by Grey, S. R.
Slipping into the backseat, Adam draped his arm around my shoulders and asked cautiously, “Everything go OK today?”
“Everything was fine,” I replied, meeting his deep blue eyes, filled with concern as he searched my face. “Why do you ask?”
“Trina told me you ran into Lindsey.” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Maddy, I don’t want my past upsetting you.” He pulled me close, kissing the top of my head, and whispered, “You’re the only one for me. You know that, right?”
I tilted my head and leaned my cheek to his. “I know, Adam. And I’m fine.” And in that moment, I was fine. In fact, everything was fine.
If only it could have lasted.
Chapter 20
When we reached the small regional airport we’d flown into that morning, Adam went out to the tarmac to where the Gulfstream was waiting. While he checked on things for our flight back, I was left to my own devices in the hangar. Remembering that my cell was still on vibrate, since I’d not wanted my day with the girls to be interrupted, I fished the phone out of my bag and began scrolling through the texts.
There was a new one from Helena—sent just minutes ago—reiterating how glad she was that I had joined her and Trina for the shopping trip. Smiling, I shot a quick text back, assuring her that I’d had a great time as well.
With a smile still lingering in recollection of what a fun day we’d all had, I checked voicemail. There was a short message from my dad, just asking me to call him when I had some free time. Nothing urgent. So far, so good.
But then I began to listen to a voicemail from Jimmy.
With a shaky voice, he began with, “Maddy, hey it’s me, Jimmy. From the bar.” Nervous laughter. “I ain’t found that picture yet, but I’m still lookin’. But I got some other info I think ’ya might wanna know. Call me, ’kay?”
He’d left the message at 11:20 this morning, probably during the start of his shift at Billy’s.
I touched the screen to replay the message, but then I heard Adam approaching. I hastily threw the cell back into my bag and spun to face him. He eyed my bag and hesitated, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “Everything all right?”
Feigning innocence I replied, “Mm-hmm, I was checking messages. You just kind of startled me.”
“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound sorry in the least. His blue eyes were intense, trained on me. “Have any?” he asked curtly.
“Any what?”
“Messages, Maddy.” Impatience colored his tone.
“Oh,” I answered, hoping to appear nonchalant. “Yeah, actually, um, Helena texted, and my dad left a voicemail.”
Adam looked as if he didn’t entirely believe me, but just as he was opening his mouth to say something more, his own cell phone buzzed. Thank God. He raised the phone to his ear and began to talk.
I shifted and blew out a breath of air. Adam glanced at me, so I pointed to the restrooms in the far corner of the hangar to let him know that was where I’d be. He nodded and then redirected his attention back to whomever he was speaking to on the phone. Hurriedly I raced to the ladies’ room. Not because I had to go. I just needed a private place from which to call Jimmy back.
The ladies’ room was sparse and industrial, one stall, a metal wash basin with a plastic soap dispenser attached to the wall, and a hand dryer that looked as if it had seen better days. Standing just inside the door, I dug my cell phone back out of my bag. But then I paused. The bathroom door, made of some kind of metal, seemed kind of thin and flimsy. Someone standing on the other side would surely hear anything I said. To prevent that very thing from happening I stepped over to the basin and turned the water on full blast. In such a small space, the water echoed noisily off all the metal surfaces.
With a hand over one ear so I could hear Jimmy and not the water torrent, I raised my phone to my other ear, calling Jimmy in the process. “Hey, Maddy,” he said, answering on the first ring.
“Jimmy,” I said softly, hoping he could hear me over all the noise. “I only have a minute. What’s this info you have for me?”
Jimmy laughed. “I can barely hear ’ya. Where ’ya callin’ from? A damn rain forest?”
“Ha-ha,” I replied. I didn’t have time for jokes, so I hurried him along. “Just tell me why you called. I’m really in a hurry.”
“Sure thing.” Jimmy’s voice grew serious. “Thought ’ya might be interested to hear your friend was here at Billy’s last night.”
“Huh? What friend?” For a minute my heart stopped, thinking it’d been Chelsea.
But then he said, “That dude you was askin’ about.” He sounded exasperated. “He was at the bar. First time I’ve seen ’im here since before that girl disappeared.”
Well, this was certainly a curious development. His first day out of rehab and J.T. O’Brien shows up at a bar. And not just any bar but Billy’s.
“Was he drinking?” I asked.
“Maddy, the dude was at a bar. What do ’ya think he was doin’?” Jimmy scoffed. “Thought you might also wanna know he spent some time with Zeb too.” He didn’t come right out and say it, but I knew he was trying to tell me J.T. had bought drugs.
Looks like Adam was right; rehab doesn’t stick for J.T.
“By the way that guy is a real dick,” Jimmy added, almost as an afterthought, but with a suddenly venomous edge to his voice.
“Why?” I asked. “What happened?”
“I had to shut the dude off. Wasn’t holdin’ his liquor. At all. He was fallin’ off the stool, real pathetic-like. So I tell him, ‘That’s it, bud. You’re done for the night.’” Jimmy lowered his voice. “Dude didn’t like that one bit. Told me I’d better watch my back. He sounded pretty serious, if ’ya ask me.”
Interesting. Since J.T. had been messed up, I probably would have told Jimmy it was just an empty threat and not to worry. But after experiencing an enraged J.T. firsthand at the café, I wasn’t so sure. J.T. O’Brien had a dark side and was capable of violence. But I didn’t know where J.T. drew the line. Or if he ever even did.
“Did he say anything else?” I asked.
“Nah, but that was enough. He had a look in his eyes”—I knew that look all too well—“Dude just gave me the creeps, that’s all.”
The bathroom doorknob began to jiggle. Damn, it had to be Adam.
Desperate to wrap things up, I whispered, “Jimmy, I gotta go.”
“Cool,’ he said, unperturbed. “I’ll call you if I ever find that picture.”
The doorknob jostled more urgently. “Thanks,” I said quickly and then added, “And Jimmy, please be careful.”
Jimmy was laughing and saying, “Sure thing, see ’ya around,” when I hit the end button.
Adam’s voice rang out from the other side of the closed door. “Maddy? Are you OK in there?”
I tossed the cell into my bag, crossed the small space, and flipped the lever to unlock the bathroom door. Instantly it flew open, and Adam, standing on the other side and not looking happy, eyed me up and down. “What’s going on? You’ve been in here for an awfully long time.”
“Uh,” I began. The water was still blasting away, making things look even more suspicious. Adam walked over to turn it off, and I followed him, saying, “Nothing is going on. I was just…washing my hands.”
Adam was no fool, and the look he gave me confirmed it. “Madeleine, the water’s been running for a good ten minutes. I could hear it outside the door.”
Our eyes met. “Can we just get out of here?” I asked, sighing. “We can talk about it on the flight back.”
He held my gaze and then relented. “Let’s go. But, Madeleine, you are going to tell me exactly what you’re up to. Is that clear?”
I reluctantly nodded, and Adam turned away. I walked behind him, keeping my eyes on
his broad shoulders, tension evident in every stride. Damn! He was not going to be pleased to find out I’d been corresponding with the bartender at Billy’s, especially now that J.T. O’Brien was back in the mix.
We boarded the plane in silence, no witty bantering in the cockpit this time.
Once we were airborne, Adam switched the controls over to autopilot and swiveled in his seat to face me. “So, what were you doing in the restroom back at the hangar?”
Here we go.
“Talking on the phone,” I replied, staring beyond Adam to watch the sun sink on the horizon, a fiery orb of red that appeared to sizzle into the skyline.
“And to whom were you speaking that you felt the need to leave the water running at full power? You obviously wanted to keep someone from hearing what you were saying, and I’m sure that someone was me,” Adam said coolly, but the accusation burned as hot as the sinking sun.
I swallowed hard. “Um…”
“Madeleine.”
“OK, OK.” I met his gaze. “Remember when I told you about the bartender at Billy’s?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “That place again,” he muttered to himself and then asked, “The guy who supposedly has the alleged photo of my ex kissing some blonde, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And this was why you were on the phone with him?” Adam’s tone turned mocking. “Because, let me guess, he still can’t find this alleged photo. But nevertheless he had the burning need to check in with you. Surely to keep you engaged in whatever game he’s playing.”
Either Adam didn’t believe a picture of Chelsea kissing a blonde woman existed, or he was trying to downplay its significance by focusing on Jimmy and his supposed ulterior motives. Good thing I hadn’t told Adam about the cash I’d given to the kid, or he’d really have something to run with.
“He didn’t find the photo,” I softly confirmed. “But he called to tell me about something else that happened at the bar.”
Adam was starting to look quite aggravated. “Really, Maddy, I’m running out of patience here. Just tell me why you were talking to that guy?”
I took a deep breath. “You’re not going to like this.”
“No doubt,” he chuckled.
I took a deep breath. “He told me J.T. O’Brien was at Billy’s last night. He was really drunk, maybe even doing drugs.” I paused. “Wait, you do know he got out of rehab early, right?”
Adam shot me a look that said, “Are you serious?”
I still wanted an answer, so I waited and he confirmed, “Yes, I’m well aware of O’Brien’s early release.”
Of course.
“Well, anyway,” I continued, “he threatened Jimmy. That’s the bartender’s name, by the way.”
Adam shook his head. “Nice to know you’re on a first name basis with the lowlifes at Billy’s,” he chided, his voice laced with disapproval.
I bit down on my lip to keep from uttering some kind of a smart-ass retort. Adam was irritated enough with me. I ignored his comment and instead asked, “Do you think J.T. meant it? Do you think Jimmy is in any danger?”
“No, I’m sure your new pal will be perfectly fine.”
“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 cook
ing 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?
