Betting on Hope - By Kay Keppler Page 0,5

much.

She was terrified of what she would become if she picked up the phone and made those calls, setting those wheels in motion. But what choice did she have? Today things had changed. Today she needed to save the ranch. Today she would do what she had to do to save her family.

And she realized that now that she wanted to ask for Marty’s forgiveness and help, she didn’t have much right to either.

The information in the book wasn’t current. She might not reach the uncles. But she had to try. It was time. Now or never.

Taking a deep breath and easing it out slowly, she picked up the phone and dialed the number. The voice that answered on the second ring hadn’t changed a bit.

“Marty,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s me, Hope. Hope McNaughton.”

Marty the Sneak was from Brooklyn, a slight man with a sprinkling of acne scars and thinning hair who would by now be in his late fifties. In the old days, he’d always worn a dark jacket and pants that were too big on him. He’d been more crooked than straight and lacked a formal education. But he’d always had a tremendous memory, which helped him at cards, and he’d known every player, crook, and cop on the east coast and many on the west. Hope prayed that none of that had changed.

“Hope?” Marty said. “It’s you? Little Hope? No kidding?” He raised his voice and called out to someone in the room. “Eddie, put down that hand and get on the extension right now! It’s Little Hope I have here!”

Hope rolled her eyes, feeling seventeen-year-old exasperation and, now, a brand-new affection for her former nickname. She and her sister had been named after the two qualities Derek had said every gambler needed—Hope and Faith—and the honorary uncles had liked to tease her about her name. She heard a second phone lift. Sharp Eddie Toombs, another honorary uncle.

“Hope?” Sharp Eddie said. “Is that really you? How are you, kiddo? It’s been too long. We’ve missed you. I’ve lost fifteen pounds since I stopped buying you ice cream.”

A sudden stab of longing and regret caught her unawares. She’d missed them, too. Sharp Eddie had always had a huge girth and a kind heart. He loved silly jokes, and now she remembered all the treats he’d showered on her over the years.

“Don’t believe him, Hope,” Marty the Sneak said. “He’s gained fifteen pounds. He’s been eating his ice cream and yours, too. We’re thinking of changing his name to Sherman. Sherman the Tank.”

Hope blinked back tears and smiled, as memories—good ones—flooded back. Whatever her father had done to her, the uncles weren’t to blame.

“Marty—” she began. “Eddie. It has been too long, and I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I—”

“Don’t, Hope,” Sharp Eddie said. “It’s all right. We missed you is all. And now, here you are.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Hope said, clutching the phone, feeling a rush of relief so strong it left her dizzy. “Back then—I was so hurt. And angry. I couldn’t handle it. But still, I shouldn’t have cut you out.”

“Hope,” Marty interrupted her. “Stop. Enough. We understand how it was. Derek—well, we told him he was a horse’s ass, not that it did any good. We didn’t know what to do. Except let you know we were there for you. But you knew that, right? Because here you are.”

Hope cleared her throat. “I—I did. I do.”

“It’s good to hear from you, Little Hope,” Sharp Eddie said. “Now, tell us what’s wrong and how we can help you.”

Hope laughed, sniffing a little. You couldn’t fool an old card player.

“I do need some help,” she said. “What do you know about Passaic Holdings?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Hope listened to the connection hiss. Can’t be good, she thought.

“Why do you want to know about Passaic Holdings, Hope?” Marty asked.

“You must have heard that Derek lost our ranch in a poker game. I want to get it back. It’s a long shot, but I thought maybe I could play the winner for it. What have I got to lose, right? So I need to know who Derek played. The name on the deed is a New Jersey corporation called Passaic Holdings. And, you’re from Jersey. I figured you’d know who that is.”

“I did hear about that damn card game, yes,” Marty said.

Then he stopped. Eddie said nothing.

“And?” Hope asked. “What’s the rest of it?”

“Passaic Holdings is

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