Harbour Falls

Chapter 2



Jennifer Weston secured the ferry to an old, weatherworn dock on the southwest side of Fade Island. A lobster boat—looking a little worse for wear—bobbed in the water a few yards away. I shot a questioning look at Ami, and she shrugged, “Probably a fisherman stopping for a cup of coffee.”

“Coffee?” I questioned. I’d expected the island to be mostly deserted this time of year. But before she had a chance to explain, Jennifer reappeared, holding her hand out to help Ami disembark.

The light mist of rain that had been falling since we’d left Cove Beach continued, but over here the wind was much fiercer. Hair lashed at my face as I stepped up the aluminum rungs to reach the dock. Jennifer waited, arms crossed. And just as she’d done on the ride over, she was glaring at me.

I didn’t appreciate her uncalled-for attitude, so I rolled my eyes at her and stepped out onto the dock unassisted. Unfortunately the wood was slippery from the rain, and I nearly lost my footing. Maybe heels weren’t such a brilliant idea today.

Jennifer’s hand shot out to steady me. But instead of a light grasp, she dug her fingers into the material of my trench coat, squeezing my upper arm. I tried to twist away, but she tightened her grip in response and leaned close to my ear, hissing, “Go back to California where you belong, Fitch, before you end up getting hurt. Or worse.”

What the—?

I wrenched my arm just as she let go and nearly fell, again. Walking forward without looking back, I mumbled “Bitch,” to myself. I also made a mental note to find out as much as I could about Jennifer Weston. All I knew was that her parents had turned the ferry business over to her years ago, before they moved down to Florida. Maybe J.T. would talk to me about her? I hadn’t seen him in years, but it was worth a try. Why had he ever married her? Little wonder they were divorced.

Ami was already way ahead, standing next to a sleek, black luxury sedan that looked remarkably similar to the car Adam Ward had once driven in high school. Weird. Ami had mentioned all of the cottages included an automobile for the tenant to use to travel about the island. Maybe this one, a Lexus, was going to be mine? Did that mean the cottage I was about to view—and possibly rent—was owned by Adam? Did he own all the cottages then? Maybe he’d just donated the car? From what I’d read, he could certainly afford such an act of generosity.

Picking up the pace, I caught up with Ami just as she was opening the car door on the driver’s side. “What the hell is the Weston girl’s problem with me?” I complained, still shaken by Jennifer’s actions and hoping for a little compassion from my former friend. “So much for a warm welcome back.”

“Try not to take it personally, Maddy. She’s always like that,” Ami said, her tone unusually dismissive.

Ooo-kay, I thought as we got into the car.

“By the way, this car comes with the cottage I’ll be showing you today.” Guess that answers that question. But I just could not bring myself to ask if this car was the same one Adam had once driven. I also nixed the compulsion to elaborate on the veiled threat Jennifer had whispered to me. Ami didn’t seem willing to discuss it anyway. It was probably better to keep as many people out of my troubles as possible, especially my clueless, very pregnant, and once-upon-a-time best friend.

Ami pressed the gas pedal, and we surged up a steep, paved grade leading away from the blacktop parking lot. We turned left onto a neat and tidy cobblestone lane. The misty rain had abated but not the winds. A decorative brass sign with letters spelling out Main Street oscillated atop a fluted post on the corner. We drove by and slowly made our way along Main Street.

Colorful, two-story storefronts stood on both sides of the road: a teal-blue hardware store, a general store painted the color of a freshly unfurled spring leaf, a store selling candy—the pink exterior a perfect match to the bubble gum advertised on a placard in the window. All the businesses were closed for the season. The proprietors, who generally lived in the second-floor apartments, had gone back over to the mainland. We passed darkened building after darkened building until we reached the last one on the left.

A cute, olive-colored affair with a paned picture window and an awning big enough to shelter patrons from the rain was not closed. The scalloped front edge of the dark green awning flapped erratically in the wind, intermittently obscuring the bright white lettering that read: Café. The lights inside blazed. Aha, this was where the fisherman with the lobster boat would be procuring his coffee.

“Why’s that one not closed for the season?” I asked Ami, pointing to a small sign in the window that was turned to the side that proclaimed it was open.

“Nate’s wife, Helena, keeps it open year-round. She runs the place. The fishermen passing by the island appreciate a place where they can stop and grab a cup of coffee. Besides, there are always people going back and forth, even during the off-season.” Ami slowed to a crawl. “The café is also where you’ll pick up your mail. It comes over every weekday on the ferry. And you can order groceries through Nate and Helena. I don’t know if your dad told you, but Nate’s the manager of Fade Island.”

I nodded absently, because I had already heard that from my dad. And I found it odd. Nate had been almost as adept as Adam at things like computer programming and software development. In fact, I recalled a time that together they’d hacked into the school computers and changed all the grades. So why was Nate just “managing” this island? Or was it some kind of cover?

Ami cleared her throat and, in a worried voice, asked, “You do remember Nate and Helena from high school, right?”

“Of course I remember them,” I replied.

And I did. Quite well in fact. In addition to his skill with all things computer-related, Nate had been the star quarterback for the football team—big, muscular, mocha-colored skin, amiable brown eyes. Yeah, he was a good-looking guy. And one of the nicest. I remembered him always trying to make me laugh. He had a legendary sense of humor.

Back then and apparently now, based on their close proximity, Nate and Adam had been best friends. And they’d been teammates. With cheering crowds of Harbour Falls residents—myself included—Nate Jackson had thrown many a winning touchdown to his top wide receiver, Adam Ward.

Helena, who had dated Nate since sophomore year, was his perfect match—friendly and fun to be around. With her model-like looks—beautiful, long legs, blonde hair, and big, expressive blue eyes—it would have been easy to hate her. But quite the opposite was true; everyone adored her. In fact, she and Nate were voted “Most Perfect Couple” senior year.

But things were far from perfect for Helena. Following her parents’ particularly unpleasant divorce, her mother met and married what seemed like the first guy who came along. Helena was just fourteen. At first her new stepdad appeared to be an average guy in almost every way: average looks, average build, average job. He even had an average name, Ron. He was the kind of guy people passed on the street and forgot about a second later.

But Ron’s anger wasn’t average. He had a violent temper, and before long the whole town bore witness to the bruises his rages left on Helena and her mother. After all, even the best makeup doesn’t always conceal a black eye.

Thankfully, during her freshman year away at college, Helena’s stepdad left her mom, taking off for places unknown with no explanation. The general sentiment was good riddance. At the time Helena had been attending the University of Maine with Ami. In fact, she and Ami shared not just a dorm but a room as well.

At the end of freshman year, though, Helena quit college and moved down to Massachusetts to be closer to Nate. He was attending, and playing football for, Boston College. They were married in a small, private ceremony shortly thereafter. And that was it. I’d heard nothing more. It was strange to think that they’d ended up living out here on secluded Fade Island. Something to look into, for sure.

Ami resumed her slow crawl up toward the northern boundary of Main Street, to where it turned into a paved, two-lane road twisting through the forest on the west side of the island.

Ami was pointing to an olive-colored bungalow adjacent to the café, so I focused my attention back on the here and now. “That’s Nate and Helena’s house,” she said.

The home was fairly large, with an elaborately landscaped front lawn. “But Helena spends most of the day at the café,” Ami continued. “If you’re trying to catch her, always check there before you go anywhere else. She’s almost always there.”

Another bungalow, this one smaller and also painted olive-green, sat directly across from Nate and Helena’s. “Who lives there?” I asked.

“Max,” Ami replied. “He was in the military a while back, did a few tours of duty. But now he handles security here on the island.”

“Is he a police officer for Harbour Falls then?” I asked, knowing Fade Island, though privately owned, still fell under the Harbour Falls jurisdiction.

“Uh, I think so,” Ami answered, picking up speed. “I don’t know all the details of his qualifications or whatever. But he provides security for the island, its residents, and any visitors.”

Spoken like a true real estate agent. Uh-huh, I thought, sure. It sounded more to me like “security for the island” was code for “security for Adam Ward.” But I let it drop.

Thinking of Adam, I asked, “Hey, wasn’t Helena friends with Chelsea at one time? Isn’t that how Adam originally met her?”

The car bucked as Ami wavered on the gas. “Um, I think that’s how they met. I’m not exactly sure.” For whatever reason, she seemed irritated. “But, to be honest, I wouldn’t ask too many questions about Chelsea around here.” Around here? Did she mean on the island or the entire area in general?

“Sure,” I replied, hesitant to ask for elaboration for fear this line of conversation might lead to me blowing my cover.

Besides, I remembered plenty about Chelsea Hannigan. And really who could forget? She had attended a private school in Harbourtown, a neighboring town of Harbour Falls located a few miles inland. For as beautiful as Helena was, Chelsea had her beat. No contest. If Helena could be described as a model, then Chelsea was a supermodel.

Exquisitely styled, strawberry-blonde hair; endless legs; flawless skin; high cheekbones; eyes that were the most unusual shade of green. To many, Chelsea embodied perfection. Every female dreamed of having her body, and so did all the guys. Of course, both had vastly differing definitions of what “having” meant.

To top it all off, Chelsea was rich. Well, her family was. Sometimes she would pick Adam up at school in her father’s Ferrari, and Adam’s younger sister, Trina, would get stuck driving his car back home all alone.

This reminded me to ask, “Whatever happened to Trina?”

“She lives in Boston.” Ami glanced over, probably wondering what was with all the questions.

But I continued, “What about their parents? Do they still live in town?”

Ami nodded, and I shot off another question, “I heard Dr. Ward retired as dean at Harbour Falls U and that he and Mrs. Ward travel all the time now. Is that true?”

Ami’s eyebrows knitted together as she frowned. “Maddy, are you sure you’re not still into Adam? ’Cause you sure are asking a lot of questions that have to do with him and his family.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just trying to get caught up on all I’ve missed.”

Ami didn’t need to know getting “caught up” was an integral part of doing research for my next book. To be based on what had really happened to Chelsea Hannigan four years ago, the night before Chelsea was supposed to marry Adam Ward.

I had little doubt Ami would have further questioned my intentions, but we’d reached the property. Thank God.

As she crunched along the gravel driveway that ran along the side of the property, I maneuvered in my seat so I could see more clearly through the windshield.

The cottage, constructed primarily of gray flagstone, boasted a deep-sloping slate roof with a dark green-trimmed dormer window on the right. A prominent stone chimney bisected the façade of the house. Adorable and quaint were words that came to mind. A gable, painted the same deep shade of green as the trim on the dormer window, accented the area directly above the recessed wooden front door. Truth be told, I was taken with its charm.

Placing the car in park, Ami shifted in her seat and took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I acted weird before, when you mentioned Chelsea. I know you haven’t been back in Harbour Falls for more than a few days, but there are some things we just don’t discuss around here. Make sense?” Oh, we’re back to that. She sat waiting for a response, so I nodded, thinking, sure, whatever.

Seemingly satisfied, Ami threw open the door. With more fanfare than seemed necessary, she huffed and puffed her way out of the driver’s seat. Standing, she stretched and then popped her head back in. “Now come take a look at this incredible cottage. I just know you’re gonna love it.”

I got out while Ami fumbled around in the backseat gathering up paperwork. Ami may have been acting strangely, but as I stood on the cobbled walkway leading to the front door, the cottage felt right. I knew I’d be comfortable living in a house like this for the next few months. I suddenly wanted to bake cookies, curl up by the fireplace, read a book in one of the little nooks I was sure would be found inside. It emanated the kind of homey feel that made me want to nest.

We’d reached the door, but Ami was digging around in her bag looking for the house key. My eyes wandered to a flower box beneath a window next to the door. Filled with dark, rich soil but no flowers, I started to make plans. Immediately, white chrysanthemums came to mind. An autumn bloom I’d always loved, I could already see the white blooms contrasting beautifully with the deep green shade of the window box.

Ami held up the house key victoriously and said in a relieved voice, “God, I thought I lost it.”

I followed her inside with a last, wistful look at the flower box. I made a mental note to ask Ami, before we parted ways, if she knew of a place where I could buy a couple potted white mums.

The next half hour flew by. With speed and efficiency, Ami whisked me from one beautifully decorated room to the next. Gleaming hardwood floors, warm and natural color schemes, a big bed covered in a fluffy down comforter. Oh, and the artwork on the walls. The angle, the treatment of light, the brush strokes—all beautiful works of Impressionist-style painters.

And then there was the spacious cedar closet upstairs, the soaking tub, the kitchen with the state-of-the-art appliances and a window above the sink with a view of a back yard that overlooked the ocean. My mind was reeling, my senses overloaded with texture, color, beauty.

We finished the grand tour, and Ami turned to me. She asked, “So what do you think?”

“You were right,” I replied, breathless. “I absolutely love it.”

Signing the necessary paperwork was quick and straightforward. As I flipped through the pages—signing at each of the designated x’s—I kept scanning for some kind of information that would reveal the identity of the owner of the property.

The header at the top of each page was the same as the one on Ami’s business card, Harbour Falls Realtors. That really didn’t tell me much, so I asked, “Do Harbour Falls Realtors own this cottage, or are they just in charge of the lease agreements?”

Ami hesitated, and then she started gathering some papers that were spread out on the oak table in the dining room. “Uh, they own all the cottages on the island,” she answered, eyes averted.

I hastily signed the last page and stacked the contract pages into a neat pile. As I held them out, I asked, “Well, who owns Harbour Falls Realtors?” After signing a lease agreement that was going to cost me a pretty penny for the next three months, I wasn’t about to give up so easily.

“Maddy, I’m really not at liberty to say,” she said quietly as she reached to take the contract without meeting my gaze.

For as much as she could read me, I knew her tells pretty well too. “Ami, come on.” I pulled the contract back. “What are you not telling me?”

She glanced up, guilt etched across her face. I knew she was going to spill. “Can you promise me you can keep it a secret?”

I nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Adam. Adam Ward owns Harbour Falls Realtors,” Ami said, meeting my widened eyes. “And,” she continued, “he owns just about everything on this island. In fact, Adam owns Fade Island. Like the entire island, Maddy.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Wow!”

I was truly speechless. I knew the Wards were a wealthy family. What with their long-standing ties to the local private university. And, of course, Adam had accrued a great deal of wealth of his own over the past several years. Hell, he was not just a computer genius; he was a very successful entrepreneur. And that was an understatement if ever there was one.

I’d perused all the financial magazines, reading all about how Mr. Ward amassed his vast fortune by designing and implementing elaborate and sophisticated security software programs for both domestic and international organizations. Supposedly some of it was really high-intrigue stuff—rumors abounded that some of his work even involved secret government contracts.

I didn’t know about that—Lord knew there were enough rumors floating around about Adam—but I did know his fledgling company had just been gaining momentum back when he and Chelsea were planning to marry. After graduating at the top of his class at MIT, he’d moved back here to be close to his family. And presumably to Chelsea, since they’d gotten engaged in the spring before his senior year. Although talk back then indicated the relationship was strained.

After her disappearance the tales grew more sordid. Chelsea cheated on Adam while he was away at college, Chelsea dabbled in drugs, Chelsea led a secret life that she kept well hidden from her fiancé. One thing for certain, separating the truths from the fabrications wasn’t going to be easy.

A fact that was not in dispute was that Adam and Chelsea had been planning on building a home in Harbourtown. But after she went missing, Adam moved out to Fade Island, where he spent a great deal of time traveling for work but otherwise kept to himself.

Now it made sense. Adam owned the island. Why not move out here to get away from the ugly accusations flying around? Focus on work instead of a missing woman. And, according to the financial magazines, Adam had poured every ounce of energy into his company after his fiancée’s disappearance. In return his company grew exponentially, so much so that he was able to buy his own corporate jet and obtain a private pilot’s license in his spare time. I imagined that made all that traveling that much easier.

But in all my research, I’d found nothing disclosing Adam Ward’s apparently vast real estate holdings. Well, now I knew who was behind the limited liability company, who the person was who had wished to remain anonymous.

Ami appeared to be pleased she had shocked me into silence. “Impressive, right?” she said smugly. “Are you sure you’re still not interested?”

I refrained from answering her ridiculous question, because I didn’t want her to know the truth. Of course I was interested. But she didn’t need to know that.

I reminded her that we had to be at the dock soon to catch the ferry back to Cove Beach before dark. I was dreading having to deal with the ill-tempered Jennifer again, so as Ami and I approached the dock, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw there was a guy at the helm. Something struck me as familiar as I scanned over his neatly trimmed red hair and muscular build.

Leaning toward Ami, I whispered, “Is that…?”

Before I finished my question, the man turned, and I instantly recognized my one-time friend J.T. O’Brien. He reached out to help me onto the ferry, smiling, and I returned his infectious grin. “Well, if it isn’t Maddy Fitch gracing us with her presence. Welcome back.”

“Thanks, J.T.,” I replied, taking his outstretched hand.

Once I was on the ferry, though, I had to pry my hand away from his sweaty, too-tight grasp. J.T. shot me an indecipherable look. On the surface he was still the same friendly guy I’d once known, but there was a cold, hard glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there in the past. Confusion washed over me as I took a seat.

I watched as J.T. helped Ami onto the ferry, but he was nothing but careful and gentle with her. In that singular moment, he was exactly the same as he’d always been. Had I imagined his disdain? It’s been a long day; maybe I’m reading too much into it.



On the way back to Cove Beach, J.T. attempted to make conversation as he piloted the ferry. He asked things like: What was it like being a best-selling novelist? Like anything, there were good and bad points. Did I ever miss Maine? Not really, but I missed my dad. And did I have a boyfriend? No, not anymore.

Following the last response, he turned to me and smiled in what could only be described as a flirtatious manner. His behavior was perplexing, as we’d never been more than just friends. He proceeded to wink lazily, and I quickly averted my eyes—but not before catching the flash of anger that crossed his expression. He turned away and was silent for the rest of the ferry ride back. Shaken, I glanced over at Ami to see if she’d caught any of this bizarre exchange, but she’d dozed off.

Dusk was upon us, blue-white flashes of lightning illuminating the sky directly above Fade Island. The only sounds were the hum of the ferry motor and the sloshing of the choppy waves all around us. Damp and cold, I questioned just what in the hell I was getting myself into. In need of some kind of comfort, I leaned into Ami, like old times, and closed my eyes. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stepped into the pages of one of my own novels…and that I was quickly becoming the doomed heroine.





The next day my dad helped me pack the clothes I’d brought from Los Angeles. He then followed me out to Cove Beach. Always one to think of everything, he’d planned ahead and rented out one of the garages located next to the ferry dock. “You’ll still need your car for travel over here on the mainland,” he reminded me. “This way it’ll be close.”

One thing I was especially curious about since yesterday evening was why J.T. had been piloting our return ferry. I was under the impression Jennifer and J.T.’s divorce had been less than amicable. Why would he still be involved with the Westons’ business?

To my surprise, my dad informed me that J.T. actually owned half of the ferry service operation, a condition of the divorce settlement. Maybe that was part of the reason why Jennifer was so unpleasant? It couldn’t be easy having to work every day with a man you loved who didn’t love you in return.

I may have felt a little bad for her, but I was still less than thrilled when I saw she was going to be transporting me and my father over to the island. Around the mayor, however, her demeanor was vastly different. She made small talk with my dad and even offered me a hand, albeit reluctantly, off the ferry upon reaching the dock at Fade Island.

Turning up my nose, I made a point to stare straight ahead, ignore her outstretched hand, and disembark without her assistance.

The black sedan from yesterday was parked at the dock, and as promised Ami had left it unlocked, the keys under the driver’s side floor mat. My father and I loaded my several bags and suitcases into the trunk. Our load included a big crate of bottled water and nonperishable food (mainly lots of energy bars) that my father had insisted I bring to hold me over until I had time to figure out the grocery-ordering system. I thought it unnecessary, since Ami had left detailed instructions back at the cottage, but I kept quiet. It was kind of adorable that he acted like I was moving onto a deserted island. Fade Island was isolated, but it wasn’t like it lacked civilization.

After we were buckled in, I drove up the steep grade and made the left onto Main Street. We passed the tiny enclave of businesses, as well as the two olive-green bungalows, and then traveled the paved road that snaked its way along the lushness of the west side of the island. I imagined from above it looked like a snake winding through the grass.

Unlike the day before, today the sun was shining brightly and everything glowed in the afternoon light. Bright sunlight streamed through the foliage—just beginning to change from green to gold, orange, plum—and created a kaleidoscope of light on the road. Through the breaks in the trees, the blue ocean sparkled, a jewel off in the distance.

When we reached the last cottage, my dad helped carry everything into what was to be my home for at least the next three months—or however long it took to gather the necessary research to write my next novel. Fade Island was going to be the perfect location to conduct my own little investigation. It was quiet and private. And one of the main players, if not the main player in the Harbour Falls Mystery, lived less than one mile north of my new residence. The logistics were perfect.

After settling in, I walked into the living room. My father stood quietly, intently studying one of the impressionist-style paintings adorning the wall. The play of light coming through the window accentuated his salt-and-pepper hair, and it saddened me to see there was more salt than pepper. My dad stayed fit, but he was getting older. It scared me because he was all I had. My mother had passed away when I was a very young girl, and my only sibling, a much older brother, had left for college not long after. Over the years he visited occasionally, but he had his own new life in Chicago. So, for a long time, it had just been my dad and me.

I didn’t want to spend my first day on the island being maudlin, so I plopped down on the sofa and flipped up the cap on one of the bottled waters we’d brought from home. My father wasn’t that interested in art, so I asked, “Dad, is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just worried.” He sighed, making his way to the sofa. I scooted over, and he sat down next to me. “Just don’t get into any trouble out here, OK? Are you sure you want to start poking around in a case that’s been cold for more than four years?”

We’d been over this topic at least a dozen times since I’d been back. He knew I wanted my next novel to be based on the Harbour Falls Mystery. But he certainly had his misgivings. Not that I could blame him.

“I have to, Dad,” I tried to explain. “I need to know what really happened so I can write my book.” My dad looked away, and I added, “Hey, look on the bright side, maybe I’ll end up solving it.”

“Maddy.” His voice sounded chastising but in a half-hearted way. “Just get what you need for your research. Forget about solving this thing.” His eyes met mine. “And remember, I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Were you able to get a copy of the case files?” I asked in a whisper.

I hated to push the issue, but I’d been secretly hoping he could pull a few strings and obtain a copy of the official documents pertaining to the Chelsea Hannigan disappearance. The files would give me a starting point, an insight into things that hadn’t been revealed to the public. Anything related to the case had been sealed to preserve the integrity of the investigation, making it nearly impossible for an individual without some kind of political pull to get his hands on those files.

My father, attempting to sound stern once again but failing, said, “Madeleine, I’m not kidding about you staying out of trouble. There are people here who aren’t going to take kindly to you asking questions about something most would rather forget.”

Recalling Ami’s words of warning, I conceded, “You’re right. I’ll watch my step.” It was looking like I’d have to forge forward without the case files. I picked up one of the throw pillows on the sofa and rolled a loose string between my fingers. I’d make do.

“Look,” my dad began. “I’ve thought about it a lot. You should be armed with some kind of background on this case. The fewer chains you have to rattle, the better.” I stopped picking at the loose string and looked up expectantly.

My dad harrumphed and said, “Why don’t you take a look inside the zippered compartment there in the front of that suitcase?” He gestured to a bag we’d not unpacked.

I reached over, unzipped the front pocket, and pulled out a thick folder stuffed with pages and pages of official-looking documents. A big “Classified” sticker was affixed to the front. “The case files,” I murmured.

“They’re just copies, but keep them in a safe place, Maddy,” he warned. “By safe I mean hidden.”

I placed the folder on the coffee table and threw my arms around my father. “Thank you, Dad. These are going to help so much. And everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

My dad tightened his arms around me. Guilt tugged at my conscience as I sensed the tension in his hold. “I love you, sweetheart. I just pray you know what you’re doing.”

I hoped so too, but I didn’t say it out loud. Instead I said, “I love you, Dad,” and clung to the one person I could always count on.