Harbour Falls

by S. R. Grey

  “Adam,” I huffed, “he’s not my new pal. He’s just trying to help me—”

  “With the case,” Adam finished, sounding angry. Suddenly his hand was at my chin, urging me to meet his stormy, irate eyes. “Madeleine, you better not be planning on returning to that bar.”

  I shifted in my seat, uneasy. “If a picture turns up, I want to see it,” I protested.

  The storm in Adam’s eyes lingered but then abated. “You really want to know who’s in that picture with Chelsea, don’t you?” he laughed.

  “I do.” I searched his face. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “I’m really not.” He sighed, dropping his hand from my chin. “Even if a picture like that exists—and I have my doubts—I certainly don’t believe it has anything to do with whatever happened to Chelsea.” He ran his hand over his face. “It was probably some random Harbourtown girl that Chelsea kissed in order to… What did you say before? Get free drinks all week?”

  I nodded. “Maybe you’re right, but…”

  “Just let it go,” Adam warned. “Stay away from that place. If you keep going there, you will end up in hot water, especially if O’Brien is back to frequenting the place.”

  That much was true. If Jimmy did locate the photo, I’d have to make sure J.T. wasn’t around when I picked it up.

  “I’ll let it go,” I lied, even though it made me feel terrible to do so.

  Adam reached for my hand, and I slipped it into his grasp. He squeezed lightly, and we stayed like that—quietly lost in our own thoughts—the rest of the flight back. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I’d come here to investigate a cold case mystery and write a book using the facts I uncovered. But things had changed. I hadn’t planned on falling in love with the primary suspect. I also hadn’t planned on becoming friends with Helena and Trina—two other possible suspects.

  I no longer cared about writing a book based on the Harbour Falls Mystery. And I couldn’t help but wonder if Adam sensed that I’d had a change of heart. It was probably the reason why he so seldom asked for details. And part of the reason why, besides having fallen in love with me, he’d divulged so many of his own secrets.

  Maybe that had been his crafty plan from the start? Get close to me so that I’d never end up writing about the mystery. His mystery. My imaginative writer’s mind couldn’t help but wonder. But even if that were the case, it didn’t matter. He had a right to keep his past private. And even without Adam’s possible machinations, I was losing the desire to write about the people I’d come to care about.

  On the other hand, though, I did still desperately want to solve the mystery. For the exact same reasons that I didn’t want to write about it—I cared for these people. I wanted closure for them. And, more than anything, I wanted closure for Adam. He’d lived with this mystery hanging over his head far too long. It affected everything around him, including us. I wanted Adam to be able to move forward, without the question of what had happened to his ex-fiancée haunting his life. I wanted answers for him, for me…for all of us.

  Somewhere along the line, this had become intensely personal. It almost felt as if I was part of the case. And at that time, I didn’t know it, but I was about to become an integral player in my own right.

  Chapter 21

  Several days following the Boston trip, I found myself sitting alone at the kitchen table, absently stirring cereal that had become soggy fifteen minutes earlier. My mood that day? Dreary as the late October morning had proven to be, the circumstances as depressing as the heaviness in the atmosphere that the wet weather had wrought.

  Adam was away on business—again. In fact, after dropping me off at the cottage after we’d flown back the day of the shopping excursion, Adam had had to turn right around and fly back down to Boston. He was making tremendous progress in securing that lucrative deal with the client there, and that was good and all. But it was taking up a lot of his time, putting a crimp in the time we spent together and effectively stalling our relationship. Though it had been moving too fast initially, our physical relationship was at a standstill now. Apart from a few heated make-out sessions, we’d gone no further than the night he’d broken in, the night Julian had been sleeping upstairs. In fact, if I were to be honest, Adam seemed distracted. And I was having trouble discerning whether it was due to the stresses of his work or something else entirely. I planned to ask tonight though. Adam was returning to the island and had promised to be back in time for a late dinner.

  Which reminded me, I had yet to thaw out the eggplant Parmesan I’d made over the weekend. One of many, many culinary creations I’d whipped up over the past few days. Yep, I’d been cooking up a storm ever since Adam had not so subtly suggested I take a break from the case for a while. Just to clear your head, he’d said. I, however, sensed it had more to do with him wanting me to stay away from Billy’s than with his desire for me to be operating with a “clear” head.

  I let the spoon in my hand drop back into the cereal, a splash of milk the sole protest. Who was I fooling with these distractions? Had all the cooking helped? Nope. It sure hadn’t helped the other day. With the aroma of simmering tomatoes and garlic and herbs wafting through my cottage, I’d pored over the case files that day. Wishing for something to pop out at me, something I may have missed. I was trying harder than ever to figure out what could have happened to Chelsea Hannigan.

  The way she’d disappeared without a trace had me considering the possibility that maybe she’d just left town and started a new life somewhere far, far away from Harbour Falls. Had she wanted to do something like that, she certainly would have had the resources. Hell, she could have been setting things up and planning for months. I recalled how Adam had said to J.T. on the night of the attack that maybe she’d “just left.”

  But people like Chelsea didn’t just leave. Not when they were getting everything they wanted right where they were. And since she’d never been spotted anywhere, not even once, it seemed unlikely. All the national networks and publications had covered the story and still replayed the details on the anniversary of her disappearance. Chelsea Hannigan’s phenomenally gorgeous face had been made famous…or infamous, as it were. It would be next to impossible for someone so stunning to escape notice unless she’d dramatically altered her appearance. But I couldn’t imagine her doing that either. Chelsea’s looks had been her crowning glory, and it was doubtful she’d trade them away in order to start a new life somewhere else. Again, what purpose would it have served?

  That left only one other possibility: someone had murdered her. But who? And why?

  The list of potential suspects was long, as were the multitudes of motives.

  I tried not to dwell on it, but the fact remained that Adam had the most compelling reasons to want Chelsea out of the picture. I could just imagine her holding that illegal stock trade, and the threat of going to the SEC with what she knew, over him like a dagger ready to plunge at any second. I couldn’t fathom what that must have felt like for Adam to have only two options: One, obey Chelsea’s every whim, including staying with—and marrying—her. Or, two, leave her, thus giving her the opening to make good on her threat to go to the authorities with incriminating testimony against him. Then he could have lost everything and, if convicted, gone to prison. Yeah, great options, I thought bitterly.

  Despite such a strong motive for murder, I just didn’t feel in my heart that Adam had done anything to Chelsea. Maybe I was blinded by love, but that was what I believed.

  Besides, the list of suspects didn’t begin and end with Adam. Not by a long shot.

  Chelsea had led a wild and dangerous life, making numerous enemies along the way. Even Adam’s own sister despised the woman. I still wondered what had motivated Trina to send those threatening letters. Had she really been trying to frighten Chelsea into backing out of marrying Adam? And why had Adam intercepted them? Despite what he’d said, maybe he actually believed Trina had taken matters into her own hands and followed through
with those threats. In that case he surely wouldn’t have wanted those letters floating around, implicating his own sister.

  Then there was J.T. Had Chelsea met up with him that fateful night? Was that what she wanted Adam to tell her not to do? And since he’d not dissuaded her, what if she had met J.T. and something had gone wrong? J.T. O’Brien was volatile and unpredictable. I’d been on the receiving end of his temper, and it made me shudder to recall the rage alight in his eyes that night at the café. And just days ago, he’d threatened Jimmy. It seemed J.T. was a walking time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Yeah, when it came to Chelsea’s disappearance, a crime of passion could not be ruled out.

  And, of course, there was also Jennifer Weston—another suspect. She certainly had her own demons and anger issues. That fact had been made clear throughout almost all of my limited interactions with her, particularly on the most recent ferry ride I’d shared with her. Apart from her veiled threats, it made me wary to know she was aware of private things pertaining to Adam.

  Someone had told her, and based on her angry reaction that day on the ferry, I was fairly sure it had not been Chelsea. But someone had hinted at Adam’s sexual prowess in the bedroom. Who would know something like that? Someone who’d been with him sexually…or someone who’d known someone who had been intimate with Adam?

  Jennifer had known about my high school crush on Adam, and there was only one person I’d ever divulged that information to: Ami Dubois-Hensley. Maybe she was the source of Jennifer’s information. But did that mean…God, no! My stomach churned at the thought of Ami ever having been with Adam. Though she certainly fit the bill of what his “type” had been prior to meeting me. Ami was beautiful, and she had long, blonde hair.

  Hmmm, maybe he had slept with her. But Ami had all those mental issues, and I just couldn’t see Adam exploiting them by seducing her. Not to mention she was married. And she was his employee, which brought up a whole host of other potential problems. After evading an insider trading charge, surely a sexual harassment suit was the last thing Adam would have wanted.

  No, if Ami had been the one to tell Jennifer those things, then she had heard them from someone else. I felt certain of this, but I wondered who would have shared that kind of information with Ami Hensley.

  And how bizarre was it that she’d gone out to LA to contact my agent…and Julian? Telling them I was in danger here on the island. From what? From whom? Was Ami really trying to protect me? How much did she know? Did she have knowledge of what had happened to Chelsea Hannigan?

  Good Lord! This whole thing was so confusing that a part of me wished something would surface to prove Chelsea had been the victim of some random stranger passing through town. But no, that wasn’t going to happen. There were too many suspects right here. And they all had motives.

  And then there was the mystery blonde, the woman kissing Chelsea in the picture. She never came forward, so the likelihood she held some kind of pertinent—and probably damning—information was very high. I needed to find her so I could question her. She had to know something, especially if she’d known Chelsea, well, intimately. But Jimmy hadn’t recognized her as someone who frequented the bar. He said she’d been there only a few times, and always with Ms. Hannigan. Who was she?

  A blonde mystery woman…

  For a fleeting moment, I considered Helena. But how crazy and unlikely would that be? She was my friend now, and why would someone wishing to remain anonymous be so forthcoming with so much information? Almost a little too forthcoming, a little voice whispered in my head. And Helena’s alibi was less than ironclad. But Helena and Chelsea? Did I really want to start down that path? It was just too outlandish. She’d never do something like that to Adam. And she’d definitely not hurt Nate; she clearly loved him too much.

  Adam was probably correct—the mystery blonde would turn out to be just some random Harbourtown resident Chelsea had hooked up with. Maybe.

  I still felt the picture held the key to solving this whole thing. Adam had dismissed its significance, but I wasn’t so convinced it was useless. Whoever was in that photograph had miraculously managed to avoid suspicion for far too long. And as far as I was concerned, it was up to me to make sure that no longer remained the case. Yeah, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that damn picture.

  And here I was again, rehashing the facts as I knew them in my head. Clearly it was time for a diversion. I dumped my cereal down the disposal, gave it a whirl, and put my bowl in the sink. Next I took the eggplant Parmesan out of the freezer and plopped it onto the counter with a resounding thud. There.

  Even though it was dreary out, the rain had stopped, and the temperature was mild. I should get out and enjoy the day, I thought. Sitting around here was just making me crazy, and for the love of God, I was sick and tired of cooking. Cooking hadn’t helped, but maybe a little exploration here on the island would “clear” my head.

  I had yet to check out the heavily forested, mostly impassable, east side of the island. The car would be useless, but hiking on a mild October afternoon like this one sounded like a welcome respite. So I laced up my hiking boots, smoothed out my jeans, and tied a light jacket around my waist in case the thin sweater I had on proved inadequate.

  After grabbing a bottle of cold water out of the fridge, I left the cottage and started north. This time I stayed off the trails and stuck to the paved main road. It was the most direct route anyway, and I soon reached the western boundary of Adam’s property.

  In Adam’s absence Max was spending time patrolling up here, just generally keeping an eye on things. I’d seen him drive by my cottage in his dark green Hummer a number of times over the past several days. I figured Adam was behind all the surveillance. It seemed silly and overdone to me, because the few residents who were on the island were Adam’s trusted friends. But I supposed it was the individuals who traveled back and forth on the ferry, and their possible passengers, he was distrustful of.

  I continued along the edge of the road as it curved past Adam’s driveway. I now knew the long, winding lane—wider now that the undergrowth had died out in the changing season—split off in two directions a few hundred yards ahead. One lane led to Adam’s house and the other to a set of garages where his other vehicles—more sports cars and a black Range Rover that was mainly used in the winter—were kept.

  I stopped, considering if I should head up the driveway and see if Max was around. Adam would surely want him to know that I was heading into the wilderness on the east side of the island. But then he may discourage me from going or, worse yet, go with me. I certainly did not require a babysitter. Besides, I had my cell in my pocket, and Max’s number was still in my contacts. I’d call him if I needed him. So I resumed walking, believing everything would be fine.

  A mile from the driveway, there was a gravel turnoff. I recalled it to be the one leading back to the runway and hangar on the far eastern edge of Adam’s compound. I smiled as I recalled my first date with Adam, the experience with the strawberries and champagne. How I longed to re-create that experience, this time with no interruptions.

  Lost in my lust-muddled thoughts, I tripped at the point where the pavement, and consequently the main road, ended abruptly. I glanced around. At last I’d reached the east side of the island. And it sure was desolate.

  Before me, a nearly impassable access road—really just a widened trail—snaked deeper into the forest of ancient oak and thick pine. From my research I knew the access road meandered through the woods in a southerly direction, eventually coming out near the lighthouse area.

  I took a few cautious steps, navigating the uneven terrain and the many muddy puddles. The access road was in worse shape than I’d anticipated, rutted and overgrown with wiry, coiled tangles of skeletal-looking branches. Towering pine trees grew in densely packed clusters on either side of the path, creating an overhead canopy that made the overcast day appear even darker. But I forged ahead, keeping safely to the middle. Dried leaves, clinging
lifelessly to the trees, rustled all around me. I heard the scurrying of animals and the occasional bird chirp, but the forest was much too thick to actually catch sight of any of the island fauna.

  After traveling what I estimated to be about two miles, the woods quieted. No more rustling leaves, no scurrying animals, no more chirping birds. It was actually kind of creepy, and I started to wish I’d stopped, after all, to let Max know where I was heading. Breathing in deeply, the smell of rotting leaves particularly pungent now, I fished out my cell phone to reassure myself Max was only a phone call away. But a sick feeling of dread passed through me when I saw I had no signal over here on this side of the island. Stupid for not checking first, I thought. I knew if I continued, I’d eventually reach the cliffs above the lighthouse. Recalling how Adam had told me there were hidden caves in the wall of cliffs, I shuddered. Uh, definitely not going down there all alone.

  Although there was plenty of daylight left, I’d had enough. It was too quiet and devoid of life here. And I had no cell service. Worse yet I was starting to get a bad feeling. I stopped, took a swig of water to calm my nerves, and turned around.

  I began to walk quickly but halted when I heard a weird clang noise, like metal hitting metal. What is that? Somewhere off to my right, coming from behind a cluster of particularly dense pine, it sounded again. Clang! And then a few seconds later, Thunk! Thunk! This time it sounded like something metal pounding at the ground. What the…?

  Besides Max, Nate was the only other person who was supposed to be on the island today. Helena was still in Boston. But why would Max or Nate be over here in the deep woods on this side of the island?

  Against my better judgment, I crept to the edge of the rutted road and crouched down at the treeline, the cool smell of pine filling my nose, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the source behind the steady, rhythmic noises that had yet to abate.

  What I saw made my hand fly to my mouth to stifle a gasp. Oh God! Several yards away, there was a man—in muddied jeans and a dark hoodie— and he appeared to be burying something. He was just about finished with his task, patting down the dirt neatly to obscure the digging he had done. Clutching my water bottle tightly, my hands grew sweaty, because I recognized this person. Though his face was mostly obscured, I knew, without a doubt, that the man patting down the dirt was J.T. O’Brien. And, hell, if I didn’t need to get out of here—fast.