their cabin. “I like to catch the news before I go to sleep.”
“That’s not always the best idea,” Luke commented drily. “The bedtime stories on the news aren’t always catalysts for sweet dreams.”
“If I can’t sleep in the middle of the night, I always turn on the news,” Regan said. “It helps me fall back asleep—unless, of course, there’s something big going on.”
Jack picked up the remote and pressed the TV button. The screen filled with the anchor desk of the Flash News Network. The coanchors were not flashing their usual sunny smiles. A tape rolled showing Packy Noonan leaving prison. “Look at this!” Jack exclaimed.
The anchor reported solemnly: “Packy Noonan, recently released from prison after serving twelve and a half years for cheating investors in his fake shipping company, left his halfway house this morning to attend Mass at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. He was being followed by a private investigator hired by the law firm that was appointed to recover the money Packy stole. But Noonan slipped out of the cathedral during the service and was seen running down Madison Avenue. When he did not return to the halfway house this evening, he officially broke his parole. We have been receiving phone calls and e-mails from outraged investors who heard this story earlier on Flash News. They have always believed that Noonan had squirreled away their money and is on his way to collect their fortunes right now. There is a $10,000 reward for information that helps lead to Noonan’s capture. If you have any information, please contact the number on your screen below.”
“That guy is taking a big risk,” Jack said. “He served his time, and now if he’s caught he’ll be thrown back in jail for breaking parole. He must have that money stashed away somewhere and doesn’t want to wait the two or three years he’d spend on parole to get his millions. My guess is that he’ll be out of the country in no time flat.”
“Poor Opal,” Nora sighed. “That’s all she needs to hear. She always said the money was hidden somewhere, and if she got her hands on Packy, she’d wring his neck.”
Regan shook her head. “It makes me sick to think how many investors like Opal were cheated out of money that really would have made a difference in their lives. At least when Packy was in prison, they knew he was miserable. Now they have to wonder if he’s going to be living high on the hog on their dime, just thumbing his nose at them.”
“I told you,” Luke said. “Now everybody’s worked up before it’s time to go to sleep.”
In spite of the situation, they all laughed. “You’re terrible,” Nora chided. “I just hope Opal didn’t watch the news tonight. She’d never close an eye.”
A few doors down, in the villa she shared with Alvirah and Willy, Opal had fallen into a dead sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Even though she had not heard the news about Packy’s disappearance, when she began to dream, it was of him. The gates of a dreary stone prison were bursting open. Packy came running out clutching fat pillowcases in his arms. She knew they were stuffed with money— her money. Her lottery money. She began to chase him, but her legs wouldn’t move. In her dream she became increasingly agitated. “Why won’t my legs move?” she thought frantically. “I have to catch up with him.” Packy disappeared down the road. Gasping for breath as she struggled to move forward, Opal woke with a start.
“Oh, my God,” she thought as she felt her heart pounding. Another nightmare about that stupid Packy Noonan. As she calmed down, she thought there was something more that her subconscious was working to bring to the surface. It’s going to come to me, she thought as she closed her eyes again. I know it is.
15
A ll my plans,” Packy moaned. “Twelve and a half stinking years doing time, and every single minute I’m dreaming of getting my hands on my tree. Now
“That’s not always the best idea,” Luke commented drily. “The bedtime stories on the news aren’t always catalysts for sweet dreams.”
“If I can’t sleep in the middle of the night, I always turn on the news,” Regan said. “It helps me fall back asleep—unless, of course, there’s something big going on.”
Jack picked up the remote and pressed the TV button. The screen filled with the anchor desk of the Flash News Network. The coanchors were not flashing their usual sunny smiles. A tape rolled showing Packy Noonan leaving prison. “Look at this!” Jack exclaimed.
The anchor reported solemnly: “Packy Noonan, recently released from prison after serving twelve and a half years for cheating investors in his fake shipping company, left his halfway house this morning to attend Mass at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. He was being followed by a private investigator hired by the law firm that was appointed to recover the money Packy stole. But Noonan slipped out of the cathedral during the service and was seen running down Madison Avenue. When he did not return to the halfway house this evening, he officially broke his parole. We have been receiving phone calls and e-mails from outraged investors who heard this story earlier on Flash News. They have always believed that Noonan had squirreled away their money and is on his way to collect their fortunes right now. There is a $10,000 reward for information that helps lead to Noonan’s capture. If you have any information, please contact the number on your screen below.”
“That guy is taking a big risk,” Jack said. “He served his time, and now if he’s caught he’ll be thrown back in jail for breaking parole. He must have that money stashed away somewhere and doesn’t want to wait the two or three years he’d spend on parole to get his millions. My guess is that he’ll be out of the country in no time flat.”
“Poor Opal,” Nora sighed. “That’s all she needs to hear. She always said the money was hidden somewhere, and if she got her hands on Packy, she’d wring his neck.”
Regan shook her head. “It makes me sick to think how many investors like Opal were cheated out of money that really would have made a difference in their lives. At least when Packy was in prison, they knew he was miserable. Now they have to wonder if he’s going to be living high on the hog on their dime, just thumbing his nose at them.”
“I told you,” Luke said. “Now everybody’s worked up before it’s time to go to sleep.”
In spite of the situation, they all laughed. “You’re terrible,” Nora chided. “I just hope Opal didn’t watch the news tonight. She’d never close an eye.”
A few doors down, in the villa she shared with Alvirah and Willy, Opal had fallen into a dead sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Even though she had not heard the news about Packy’s disappearance, when she began to dream, it was of him. The gates of a dreary stone prison were bursting open. Packy came running out clutching fat pillowcases in his arms. She knew they were stuffed with money— her money. Her lottery money. She began to chase him, but her legs wouldn’t move. In her dream she became increasingly agitated. “Why won’t my legs move?” she thought frantically. “I have to catch up with him.” Packy disappeared down the road. Gasping for breath as she struggled to move forward, Opal woke with a start.
“Oh, my God,” she thought as she felt her heart pounding. Another nightmare about that stupid Packy Noonan. As she calmed down, she thought there was something more that her subconscious was working to bring to the surface. It’s going to come to me, she thought as she closed her eyes again. I know it is.
15
A ll my plans,” Packy moaned. “Twelve and a half stinking years doing time, and every single minute I’m dreaming of getting my hands on my tree. Now
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