Page 70 of The Mastermind

“Thank you.” I was about to sit down when a door opened.

“I’m ready for you now. Come on in.” Tim stood in the doorway and gestured for me to enter. He was bald and wore a button-down shirt that hugged his round tummy.

“Thank you for seeing me.” I folded myself into the wooden chair in front of his desk.

“You’re welcome.” He dropped into his leather chair and eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t look like you need a room and board tonight. How can I help you?”

“No, I don’t need that kind of help.” I glanced down at my gray slacks and my black Salvatore Ferragamo T-shirt. “I’m working for a newspaper in Rhode Island, and we’re working on an article about campus safety. During my research, I came across a police report about a stabbing near Yale University. Please don’t ask me how I got the report because I can’t and won’t tell you. Just as I won’t repeat anything you tell me today.” I slid over an old picture of the dead man who had attacked me. “I know this picture is old, but do you recognize him?”

Tim glanced at it and sighed. “I remember Roger. We stayed at this shelter. He’d lost his job and didn’t have any family. Somewhere along the way, he lost hope. It was a day-to-day existence for him. Most people fall into depression when they can’t seem to get a break, you know? I’ve been there, so I understand. It takes a lot to hang on to hope.” He stared at the picture, and his eyes softened. “We do our best here with the funds and donations we get, but it takes a lot more money and resources to give these guys the push they need.”

“I understand.” I slid over another picture, one of a young Brian. “How about this man? Do you recognize him?”

Tim’s mouth dropped open, and he flicked a curious look at me. “Who are you?”

“I’m not the cops. Like I said, I’m doing a special investigation into crimes around the campus. You see, the kid—the one who got stabbed—finally told his parents about the incident. The parents hired me to get the truth, fearing their son had left out some of the details. They just wanted to be sure he wasn’t into drugs or something illegal that got him attacked. You know how parents are. You’re not in trouble, and neither am I.”

I didn’t even blink as I fabricated a fake story to get the truth.

“I remember him.” Tim pressed his lips into a thin mine. “I don’t know his name, though. He and a woman approached me and Roger in the streets. We’d been panhandling, hoping to get a few bucks for lunch. They pulled up in their Mercedes and told us to meet them in the alley down the street. When we got there, they promised us each two thousand dollars in cash to kill a young man. They didn’t show a picture of him, just asked if we’d do it. If we agreed, they’d give us a thousand upfront. Once the deed was done, we’d get the rest.” He pushed the photo back to me and swallowed.

I gripped the photo, wanting to shred it.

“I thought it was a scam,” Tim said. “I didn’t take the money. I was homeless, but I was trying to get back on my feet, taking classes at night and panhandling whenever I could to help feed myself. The situation felt off. I told Roger not to do it. Then they left.”

“They just left?”

Tim nodded. “But I saw Roger talking to them the next day on a nearby street. When he returned, he told me I should meet him on some street the following evening. I didn’t pay attention to him because I had classes the following day and training for a job that night.”

Tim was telling me the truth. That detail had been verified by my PI.

“When I heard what had happened to Roger, I was scared. He went after the kid. From that day on, I avoided the streets and ate whenever I could at the shelter. I didn’t want to see those people again. I didn’t want the police to question me, either. I continued my classes and got a job a month later.”

On my phone, I searched the internet for Mallory’s picture. My stepmother had several social media accounts, showing off her beauty secrets and luncheons with her wealthy friends. It wasn’t that hard to find current pictures, but it took a while to locate images from over a decade ago.

“Was this the woman you saw?”

Tim eyed the picture. “I’m not sure. She was wearing dark glasses, and her hair was red, not blonde.”

She could have worn a wig to disguise herself, but I didn’t need Tim’s confirmation because he’d already confirmed that Brian had hired Roger.

I rose to my feet and thanked him. “I’m glad that you got yourself out of the rut. Thank you for choosing not to accept that awful offer.”

“You’re welcome.” He offered me his card in case I had other questions.

I got all the information I needed today. I hadn’t expected my stepmother to be part of the murder-for-hire plot, but I wasn’t surprised.

Before I left, I slipped some bills into the donation box at the front desk and set a reminder to send a check to the shelter as an anonymous donor.

As I headed back to Providence, I realized if Tim had accepted the job, I would’ve died that day. I barely survived fighting off one man. How could I have fought off two men? I had thought it was just a random robbery.

After the hospital had discharged me, I signed up for martial arts classes. I didn’t know when I’d be attacked again, but I made sure I could defend myself better. My determination had earned me a black belt, but I continued to train after that. It helped me stay focused. Experiences taught lessons, and that was a life lesson for me.

There wasn’t much I could do about what had happened. The event had occurred a long time ago, but knowing that my stepmother and stepbrother had hired someone to kill me, set my anger on fire. They didn’t just hate me. They wanted me dead.

What were they planning now?

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

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