by Kristy Tate
THAT EVENING AS CORDIE and Midge sat on their beds in the Warlock’s Den looking at their laptops, Cordie’s computer buzzed with an incoming email. Knowing he could help her with her lost—among other things—wallet, she clicked on the message from Weatherford. Fortunately, she had been carrying her passport in a small pouch she carried around her neck.
WHY IS YOUR PHONE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RIVER LUNE?
Dear Weatherford, he’d never been one for chit-chat or social niceties. Probably, it was her sim card in the river, if she had to place bets, she’d wager that her actual phone was in someone’s pocket. But she didn’t tell him this.
MY BAG WAS STOLEN, she returned, imagining smoke pouring from his ears. DON’T FRET. I HAD MY PASSPORT WITH ME.
His response was almost immediate. YOU NEED TO CANCEL ALL YOUR CARDS.
Which would be annoying, especially since she was traveling.
WHO’S WATCHING YOUR HOUSE?
Cordie seriously doubted a couple of teenagers from Lancaster would travel to Newport Beach to burgle her house, but she didn’t point this out to Weatherford.
REMEMBER, I SOLD THE HOUSE, AND I DON’T CLOSE ON THE CONDO FOR ANOTHER MONTH.
Knowing he didn’t like to be reminded of things he didn’t know, she could almost hear Weatherford snorting through the airwaves. Besides, he hadn’t approved of her selling the house. Not because he thought she needed a big house now that her children had left home, but because he was resistant to any change that disrupted his world.
WHERE ARE YOU NOW?
AT A HOTEL.
DON’T GO LOG ONTO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT FROM AN UNSECURE LINE.
Her fingers froze above the keyboard.
WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST I DO?
He loved to tell her what to do. He really missed his calling as a sheep herder.
She clicked on her bank account anyway. What she found—or rather, didn’t find—paralyzed her.
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