The List

by Velvet Vaughn

  “Dad, you know that’s not true.” Lauren chuckled.

  Matt flicked out the lights, waved goodbye to his very pregnant secretary, Jane, and headed to the parking garage as he continued to speak with his daughter. “It’s a beautiful day.” He tugged the loosened tie from around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. “How about an evening picnic on the boat?”

  Matt and his daughter had spent hours over the years on Lake Monroe fishing, swimming and having fun. When Lauren started high school, with all her extracurricular activities, their trips became less frequent. Matt treasured the time he got to spend with his only daughter.

  “I’d love to. Can we take Murphy?”

  “Okay, but he’s not getting my food,” Matt joked.

  Lauren giggled. They both knew he was just as guilty as she was of feeding table scraps to their feisty black lab. He punched the remote and opened the locks on the Range Rover. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, princess.”

  “I’ll be by the gym, north side.”

  Flipping the lid shut, he tossed the cell on the console, donned his sunglasses, opened the sunroof and headed to pick up his baby girl.

  * * * *

  Jac slammed the door and settled the pizza on the passenger seat. An enticing aroma filled her Jeep when she propped open the cover. Her eyes drifted shut, her stomach rumbled and she couldn’t resist swiping a piece of her favorite food, a luxury she rarely allowed herself. She relished the first bite with gusto and then recalled her surroundings. Wiping sauce from her chin, she watched a black Range Rover pull up to the curb and a tall, dark-haired man step out. He had on a plain white oxford shirt, the cuffs rolled to his elbows exposing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. The forearms attached to a mighty fine body. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean midsection and nice tight buns. Yum. Forget the pizza. She wanted him.

  The man stretched and glanced around. His brows tilted and as if in slow motion, he turned and their gazes collided.

  The pizza lodged in Jac’s throat.

  The man with the fabulous forearms, tight ass and to-die-for body was none other than Matt Dianetti, her life-long crush.

  The slice slipped from her boneless fingers and splattered on her shorts. Shifting lower in the seat, she watched him shake off the confusion. He rounded the car and…wait a minute. She bolted upright. Where did that blonde come from? Matt slung his arm around the woman and held the door open. Jac’s shoulders slumped. With a disgusted groan, she pulled the slice from her leg and winced at a clump of cheese clinging to her shorts.

  “Shoot.” She snatched a napkin to mop the mess. It shouldn’t bother her to see Matt with a woman. He had to be married by now. Not that she thought she had a chance with him. Except for one brief encounter twenty years ago, she’d never even spoken to him.

  Sighing, she started the car, pressed the accelerator and drove away.

  Three

  October 1

  Riley Henderson downshifted his ancient Ford as he headed to his second job at the only gas station and convenience store in town. He’d only managed one hour of sleep after working all day on the county road crew. Riley yawned. His formerly athletic body now sported an additional fifty pounds and his once plentiful mop of brown hair receded as quickly as his waistline expanded.

  For the thousandth time, he wondered how his life had deteriorated.

  He’d been a star athlete in high school, destined to attend a Division II or III college, until the fateful night when he knocked up his girlfriend in the back seat of his souped-up Chevy Nova.

  The head cheerleader at a rival high school, Penny had been gorgeous, stacked, and every man’s fantasy. What he didn’t know then was that she was also whiney, nagging and as fertile as a rabbit.

  At the ripe age of eighteen all his dreams were as shot to hell as if he’d gone one round with an AK-47 assault rifle.

  Riley felt trapped, defeated. Once, his future had been filled with big plans. Now never-ending misery accompanied his daily life.

  Slamming on the brakes, he jerked to a stop behind the store and wearily wiped a hand over his face.

  He never understood why a town this small needed an all-night store. He was lucky if he saw another human his entire shift. The owner had mounted one security monitor facing the cash register and installed a panic button under the counter. Riley snorted at the thought. Although the owner activated the panic button, he’d never bothered to hook up the camera.

  Padding to the refrigerated cooler, Riley jerked open the handle and swiped his usual bologna and cheese sandwich and Coke. Carrying the snack to the stool behind the counter, he plopped down and flipped on the small TV. He turned to an old sitcom rerun.

  He’d just popped the top on the soda when a loud crash sounded out back. “What the…?” Riley dropped the sandwich and wiped his hands together. Pushing through the storage room exit door, he scanned the area darkened by the moonless night. A metal trash can rolled slowly to a stop, scattering refuse across the lot.

  “Damn cats.” He scooped up the spilled garbage with the lid, slammed the top down, kicked the can, cursed under his breath and headed back inside. When he returned, the show was over, replaced by an infomercial. He plunked down and ripped off a bite of sandwich, his eyes straying back to the picture. The camera zoomed in on a busty brunette wearing tight spandex. Riley sat straight up and grinned wolfishly.

  “All right!” Picking up the soda, he drained the contents, crushed the can between his fingers and tossed the can at the trash. It landed with a metallic clink. “Three points!” He turned his attention back to the woman demonstrating the correct way to use the infomercial’s machine. A wave of dizziness assailed him and he swayed on the stool. His brows drew together. What was happening? His stomach roiled and he tried to put a hand to it but his movements were slow, uncoordinated.

  “Muth be fool poithaning.” His lids drooped and his eyes burned as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He swayed again, his back hitting the wall. Bells jangled over the door and footsteps whispered softly across the floor.

  Riley’s lids slid closed but he forced them open and found a person watching him with cold, heartless eyes. He was too sick to feel relief. Swaying, his clumsy hand reached out. “Helth be,” he garbled.

  The person stood still, arms crossed, flashing a malicious smile. Riley struggled to focus and then his eyes widened in realization. He faced his killer.

  Body limp and boneless, he could only watch with horror as his killer broke off a chunk of the half-eaten sandwich and moved forward. The bologna and cheese dangled between a gloved thumb and forefinger and Riley tried to shake his head and wave his hands but his body refused to cooperate.

  The killer gripped his chin and yanked his mouth open. “Now be a good boy Riley and take your medicine.” The killer shoved the lump into his mouth and with one hand on his head and the other his chin, forced Riley’s jaws together. “Uh, uh, uh,” the killer crooned. “Don’t want to chew it thoroughly?” Propping Riley’s mouth open, the killer stuck a finger inside and thrust the remaining sandwich deep into Riley’s passageway. Riley gurgled, his eyes heavily-lidded. Two fingers closed over his nose, shutting off his air. After a few seconds, Riley’s chest shuddered and then deflated one final time. He crashed to the ground in a boneless heap.

  The killer’s head rocked back and forth, staring at the heap on the floor. Poor Riley Henderson, former football star, now an overweight, balding, loser working the night shift. Oops, correct that. He’s simply Riley Henderson: deceased.

  Oh, but how fun to watch the victim’s faces when they realize they’re going to die. Caleb Flinn’s expression had been priceless when he opened his eyes and discovered the blaring television dangling over the hot tub. He screamed like a girl when the electricity coursed through his body, making it impossible to stick around and watch.

  Ty Baxter hadn’t realized he was going to die. He simply went to sleep. Permanently.

  This one had been ridiculously e
asy. The big oaf thought cats overturned the trash can. Ha. Slipping in the front door and dropping the Rohypnol in his Coke had been a walk in the park. The only hard part had been waiting until the Roofie kicked in.

  A booted foot rolled Riley over and the killer lifted the dead man’s flabby arm, pressing his fleshy finger against the panic button under the counter. When authorities arrived, it would look as if he’d hit the button attempting to dislodge the sandwich from his windpipe. A cut and dry case of choking, making Riley Henderson a victim of gluttony.

  The killer peeled off the rubber gloves, stuffed them in a pocket and whistled a jaunty tune while exiting the store and disappearing into the night.

  * * * *

  October 3

  Jac hunched over the counter studying blueprints detailing renovations to the club she named Jumping Jacks. A deafening racket reverberated throughout the building. Hammers pounded and saws chopped, creating a cacophony of construction sounds.

  Sinking her teeth into an apple, she pictured how the exercise rooms would look finished. One would be used to teach aerobics, tae-bo and martial arts, another a dance studio with mirror-covered walls. The third and biggest would hold gymnastic equipment in the future to teach children to tumble. First, she had to get the gym up and running and profitable.

  Above all, she wanted Jumping Jacks to be a swim club, a place where kids and adults could learn aquatic activity and engage in friendly competitions.

  Rolling her shoulders, she uncapped a bottle of water and drank greedily. Her eyes skimmed the counter and landed on the local newspaper. Today’s issue included a story on her new venture. Jac considered it quite a coup that it made the front page. It didn’t hurt that the Features Editor had been a friend of her parents. The reporter had been thorough and asked several questions. Consequently, the article was positive and Jac hoped it would boost membership and fill classes.

  Her gaze flicked over the newssheet and away before suddenly snapping back. Snatching the paper, she scanned the small article tucked unceremoniously on the back page, the headline reading: Former Star Athlete Riley Henderson Dies in Choking Accident. She pictured the handsome Prom King and mourned the loss.

  Dropping the paper, she heard two workers breeze through the door, deep in conversation. The men laughed and she lifted her head to see Stu Winthrop and Hal Freemont headed her way. She raised her water bottle in salute. Try as she might, she couldn’t place their faces from high school, but pretended to remember when they dropped a litany of reasons why she should. She hadn’t been a snob in high school…had she? An image of Nicole Southern’s stepsister flashed in her mind and she shifted uncomfortably.

  “Hey, Jackie,” Stu greeted. “Wasn’t Bulldog in your class?”

  “Bulldog?” Jac shook her head in confusion.

  “Riley Henderson. I think he was your age.”

  “Oh, Riley.” Jac nodded, having forgotten his high school moniker. “He was in my class, yes.”

  “See.” Stu slapped Hal in the chest. “I told you he was Jackie’s age.”

  “I just read about his death,” she said. “How sad.”

  “I’m not surprised. The guy was a glutton,” Stu said.

  “From what I remember, he was strong and fit.”

  “Was being the operative word,” Hal remarked. “His wife even tried to hit on my boy Stu at Ty Baxter’s funeral last year.” Hal slapped Stu on the back.

  Jac’s brows pulled together. “Wait a minute. What did you say about a funeral last year?”

  “Ty Baxter’s, you mean? Didn’t you hear?” When she shook her head Hal announced callously, “He bit the dust. Took one hit too many.”

  “Oh, wow,” Jac gasped. “First Ty and then Riley.”

  Stu shrugged. “Terrible, but not surprising. Baxter was a huge junkie and Henderson was always stuffing his face.” Stu and Hal continued gossiping about the sorry state of both men’s lives. Jac tuned them out, trying to figure out why Ty’s death bothered her. Then she remembered and horror washed over her in waves so strong her knees buckled. She gripped the counter for support.

  “Do you guys know what happened to Caleb Flinn?”

  They shook their heads. “Why?” Hal asked.

  “No reason,” Jac mumbled distractedly.

  But she did have a reason. A good one. Riley Henderson and Ty Baxter had been on the list she made years ago with Nicole and Tash. So had Jere Lipton and he died a few months ago when his car careened off the road into a canyon and burst into flames. He was burned beyond recognition.

  She would have never remembered whom she selected—except Matt Dianetti—if Nicole hadn’t sent a card the past five years on the anniversary of the night the girls compiled the lists to remind her. Nicole never wrote personal notes or gave details on her life and she didn’t include a return address. Jac had no idea where she was or what she was doing. In fact, she hadn’t seen her since that night long ago.

  Jac knew exactly where Tash, the other member of the trio, was right now. Valhalla Memory Gardens. She died in a car crash two years ago in Colorado.

  Stu and Hal roused her from her memories, bidding her goodbye and loping off to work. Jac lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave. It was time to dig up the box she and the other girls buried years ago. Slipping on her sunglasses, she swiped her car keys from the counter and jogged outside.

  Ten minutes later, Jac crept by the charred remains of Nicole’s house on North Monroe. She remembered hearing that Nicole’s mother and stepfather died in the fire. Overgrown weeds obscured the blackened structure. Her head twisted around. Had the neighborhood always been this rundown? Maybe that’s why her parents hadn’t been keen on her visiting Nicole.

  She shivered and motored past the place that held bittersweet teenage memories. Navigating the narrow roads, she slowed in front of the park where she’d walked with her two friends all those years ago. She squinted past the sign and almost didn’t recognize it to be the same place with all the colorful new playground equipment.

  She eased to the curb and shut off the engine. She grabbed a shovel from the Jeep, her eyes roving the area. Two children chased a large plastic ball while another swayed back and forth on a swing. A dog’s high-pitched bark mingled with a distant siren’s faint wail. A gentle wind stirred, adding a chilly nip to the early October day.

  Jac carried the newly purchased Wal-Mart shovel to a picnic table. The girls hid the box close to the table and used a large rock to mark the spot. They wanted to bury it by the small copse of trees but roots made digging deep impossible. Despite the renovations, Jac located the rock easily and bent to shove it aside.

  The rock didn’t budge.

  A memory of all three girls pitching in to lift it flashed through her mind. Plopping on the ground, she positioned her feet against the stone and used her thigh muscles to power her legs. She kept in shape; she should be able to move it herself. The boulder stayed put but Jac’s butt skidded backwards. “Humpf.” She stood and brushed the grass stain off her backside with clipped strokes.

  Tapping her fingers against the picnic table, she pondered how to move the stubborn obstacle. She walked back to the rock and using all her muscles, she lifted one side and jumped back as it tumbled end over end. Proud, she looked around only to discover her audience consisted of a lone squirrel chewing on an acorn. Grabbing the shovel, she jammed it into the soft dirt and began digging. She hit the box almost instantly. She would have sworn they buried it much deeper. Kneeling down, she reached inside and hauled out the container. She brushed dirt from the top, then hesitated. She distinctly remembered sealing it with a combination lock but it was no longer attached. Someone had previously opened the box.

  After refilling the hole—the rock was staying right where it was—she tucked the package beneath her arm, grabbed the shovel and headed to the Jeep. She replaced the tool in the back and climbed inside the driver’s seat, balancing the box on the console. She struggled with the rusted latch until it finally gave. Reachi
ng inside, she withdrew the contract the girls signed, an envelope stapled to the top. The contract stipulated that the first to sleep with a man on their own list won the prize: thirty dollars, ten from each girl. She chuckled, remembering it being a lot of money at the time. She flipped the letter over and frowned. The envelope had been ripped open, the money missing. Did Nicole or maybe even Tash dig up the box and take the money? No one else knew about it—at least she didn’t think they did.

  The girls had been extra careful when burying the box, using only moonlight for their clandestine operation. She hadn’t told a soul except her assistant, Darlene. But they had been in California at the time and she didn’t reveal where they buried it, just that it was in a park.

  Poking her hand back inside, she pulled out her own list. Funny, she could barely remember Ty Baxter. Next she extracted Tash’s list. Smiling, she traced the note, not realizing she was crying until a tear dripped on the paper, smearing the ink. Wiping her face with her fingertips, she started to replace the list but choice number four caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat. And another. Tash picked actor Heath Williams. He was killed in a jet ski accident a few years ago.

  Stomach churning and hands shaking, she removed the last sheet: Nicole’s list. At number five was actor Marco Holden. All the blood in Jac’s veins ran ice cold. Marco Holden went swimming in his pool while intoxicated and drowned.

  She replaced the items and pressed the lid shut. Settling the box on the seat, she started the engine, nausea pounding in her gut. She needed to find out about Caleb Flinn and the other men Tash and Nicole selected. She wouldn’t be able to get much done in her office with all the interruptions. Shifting to drive, she headed home.

  Four

  By six o’clock that evening, Jac discovered everything she needed to know. Between hours on the internet, phone calls to newspapers and colleges across the country, even her old high school, she tracked down info on the names on the three lists. What she found out frightened her to the core. Fourteen men dead, all by apparent accidents or random acts of violence.