inside the stacks?”

Emma and I exchange glances. It’s true, she’s said it multiple times. What’s the likelihood that it’s coincidence? None, if you ask me.

“But what the hell does ‘dry stacks’ mean?” I direct the question at Misty.

“And what is ‘courts’?” Emma turns to Liam. “Do you think he means something about the Justice Department and his case?”

“Let me see it.” He takes the notebook from Misty and examines the riddle for a long time. “I’m stumped.”