Murder List

Chapter Ten

Shields began his greeting. He had a crooning, hypnotic voice that was a cross between Barry White and Mr. Rogers.

Cordie nudged Regan. “One of the bodyguards, the guy on the left, has been staring at you since you walked in. What’s his problem?”

“Ignore him,” Regan said.

Shields clapped his hands. “The early bird gets the worm, as my grandmother used to say. Tomorrow there will be five hundred people in the auditorium. Space is at a premium here, so I had to limit the number at this conference, but because you men and women came early and paid your fee, I decided to have this little get-together. If more show up tonight, we’ll open those doors and expand. Now then, let me tell you what you’ll learn during this weekend.”

He was droning on and on, so Regan tuned him out. She pulled his photo from the pocket of the folder and compared the likeness. Close, she thought. Her mind began to wander and then it turned to more practical matters, and she flipped the photo over to jot down some reminders for herself. “Call security and talk to them about Peter Morris,” she wrote. Then, “Talk to Aiden about the Emily Milan problem.” Regan looked up and scanned the audience. Shields certainly had a way with the participants. Most of the women seemed captivated by what he was telling them. Some were actually leaning forward in their chairs as though subconsciously trying to get closer to him. She turned her attention once again to Shields, and after listening for ten minutes, concluded his extemporaneous speech consisted of two themes, fear and greed. Yes, Shields insisted, they really could have it all. They deserved to have it all. But first they needed to rid themselves of the poison inside them.

A hand shot up. Shields took a step forward, paused to flash a smile, and then said, “Yes?”

A woman bolted to her feet. While she was tugging at her ill-fitting skirt, she asked, “I… I’m not sure I understand. I know you said we had to open our minds to new opportunities and that we must first get rid of the poison inside…”

When she hesitated, Shields said, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well… the thing is… I didn’t know I had poison inside.”

Shields dramatically waved his hands. “Everyone in this room has poison inside them.”

“But that’s just it,” the woman said, still tugging at her skirt. “What do you mean by poison?”

He obviously expected the question. Clasping his hands behind his back, he took another step forward.

“Look how close he is to Sophie,” Cordie whispered. “Her tape recorder must be getting every word.”

“I think the woman who just asked the question is a plant. What do you think?”

“Maybe so,” Cordie agreed.

“Have you ever been hurt by anyone,” Shields asked the woman. “Hurt deeply?”

Who hadn’t? Regan thought about Dennis and was suddenly interested in what Shields had to say. The woman who’d asked the question lowered her gaze, and a faint blush covered her cheeks. “Yes… I’ll bet most of us in this room have been hurt deeply,” she said as she nervously glanced around. “My boyfriend… he cheated on me, and he didn’t care how much he hurt me. He… used me.”

“And you took that hurt and buried it deep inside, didn’t you?” Shields nodded sagely and looked over his audience. “How many of you have been in hurtful relationships over the years? How many have endured betrayals from family and those you believed were your friends? How many of you have been overlooked for promotions time and again at work when you know in your heart you earned them?”

Hands were shooting up all over the room. “Shields has them eating out of the palm of his hand,” Cordie whispered. “Uh-oh. That bodyguard is still staring. Put your hand up.”

Regan dutifully put her hand up. A shiver ran down her spine the longer she watched Shields. He was smiling like a benevolent Yoda now.

“I believe that all those painful experiences have turned into drops of poison inside you, eating away at your potential, your creativity, your passion for life.”

“But how do we get rid of this poison?” another woman called out.

“I’ll show you,” he said. “By the time this seminar is over Sunday evening, you’ll be cleansed and ready to take on the world. I guarantee it.”

He paused again, and then in a voice as smooth as Haagen-Dazs said, “Why don’t we do a little exercise? Everyone, take out your notepad and pen. You’ll find both inside your folder. We’re going to make a list.”

He motioned to the bodyguard on his right. The muscleman immediately knelt in front of the fireplace and turned the gas jets on. Seconds later a roaring fire was heating up the already warm room.

“Better get our notepads out and look eager,” Cordie said. “It’s hot in here,” she added. “I should have worn my hair up. It’s definitely gonna frizz.”

Regan was used to Cordie obsessing about her hair and ignored her comments.

“Ready?” Shields called out. “Now, here’s what I want you to think about. How can you make the world a better place for you? Would you be happier, more fulfilled, more joyful, if the people who have hurt you no longer existed? What if you could wave a magic wand and poof,” he said, snapping his fingers for drama, “they’re gone… forever. Would you be better off without them? If you could get rid of the poison inside you, would you be happier? If you believe you would, write down the names of those people you want to vanish.”

Regan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wasn’t the only one. A timid hand went up. “Excuse me, Dr. Shields. Did I hear correctly? You want us to-”

Another woman stood, clutching the notepad to her chest. “You want us to make a… murder list?”

“That’s not what he said,” a young man shouted.

Shields put his hands up. “You can call it whatever you want. Those of you who are a bit squeamish, think of it as a list of the people you simply wish to never see again.”

The woman clutching the notepad couldn’t seem to compute what he was telling her to do. “Okay. So you want us to write down the names of people we wish were… dead.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do. If those people who have injured you no longer existed, then wouldn’t you be able to get rid of the poison inside you?”

“Yes… I guess… but…”

Another man shouted, “I’m gonna need more paper.”

Nervous laughter followed his comment. “Is there a limit on the names?” he asked.

“Write down as many names as you want. I do think for this exercise we’ll have a time limit. Ten minutes,” he said. “Shall we get started?”

He stretched his arm, stared down at his watch, and said, “You may begin.”

A man sitting in front of Regan whispered, “This is going to be fun. I’m going to start with my wife.”

“You mean your ex-wife,” the woman sitting next to him said.

“Oh, that’s good. I’ll put her on my list too.”

Cordie looked appalled. “Can you believe this? Shields has turned the group into ghouls.”

“Hush,” Regan whispered. “We better act like we’re with the program. Start writing.”

“No matter how obscene this exercise is?”

“No matter.”

“Well, then…”

“Well, then what?”

Cordie smiled. “Might as well have a little fun.”

They both pulled out their notepads. Regan wrote across the top of the paper, “Murder List” and underlined the words twice. Underneath she wrote, “People I Want Dead.” Now what? Stalling for time, she tapped her pen against the folder until the man in front of her turned and frowned.

“Do you mind? You’re distracting me.”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

She had a feeling the bodyguard was still watching her. Maybe she was being paranoid. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up, then quickly lowered her head. Nope. Not paranoid. The creep was still staring. What was his problem?

Cordie was sniffling and digging through her purse. Regan handed her a tissue.

“Five more minutes,” Shields called out. “And then I’ll circle the room and I want everyone to hold up their notepads so I can see the number of names.”

Uh-oh. Regan began to write. Shields, bodyguard one, and bodyguard two all made her list. Who else? Ms. Patsy, that rude saleslady from Dickerson’s. Oh, yes, she mustn’t forget that horrible Detective Sweeney. The world would definitely be a better place without him. She was about to add Lieutenant Lewis to her list because he’d been so vicious to that young man, but time was up.

She’d had no idea she was so bloodthirsty. Shields clapped his hands. “Pens down. Everyone hold up your notepad so I can see them. That’s right. Good. Good,” he praised. “Everyone participated. Now here’s what I’d like you to do. One by one come up to the fireplace. Tear the paper out of the notepad and shred it. Then you’ll throw it in the fire and watch the flames devour the names. Shall we begin?”

“Will that get rid of the hurt and the poison?” a woman asked.

“It’s a symbolic gesture,” Shields explained. “Meant to open your mind to all the possibilities.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cordie asked.

“We get to open our minds to the possibility that we could kill all of our enemies,” Regan explained with mock enthusiasm.

“Shall we begin?” Shields called out.

Sophie was the first in line. She was smiling at Shields as she walked past.

“Un-oh, Sophie’s flirting,” Cordie whispered. “And Shields is loving the attention.”

“How can she? He’s so… repulsive.”

“This is b.s. Can you believe he actually charges money for this?”

“Shields said there were five hundred people signed up for this seminar. Multiply that number by the thousand dollars each paid, and…”

“He’s making a bloody fortune.”

“I can’t believe we’ve committed an entire weekend to this.”

“Let’s get in line and then get out of here. I’m starving.”

Regan had just picked up her purse when her cell phone rang. The sound earned her a glare from both bodyguards.

She answered the phone, quickly gathered up her things, and went out into the hallway while Cordie got in line to toss her list in the fire.

Emily Milan was on the line. She was in one of her moods again and didn’t waste words.

“You didn’t give me Aiden’s latest notes,” she snapped. “And as a result, the last meeting was a complete disaster. I’m not going to be able to do my job if you continue to play these childish games, Regan.”

“I’m certain Henry printed out everything that was e-mailed,” she said. “I didn’t erase it, and I’ll be happy to check again when I get back to the hotel, but-”

“I expect those papers on my desk tomorrow.”

“I’m sure everything my brother sent was printed,” she repeated.

“Do I have to talk to Aiden about this?”

Regan counted to five. It didn’t help. “Please do.”

She snapped the phone shut and stood there glaring at it. “Oh, you are so going on my list,” she muttered.

She wished she could have fired Emily right then and there, over the phone. She couldn’t, though. She didn’t have the authority. Thunder rumbled close by, interrupting her mental tirade. She shoved the phone into her purse and went back inside to find Cordie and Sophie so she could get out of there before her mood completely soured. She was pulling the heavy door closed behind her when she noticed one of the bodyguards was down on his knees in front of the hearth turning the gas jets off. She guessed she’d missed the fire cleansing ritual.

She couldn’t find Sophie, but Cordie was where she’d left her, still sitting in the uncomfortable folding chair against the back wall. She sat down beside her and whispered, “Could we leave now?”

“In a minute,” Cordie said. “Shields is telling us what he thinks is a super-inspirational story about one of his students.”

“Students? He teaches a class?”

Cordie shook her head. “He’s calling us his students. All the people who have attended his past seminars are former students. How can anyone with half a brain fall for his act? He’s such a fraud.”

“Look around,” Regan whispered. “The room’s full of unhappy people desperately wanting to change their lives. He’s telling them what they want to hear.”

“He also gives them someone to blame instead of taking responsibility for their own behavior. Sophie was right. He does prey on the vulnerable.”

“I’m going to ask Aiden to fire Emily,” Regan said.

Cordie bolted upright. “Really.” She looked thrilled.

Regan repeated the conversation she’d had with the obnoxious woman. “What would you do?”

“Make Aiden fire her skinny little ass,” she whispered. “You should hire his next assistant. He’s obviously looking for the wrong type.”

“What type is that?”

“Young, beautiful, blond, thin…”

“What do you care what she looks like?”

Cordie shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said quickly. “You’re the one complaining.”

Regan sighed. “I can’t fire her. She doesn’t work for me. Besides, Aiden needs help…”

“So? Get someone else to help him.”

Shields’s volume increased as he finished his story. Applause followed. He waited for the noise to die down, then announced that the spontaneous session was over and to please mingle. Within seconds the psychologist was surrounded by women fighting for his attention.

“Is it raining?” Cordie asked. She lifted a strand of her long hair, sighed, and shoved it back behind her ear. “It’s raining, all right. My hair’s frizzing already.”

“Nonsense,” Regan said. “Your hair doesn’t frizz. It curls.”

Cordie dug through her purse, found a hair clip, and went to work pulling her hair into a twist.

“I’ll go get the car and pull up under the overhang. You find Sophie and drag her outside if you have to,” Regan said.

She gathered up her things, tucked the folder under her arm, and headed out. The mood in the room was still jovial, many of the participants laughing nervously and talking with one another. Such eagerness, such hope, she thought. She was sure she heard Sophie’s distinctive laughter. How in heaven’s name could she stomach being so close to Shields?

Regan seemed to be the only person in a hurry to leave. The lighting on the porch and around the building was abysmal. She could barely see her hand in front of her face.

If she had been a pessimist, she would have thought the rain had been waiting for her, because the second she stepped out from under the overhang, the soft drizzle turned into a downpour.

She sprinted across the parking lot, the rain pelting her face. Since she hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, she used the blue folder to try to block the raindrops so she could see where she was going.

By the time she reached the park, her knee was throbbing. She considered stopping and taking off her new, impossible-to-resist, sling-back heels, but it was only about fifty yards to the car, and she didn’t want to stop. She already had her car key out. It was attached to a bracelet chain. Regan had slipped the chain over her wrist so she could grip her purse as she ran.

She could have taken a shortcut through the grass, but then her beautiful, soft, buttery leather shoes would have been completely ruined. God, what an idiot she’d been to wear such high heels.

She was about twenty-five, maybe thirty, yards from her car when she thought she heard someone shout her name. Regan automatically pivoted toward the sound. Her left knee buckled, and she went down hard. Crying out in pain, she let go of her purse and the folder to brace against the fall. She was used to having her knee go out-it happened at least once a month-but the pain usually went away after a couple of seconds. This time was different. It was sharp and close to unbearable.

Half the contents of her purse scattered on the sidewalk. She knelt on one knee as she scooped up her lipstick and billfold. Someone shouted at her again. It was a high-pitched voice, or was that the wind playing tricks on her? She strained to listen for the sound as she stuffed the billfold back into her purse and staggered to her feet.

Nothing. Just her imagination, she decided. All she wanted to think about was getting out of the rain.

She heard him coming before she saw him.