If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [56]
“Shit!” He ran out the front door, but Ricky had already backed out. Sean was parked down the street to stay out of sight, and he wouldn’t be able to catch up. Especially since his leg still ached, and his short sprint out of the house sent searing pain up his nerves.
Sean limped back inside, scratching the outside of the stitches through his jeans. He put the picture back on the shelf, angry with himself. He’d known Ricky didn’t want to talk to him; the kid had taken the first opportunity to bolt.
Sean had a hundred questions for the kid, starting with the coincidence that the day Ricky set fire to the lodge and Lucy found a dead woman, Jimmy Benson called in sick and died in an alleged car accident.
Sean’s instincts drummed home that Ricky was in danger, but he didn’t know where to look for him. He glanced around the house. At least he had a place to start.
Sean started in Ricky’s room and quickly learned that he was a fairly tidy kid. His closet was packed to the ceiling with winter gear, books, shoes—some obviously too small for a teenager—and junk. His desk was cluttered, telling Sean he spent time there. He opened a letter from the College Board and was mildly surprised that Ricky had high SAT scores—nearly as high as Sean’s. He flipped through some old papers, all A’s, a couple of B’s. Good student, and there were letters from two colleges outside New York State that had sent him information about early enrollment.
There was no laptop or desktop computer in his room. Did he have one in his backpack or car? Sean searched the desk. Every drawer was cluttered—magazines, pens, junk. Except the only thing in the bottom drawer was a baby-blue box.
Sean hesitated only a moment before he opened the box. Inside were letters in flowery handwriting, and for a split second he thought they were love letters.
And in one sense, they were. From a mother to her son.
Sean felt uncomfortable reading the personal letters, all dated more than five years ago. But he quickly got the sense of why Ricky’s mom had written them.
She had known she was dying.
When Ricky was eight, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She wrote a letter every couple of months to her son. First, she had surgery. Later, the cancer returned and she started chemotherapy, but stopped after only one treatment. The tone of the last few letters changed dramatically.
The last one was dated December 2, five years ago.
Dearest Ricky,
I visited your father today. I know you will be angry. I’m sorry it has to be this way, more than anything I want to see you grow up, go to college, find a girl to love, raise a family. You are my bright light as I wait for my Lord to take me.
My time is coming. When you get this I will be gone. I love you more than anything on earth, and I will do everything to protect you. That is why I had to see your father.
I never lied to you about your dad. People say horrid things about him. Many of them are true. But he never hurt me, not once, and he loves us. With me, he was gentle and kind and sweet. Most people never saw that side of him. Forgiveness is not easy, harder I suspect for a twelve-year-old man. But I forgave your dad. I hope, someday, you can do the same.
My brother will be your legal guardian. I’ve already filled out the paperwork and your father signed it. Jimmy is a good man, loyal and trustworthy. He will do everything to protect you. Anything to keep you away from the Swains.
Your father told the monster that he would destroy her if anyone hurt you. He always said he had a card to play if he had to, and for you and you alone, he’s willing to use it. You need to understand what this means. If your father is forced to reveal the evidence he has hidden all these years, the monster will be locked up for life, but your father will be