Regan had a feeling that this weekend might turn out to be an exception.
Cordie gave a quick wave as she walked down the aisle and slid into the booth across from Regan. Sophie was still talking to Kevin. His boss, Mr. Laggia, had joined the conversation.
“I’m starving,” Cordie said. “And no wonder. It’s one o’clock. Are you ready to order? Sophie said she already did.”
“I’m ready. What’s she talking to Kevin and Mr. Laggia about?”
“She thinks it would be a nice idea to feature the restaurant again and is going to talk to the food editor about it.”
Cordie motioned to the waiter, and after the two of them had ordered their lunch, she nodded to the folded papers. “Are those copies of Mary Coolidge’s diary?”
“Yes,” Regan answered. “You’ve read it?”
“I have. It’s heartbreaking.”
“Why didn’t you mention any of this when you called?”
“I knew Sophie would want to tell you. It’s her plan after all.”
“I haven’t heard the plan yet.”
Cordie smiled. “You will,” she said. “Besides, she already made me promise I’d attend the reception and the weekend seminar, and I knew she was going to rope you into going too. She’s had some hare-brained ideas in the past, but this one is for a good cause.”
The waiter placed the Diet Coke she’d ordered on the table with a bread basket.
Cordie immediately took a wheat roll and was tearing it apart when Regan said, “If what Sophie has told me about Mary Coolidge is accurate, then Shields should be in prison. Why isn’t he?”
“He’s as slick as an eel, that’s why,” she said. “I’ve filed a complaint with the state board hoping they’ll yank his license, and I’m sure others have done the same. Something needs to be done to stop him from preying on other vulnerable women.”
“I don’t understand. He’s making a fortune with his seminars,” she said. “Why would he…”
She was searching for the right word. Cordie supplied it. “Fleece? Rob? Steal?”
“… fleece lonely women? He doesn’t need the money.”
“I don’t think it’s a question of need with him,” she said. “I think he does it for the power it gives him. I think he gets off on it.”
“Who’s getting off on what?” Sophie asked as she sat down next to Cordie. “Hand me my iced tea, please.”
“We’re talking about why Shields goes after rich, unhappy women,” Cordie said. She handed Sophie her drink as she added, “And I was saying it isn’t about the money.”
“I disagree,” Sophie said. “I think it’s all about the money.”
“The risk of someone going to the police…” Regan began.
“He thinks he’s invincible,” Sophie said. “And the risk? Must be worth it to him. Mary Coolidge handed over a little more than two million. And that’s a whole lot of money, ladies.”
“Definitely worth the risk,” Cordie said. “When you’re as greedy as he is.”
Regan looked at Sophie. “How did you get hold of this diary?”
“I told you Mary’s daughter found the diary after the funeral… when she was packing her mother’s things.”
“Yes.”
“She immediately went to the police and got nowhere. She also hired an attorney to get her mother’s money back, but after reviewing the paperwork Mary had signed, the attorney told the daughter that what Shields had done was reprehensible, but legally he hadn’t broken any laws.”
“And?” Regan asked when Sophie didn’t continue.
“Christine-that’s the daughter’s name-had to return to Battle Creek, where she and her husband live, but before she left, she mailed copies of the diary to the Tribune. The reporter who got the envelope made a few phone calls, but he had more pressing work to get done, and he didn’t have the time to devote to what he considered to be a lost cause. The letter and the photocopies ended up in his trash can.
“I heard him telling another reporter about the gullibility of the woman, and, of course, I became curious, so after he left, I took the copies out of the trash and read them.”
“You know what a sucker Sophie is for lost causes,” Cordie said. “And since she needed help, she coerced me into reading the diary…”
“And she promptly got on board,” Sophie added.
“When did all this happen?” Regan asked.
Sophie answered. “You were in L.A. when Cordie went to the police to find out what she could.”
“She made me go,” Cordie said. “And I’ll admit that I was initially encouraged to learn that the police did, in fact, have an active file on the man. My excitement didn’t last long, though. Lieutenant Lewis is a silver-haired charmer and a bad flirt. He oozed sympathy and understanding,” she added. “And it took me all of two minutes to figure out he wasn’t the least bit sincere.”
Sophie had forgotten to tell the waiter to bring her salad as soon as it was ready. All three lunches arrived together. In a hurry now to get back to the office, she picked up her fork and attacked her salad with gusto. Cordie poured ketchup all over her cheeseburger, slapped the top bun on, and picked it up.
“Have there been any other complaints against Shields?” Regan asked.
Cordie put the cheeseburger back on her plate before answering. “Yes, it looks like there were other women, but no hard evidence had been collected. The lieutenant insisted he was working on it. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, another month went by and still no arrest had been made. I found out that Lewis had shuffled the investigation over to one of his more lackluster detectives named Sweeney.”
She picked up the cheeseburger again and was about to take a bite when Regan asked, “And how long did you say you’ve been working on this?”
“Not that long,” Cordie said.
Regan deliberately waited until Cordie was about to take a bite of her sandwich and then said, “One more question…”
Cordie put the sandwich down again. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? Asking me questions just as I… Sophie, leave my french fries alone.”
“They’re not good for you. I’m just helping you eat them because I care about your health. That’s the kind of friend I am.”
Cordie rolled her eyes at Sophie and then turned back as Regan was asking, “I do have a serious question. Do you think Mary Coo-lidge committed suicide, or do you believe what Sophie believes?”
“That she was murdered?” Cordie whispered. “I’m not sure. It’s possible.”
Regan dropped her fork and leaned forward. “Are you serious?”
“How come you didn’t act shocked when I told you my opinion?” Sophie asked.
Regan didn’t mince words. “Because you’re a drama queen. Cordie’s more practical, and if she thinks it’s possible, then…”
“Then what?” Sophie asked, frowning now.
“Then it’s possible.”
“I’m not a drama queen.”
“Tell me why you think it’s possible,” Regan asked Cordie, ignoring Sophie’s comment.
“Read the diary.”
“I will, but tell me now.”
“Okay. You’ll see toward the end, Mary was scared of Shields. He had threatened her. If you read the last entry, you’ll see that her handwriting is all over the page, which tells me the drugs were in her system and making her loopy. Maybe that’s why she wrote what she wrote… but then again, maybe it was really happening.”
Regan picked up the papers, pulled the last page out, and read. There were only four words.
Too late. They’re coming.
Chapter Six
The alley smelled like wet dog hair and puke. The over-flowing Dumpster that Detective Alec Buchanan had spent most of the night behind smelled much, much worse.