please tell me there’s more to the plan than breaking the law,” Regan said.
“Of course there is,” Sophie said. “We’re here to investigate. We’re going to talk to every person who signed up, and maybe someone knows something that will help us.”
“Like what?” Cordie asked.
“Like who Shields has been seeing,” she said. “We have to play this by ear.”
“Sounds like we’re playing it by the seat of our pants,” Cordie said.
“How does she talk us into these things?” Regan asked. She was trying not to laugh.
“She always makes her plans sound… reasonable.”
“Hello. I’m right here. I can hear every word you’re saying.” Cordie and Regan ignored her. “It’s a lousy way to spend the weekend,” Cordie complained.
“But it’s for a good cause,” Sophie said. “And it’s too late to back out.” Cordie looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain. Damn, my hair’s going to frizz.”
“Are we going to stand here all night or what?” Regan asked.
Cordie and Sophie took the lead across the dark parking lot. Regan’s knee was throbbing, so she walked at a more sedate pace, trying not to limp. She cursed herself for wearing impractical shoes.
“Slow down,” Cordie said. “Regan’s having trouble with her knee again. When are you going to get that surgery?”
“Soon,” she said. So they wouldn’t nag her into doing what she wasn’t ready to do, she switched subjects. “My car needs an oil change. Are you up to it, Cordie?”
“Sure. I’ll do it next weekend.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “You spend more time under the hood of a car than a mechanic, Cordie. I swear, I’m never going to understand the two of you. You can afford any car you want, and yet you both drive old heaps. But then, I guess we know why Regan keeps her heap.”
“Aiden.” She and Cordie said his name at the same time.
“It makes him crazy, doesn’t it?” Sophie said laughing. She hurried ahead and waited at the door for her friends to catch up. “Okay, ladies. Time to concentrate on the task at hand.” Liam House was an old stone building that had seen many uses in its lifetime. It now served as a facility for seminars and retreats. The interior was a pleasant surprise. Newly remodeled, the marble floors gleamed against the soft, warm beige of the walls. The registration table was on the opposite end of a rectangular foyer.
A thirtysomething woman, wearing the name tag “Debbie,” sat behind a table handing out registration forms. She wore a bright periwinkle blue flannel blazer. Behind her, dangling down from the balcony, were two twelve-foot-long banners. Each had a life-size photo of Dr. Shields. In both banners, Shields wore the same periwinkle blazer and the same smile.
“Is the guy a psychologist or a realtor?” Cordie whispered.
Sophie nudged her. “Notice the laptop?”
“It’s on the table right in front of me. How could I not notice? Do you want to distract her so I can grab it and run?” Cordie asked sarcastically.
“Get with the program,” Sophie whispered.
All three of them filled out their registration forms. Sophie handed them to Debbie.
“The fee’s a thousand dollars for each of you, hon.”
“Yes, we know,” Sophie said as she handed the wad of cash to the woman. Debbie took her time counting the hundred-dollar bills. Satisfied the amount was accurate, she typed their names from their registration cards into her computer, pushed a button, and the printer on the table behind her immediately spit out three receipts. “Dr. Shields is in the living room with some of the other participants. We’re having a welcome reception, and you won’t want to miss it. The doctor does such marvelous exercises.”
“Exercises?” Regan asked.
“Challenges,” Debbie corrected. “Mental challenges. That’s what Dr. Shields calls them. He helps you pull out all the anger and bitterness and hostility that’s eating away at your creativity, and once you’ve
“Of course there is,” Sophie said. “We’re here to investigate. We’re going to talk to every person who signed up, and maybe someone knows something that will help us.”
“Like what?” Cordie asked.
“Like who Shields has been seeing,” she said. “We have to play this by ear.”
“Sounds like we’re playing it by the seat of our pants,” Cordie said.
“How does she talk us into these things?” Regan asked. She was trying not to laugh.
“She always makes her plans sound… reasonable.”
“Hello. I’m right here. I can hear every word you’re saying.” Cordie and Regan ignored her. “It’s a lousy way to spend the weekend,” Cordie complained.
“But it’s for a good cause,” Sophie said. “And it’s too late to back out.” Cordie looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain. Damn, my hair’s going to frizz.”
“Are we going to stand here all night or what?” Regan asked.
Cordie and Sophie took the lead across the dark parking lot. Regan’s knee was throbbing, so she walked at a more sedate pace, trying not to limp. She cursed herself for wearing impractical shoes.
“Slow down,” Cordie said. “Regan’s having trouble with her knee again. When are you going to get that surgery?”
“Soon,” she said. So they wouldn’t nag her into doing what she wasn’t ready to do, she switched subjects. “My car needs an oil change. Are you up to it, Cordie?”
“Sure. I’ll do it next weekend.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “You spend more time under the hood of a car than a mechanic, Cordie. I swear, I’m never going to understand the two of you. You can afford any car you want, and yet you both drive old heaps. But then, I guess we know why Regan keeps her heap.”
“Aiden.” She and Cordie said his name at the same time.
“It makes him crazy, doesn’t it?” Sophie said laughing. She hurried ahead and waited at the door for her friends to catch up. “Okay, ladies. Time to concentrate on the task at hand.” Liam House was an old stone building that had seen many uses in its lifetime. It now served as a facility for seminars and retreats. The interior was a pleasant surprise. Newly remodeled, the marble floors gleamed against the soft, warm beige of the walls. The registration table was on the opposite end of a rectangular foyer.
A thirtysomething woman, wearing the name tag “Debbie,” sat behind a table handing out registration forms. She wore a bright periwinkle blue flannel blazer. Behind her, dangling down from the balcony, were two twelve-foot-long banners. Each had a life-size photo of Dr. Shields. In both banners, Shields wore the same periwinkle blazer and the same smile.
“Is the guy a psychologist or a realtor?” Cordie whispered.
Sophie nudged her. “Notice the laptop?”
“It’s on the table right in front of me. How could I not notice? Do you want to distract her so I can grab it and run?” Cordie asked sarcastically.
“Get with the program,” Sophie whispered.
All three of them filled out their registration forms. Sophie handed them to Debbie.
“The fee’s a thousand dollars for each of you, hon.”
“Yes, we know,” Sophie said as she handed the wad of cash to the woman. Debbie took her time counting the hundred-dollar bills. Satisfied the amount was accurate, she typed their names from their registration cards into her computer, pushed a button, and the printer on the table behind her immediately spit out three receipts. “Dr. Shields is in the living room with some of the other participants. We’re having a welcome reception, and you won’t want to miss it. The doctor does such marvelous exercises.”
“Exercises?” Regan asked.
“Challenges,” Debbie corrected. “Mental challenges. That’s what Dr. Shields calls them. He helps you pull out all the anger and bitterness and hostility that’s eating away at your creativity, and once you’ve
Similar Books
