part0047

Thanks to Jimmy Beak, everyone in town was talking about Karen. Evidently the public had the right to know about her kidnapping, at least after the fact. Evidently everyone had also been talking about Wilson and me. We received a standing ovation as we entered The Stone Fountain, and the bartender gave us a bottle of Korbel on the house.

We moved to the pool table, where my pool-playing pal Kirby Cox offered his usual salute. “They’ve been trying to play without you, Jessie.” He jerked his head toward the table. “But the rich guy shoots even worse than me.” Kirby wished me luck and disappeared into the crowd, and Wilson and I greeted the gang—Karen and Candy, and Carter and Piers.

“Sorry we’re late,” Wilson said as he poured the bubbly. “Jessie’s doctor appointment took a while.”

Everyone glanced at the sling still supporting my right arm and asked how it had gone.

“Oh, fine,” I sang. I nodded to the table. “How’s the game going?”

“I’m winning,” Carter said. “But it’s not because I’m playing well.” He turned to Piers. “No offense, buddy.”

Piers shrugged, and I took a peek at the pool table. The three ball was missing, but everything else remained ripe for the picking. “How long has this been going on?” I asked, and Candy answered twenty minutes.

Karen caught my eye. “Kiddo’s right, Jess. This game will never be D-U-N-dun.”

“Optimism,” I told her and stepped forward. “Gentleman,” I said firmly. “You seem to have forgotten what my daddy used to tell me.”

“Think of it as six easy pockets,” everyone within earshot shouted.

Sorry, Daddy, but the pockets proved not so easy after all. After I had coached Piers on the twelve ball for the fifth time, Candy nudged me. “Maybe now’s a good time to tell Karen about Destiny’s Desire ,” she suggested.

“It’s destined to be Adelé Nightingale’s best book yet,” Wilson said, and Karen told me she was all ears.

“Destiny’s desires can’t be any more painful than watching this pool game,” she said. “No offense, girlfriend.”

None taken. I knew Karen’s reading tastes tend toward thrillers and suspense rather than historical romance. But since she asked.

Everyone helped me out, and soon she knew everything worth knowing about the trials and tribulations of Princess Destiny and company.

“There will be a happy ending?” Bless her heart, Karen seemed truly concerned.

I assured her a happy ending was the goal, but indicated the sling on my arm, and admitted the writing had been rather slow going.

Speaking of slow, that game of eight ball was going nowhere. I was tempted to play left-handed and one-handed to speed things up, but instead handed my glass to Wilson, and stepped over to rearrange a few balls for Piers. “Try again,” I said and again pointed to the pesky twelve ball.

He missed again. But as I reached out to rearrange the balls again, Karen waved to get my attention. “What will happen?”

“Someone’s bound to win eventually.”

“No, not the pool game. I mean about Destiny’s destiny.”

Carter glanced over. “Destiny will get her gardener, of course.”

“That’s right,” Piers said. “And Prince Drake will marry his maid.” He missed the twelve yet again, but Candy clapped anyway.

“Two weddings!” she said. “How happy is that?”

“Not happy enough,” I told her. I reminded everyone of our own recent trials and tribulations and insisted Adelé Nightingale needed something far happier than two measly weddings .

Wilson raised a hand. “Let me guess,” he said. “Mars Covington will end up being a—a long lost prince. The prince of—of Pluto!”

“Close,” I said. “However, let’s make it him Mars Covington, the prince of Plovington.”

Candy clapped again, but Karen seemed skeptical. “The gardener’s a prince?” she asked. “That’s a convenient coincidence.”

“Adelé Nightingale loves finding long lost princes,” Candy told her.

“And she loves convenient coincidences,” Carter added as he assessed the position of the two ball.

Karen raised an eyebrow. “Kiddo told me you’ve been helping Adelé with plot plight,” she said. “Since when did you and Jess become such great pals?”

“Since you got kidnapped.” Carter shot in the two, and Karen turned her eyebrow in my direction.

I offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Mr. O’Connell does,” I said, “on occasion,” I added, “occasionally, in some circumstances, have his uses.”

“I’m growing on her,” Carter said and shot in the six.

“Optimism,” Wilson told me the minute we reached our condo.

“You know what I’m talking about, Jessie.” He closed the door and pointed to my shoulder. “You avoided the topic all night.”

I had, but who could blame me? I reminded him we’d been celebrating happy endings that evening. “Why spoil the fun?” I mumbled and plopped onto the couch.

Wilson took the spot beside me. “You’ll get your happy ending,” he told me. “You know you’ll be fine.”

No, actually. I did not know. Even my surgeon did not know. My dislocated shoulder wasn’t healing quite as quickly as one might have hoped, and I was scheduled for arthroscopic surgery the following week .

“The doctor said you could come out of this good as new,” Wilson said.

True. And the surgeon, who knows I’m an author, had been very optimistic about my writing. He told me, and I quote, “You’ll be typing away at warp speed when I get through with you.”

“So I’ll have no lasting repercussions?” I asked.

“Not unless you’re a pool shark!”

I kid you not—his exact words. And then he laughed at what he thought was a joke.

Wilson had recovered first and told the doctor that I am, in fact, a pool player. “Jessie knows her way around a pool table,” he said. “She’s really good.”

The surgeon still didn’t catch on. He just sat there behind his desk, complacently smiling and nodding.

Wilson tried again. “Are you saying Jessie won’t be able to play pool anymore?”

The doctor had turned to me. “Of course you’ll be able to play,” he said. “But your aim might—might—be a little off from now on.”

I had whimpered. I had whimpered a lot. And as I sat there on the couch, I whimpered some more. Snowflake hopped into my lap, and I stroked her from head to toe.

“Optimism,” Wilson said firmly. Snowflake meowed her most optimistic meow, and Wally and Bernice chimed in also. “Listen to the cats,” he said and reminded me I am Little Girl Cue-It. “Playing pool is your destiny, Jessie. You’ll be fine.”

Wilson was right, of course. I would be fine, whether or not I ever played pool quite the same.