Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“It will not come to that. No one else is going to die.”
“How much to hire you?”
“It’s five hundred dollars for the retainer and forty dollars an hour at my rate, but don’t worry about the bill. Pay what you can afford, Miss de Souza. It’s more important that we catch this guy.”
We talked a little more, then I left, making him take the thousand on the way out. It was Jeremy’s money. Let it all go to something good.
It was a long drive back home to Bedlam. Made longer by the grim thoughts spinning in my head.
My first stop was to the accounting firm. The trip was quick. They never heard of the company AgriProspects. If Cavendish did business with them, he did it on his own time. With that settled, I set off for the youth centers, and arrived as volunteers began setting up for the after-school programs.
I went to the Eagle Track Center first and came away empty. My next stop was the Westchester Youth Center.
I walked up to the first official-looking person I saw. A woman in a green vest and smile lines around her mouth stood behind the desk, marking things on her clipboard.
“Excuse me.”
She faced me and I read Grace on her name tag.
“Hello. Are you alright?”
“I am, thank you.” For a second I forgot how frightening I was to look at. “My name is Emily. I was wondering if you could tell me if a volunteer used to work here, and if he did, could you give me his contact information?”
“What is this about?”
“It’s um— I—” I dropped my head, lips trembling. “My half brother used to live in Bedlam with our father and his mother. Anyway, we didn’t grow up together, but after he moved out, he’d told me about the program and his mentor, Sam Cavanaugh, who got him through a hard time and helped him turn his life around.
“My brother, he died,” I cried. “I know it would’ve meant a lot to him if Sam could be at the funeral. I’ve been trying to find him, so I can send him the details. Can you help me?”
“Oh, sweetie.” She clutched her chest. “I’m so sorry for your loss, and I’m afraid I have more bad news. I believe the man you’re looking for is Scott Cavendish. He was one of our mentors but he passed a few weeks ago. Murdered.”
“What? That’s horrible.” I was becoming quite the actress.
“It was terrible. And to go in that way.” She shook herself. “But I shouldn’t lay more grief on you.”
“No, it’s okay. At least now I know why I couldn’t find him.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. “I don’t know if you have this, but is it possible I could have a photo of them? Activities they did together or something like that? I’d like to put it in the slideshow of his life.”
“Of course.”
Grace set down her clipboard and disappeared behind the desk. She popped up holding a box of folders.
“What was your brother’s name?”
“David Holstead.”
Her brows scrunched. “Holstead? I don’t recognize that name. Are you sure he was with our program?”
“I’m sure. I got Mr. Cavendish’s name wrong, but I do remember him saying Westchester Youth Center.”
“Hmm. Well, we do get children who come after school for a snack and quiet place to do homework. It’s possible your brother wasn’t with us officially, but became close with Scott.” She flipped through the folders and stopped at one with a purple tab. S. Cavendish scrawled on the label.
“Scott was only with us for a year, but— Ah. There we go.” She plucked a photo from the file. “Here’s a picture of Scott with the kids after a basketball game. Our kids and a few from the neighborhood came out. Do you see your brother?”
I bumped my hip on the desk, leaning in to see.
The Scott Cavendish as I didn’t know him threw his head back mid-laugh, arms around two tall kids. Around them there were about a dozen more—eight of them rocking shirts with the center logo.
Blake Jensen, are you here?
“He’s there,” I said. “Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I wish I could do more.”
I clutched the photo, making fast for the exit like she might change her mind. In the car, I fought to pay attention to the road. Back and forth my gaze ping-ponged to the older teenagers in the photos. This was taken a few years ago, so Cavendish’s protégé had to be at Bedlam University now.
I drove up to Jeremy’s gate, parked, and scrutinized the photo. None of the faces stood out to me, but it was a group shot of people looking this way, that way, pulling faces, or covering her eyes from the sun in one girl’s case. At the very least, I had the vague features of four guys—one blond, two brunette, and one green. I definitely wouldn’t miss the last next time he crossed my path.