Page 22 of Little Hidden Fears

“Dominic made his own choice,” Foley said. “You may have been there when it happened, which was unfortunate, but it was still his decision.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?”

“Because you have a heart.”

“I may have pushed him too hard, overwhelmed him during our conversation.”

“You didn’t hold the gun to his head. He made that decision all on his own.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we found a letter on the nightstand in his bedroom,” Whitlock said. “It was addressed to his daughter. He planned to take his own life today, and whether you were there or not, I’m inclined to believe it wouldn’t have made a difference. His mind was made up.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Foley said. “The fact you were there may have put it off for a couple of hours, but even if you figured out what he was planning, I doubt you could have stopped him.”

Hearing this information should have made me feel better.

It didn’t.

“What did the letter say?” I asked.

“It was short,” Foley said. “He wanted his daughter to know he loved her. He said not to be sad because he was in heaven, taking care of her mother. And then he mentioned something about the two of them watching over her for the rest of her life.”

I huffed an irritated, “Is that supposed to make her feel better about what he did?”

In this instance, it seemed like a selfish act, plain and simple.

She was grieving the death of her mother, and he doubled down on that grief by committing suicide.

Foley and Whitlock exchanged worrisome glances.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You’re ... uhh, well, angry, which is understandable,” Foley said. “You’ve had one heck of a day. If you want to wait to talk about your visit with Dominic, we can, but maybe we should regroup tomorrow, talk about it then.”

Foley went quiet, waiting for my response.

He was right.

I was heated.

The tension inside me was rising like magma about to erupt.

I finished the last of my tea, setting the cup on the side table.

While I stewed on my thoughts, Giovanni entered the room, addressing the men as he said, “Can I offer you both a drink?”

“I’d love one, but I’m still on the clock,” Foley said.

Whitlock laughed. “After what we’ve been through today, I say we toss the clock out the window.”

“Great idea,” Giovanni said. “What can I get for you?”

“Bourbon on the rocks, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Giovanni nodded and turned toward Foley. “And you?”

Foley huffed a long sigh, as if wrestling with his decision. “I’ll have the same, I guess. Why not?”

Giovanni scooped up my empty mug and left the room, returning a minute later with three bourbons and a glass of sparkling wine. He handed the glass of bubbles to me, planting a kiss on my forehead as he said, “A bit of bubbly might do your stomach some good.”

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