Page 31 of Simon Says

“Like the fact that your mother wrote some letters before her death.”

Her heartbeat thundered as an invisible fist clenched around her throat, making speech difficult. “Letters? To who?”

“Some to me.”

“Why would she write you letters when you were always with her?”

Rather than answer that, he said, “And some to God.”

Dakota frowned. Had her mother written them out of suffering? Out of grief? Breathing seemed impossible. “I want to see them.”

“I destroyed them,” he said. And then, calculating, “But a few were to you. And I still have them.”

Her body and mind went blank. “No.”

“Yes. You see, it seems Joan was struggling with a lot of decisions, especially those decisions that concerned you.”

Tears rushed to Dakota’s eyes, but her voice sounded steady enough when she asked, “You read them?”

“Of course. As her husband, I had every right to know her secrets, and her state of mind.”

Dakota’s eyes closed, forcing the tears to trickle down her cheeks. She dashed them away. Barnaby took great pleasure in tormenting her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he succeeded. “You’re just dying to tell me what they said, so go ahead.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong. I have no intention of telling you anything.”

Her eyes snapped open again. If Barnaby didn’t want to tell her the contents of the letters, that could only mean one thing—they hadn’t all been hateful. If they were, he’d have already told her. He’d have relished telling her.

Unless he’d just found them.

Dakota calmed herself, thinking through her next few questions. “Funny that you’ve never mentioned any letters before. Why is that?”

“I saw no point in mentioning them…until now.”

“Or maybe you just decided to make this up, and that’s why you haven’t mentioned them.”

“It matters little to me what you believe, Dakota.”

Damn it. “How long have you supposedly known about them?”

“I found them right after Joan’s death. The silly woman had them hidden.”

Now Dakota knew he lied, and told him so. “Get real, Barnaby. Mom was in a coma. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. How would she have hidden anything?”

“Obviously, she wrote them before she got so badly hurt.”

But why? Why would her mother do such a thing? “I don’t believe you. You’re making it up.”

“She hid them in the oddest place,” he said, ignoring her accusation. “All the photos of you had been stored in a drawer, if you’ll recall. Joan didn’t want daily reminders of the daughter who had disappointed her so badly. But after her death, I gathered the photos to send to you.” He paused for effect. “That’s when I found the letters hidden behind one of your framed photographs. It was a high school picture, I believe.”

Disbelief, excitement, and hope brought Dakota to her feet. A memory danced through her mind—her mother hugging her, her mother smiling.

Her mother trying to protect her from things Dakota had never even imagined.

She again heard her mother’s words as they sat together on the sofa. “Dakota, listen to me. There are too many times when you’re home alone while I’m at work. We never know what might happen, so I’ve put some emergency money behind your photo.” Her mother showed her five one-hundred-dollar bills neatly stashed within the frame, behind the photo.

She’d been so young and innocent then, she’d laughed at her mother. “What would I need with that much money?”

Another smile, this one tinged with sadness. “I don’t ever want you to feel helpless. We don’t have any family to turn to, and sometimes things happen. If I was in a wreck, or I got hurt some other way—”

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