Page 66 of Enigma
The paper was cream-colored and expensive-looking. Her name was written in black ink with what looked like a fountain pen. The script was neat, feminine, and cursive.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?” Jason stepped close enough that she could feel his body heat.
Olive frowned and traced the letters with her fingertip. “I’m not sure. Maybe. It looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”
She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of matching paper. The same elegant handwriting covered the page in neat lines.
Olive read aloud.
Olive,
You need to stay out of this. Nothing good will happen by continuing your investigation. You’re putting your life on the line for no reason, chasing answers that will only bring you pain.
The past is buried for a reason. Some truths are too dangerous to uncover, and some secrets are kept in order to protect the people we love.
Walk away. Go back to your life in Indiana. Find happiness with someone who can give you the future you deserve.
I’m glad you didn’t die that night. You were spared—for a reason. Now keep yourself safe.
~Someone who cares about you
Olive’s hands shook as she finished reading. She stared at the words, her mind racing.
“Do you think . . .” Jason’s voice was gentle. “Do you think your mother wrote this?”
“I don’t know.” Olive’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The handwriting looks like it could be hers, but it’s been eight years. People’s handwriting can change.”
“Who else would say something like this?”
Olive folded the letter carefully, her thoughts churning as she shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“The person who wrote this cares about you,” Jason pointed out. “It sounds like she’s trying to protect you.”
“Or she’s trying to scare me off because I’m getting too close to the truth.” Olive shook her head again, feeling an ache begin to form at her temples. “If my mom is alive, I can’t believe she’d let me think she was dead for eight years just to protect me. No mother would do that to her child.”
Jason’s eyes softened. “Unless she thought it was the only way to keep you alive.”
Olive couldn’t argue with his statement—yet she didn’t want to acknowledge that either.
Olive glanced at her childhood home again, trying to reconcile the woman who had taught her to arrange flowers and make homemade bread and fix her hair with someone capable of such elaborate deception.
“If this is from her, then she’s been watching me,” Olive finally said. “She knows about my investigation, knows I’m in Texas. She might even know about you, about us.”
Jason frowned before saying, “Which means we need to be even more careful. Because if your mother is Sarah Mitchell, then we’re caught in the middle of something much bigger than we realized.”
As they started back down the stairs, Olive clutched the letter in her hands, wondering if she’d just received a warning from a loving mother or a threat from a dangerous criminal.
Jason pulled away from the curb, checking his mirrors as he did so.
Olive checked her mirror also.
The neighborhood was quiet—a few kids riding bikes in the distance, an elderly man walking his dog.
It was hard for her to believe she’d lived here at one time. That she’d been happy. That her family—though imperfect—had felt whole.
She didn’t often stop to think about how her past had shaped her into who she was today, but it had. She’d felt so alone. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she kept people at arm’s distance.
Maybe part of her feared ever getting close to someone again.
