Harbour Falls

Chapter 9

Things were a mess. Better put, I was a mess. Over a week had passed since my date had been cut short by my dad’s discovery that Adam was the person Chelsea had called from a pay phone in Harbour Falls shortly before she was never seen—nor heard from—ever again. Yes, you could say that little tidbit of information put quite a damper on the evening.

The flight from Boston back to Fade Island that night had gone from awkward, once I returned to my seat for takeoff, to tense by the time we landed on the island. I’d tried to play off my sudden icy demeanor toward Adam as an unfortunate side effect of some kind of stomach upset. True, I’d been feeling rather ill but not from eating something that hadn’t agreed with me. Despite my act, by the time the plane landed, Adam had correctly suspected there was something more behind my sudden cool and distant attitude.

On the short ride back to the cottage, he repeatedly tried to get me to tell him what had caused my change of heart. After all, we’d gone from almost becoming lovers to barely speaking. The whole episode served to remind me that I’d been moving entirely too fast with Adam.

Silent at first, I eventually stated I had nothing to discuss. Trust me, I wanted an explanation for the last known phone call Chelsea had ever made, but the problem was I’d have to offer up a reason of my own for even knowing about that forty-three second call to Adam. I had no desire to witness his reaction if he found out I was on the island to investigate his one-time fiancée’s disappearance. And, worse yet, write a book using the information I uncovered.

Just why had Chelsea been calling Adam after midnight that night? The files made mention that they’d argued earlier in the evening. Had she called to make things right? Why hadn’t she returned to the hotel? After all, the wedding was just hours away. More importantly, why had Adam never said anything about that call to the police? Unless, of course, he had something to hide.

Adam had grown increasingly frustrated, and definitely irate, by the time he screeched his Porsche to a halt in front of my house. As I’d swung open the passenger-side door to get out, I turned back to him and said, “I’m sorry, Adam. This just isn’t going to work.”

Then I slipped off my heels and hurried to the front door before he could stop me, not that I noticed him trying. Later that night I cried myself to sleep, soaking my pillowcase with tears.

Since then I’d avoided Adam rather handily by holing up in my cottage and barely talking to anyone. It helped that he’d gone on another business trip the day after our abbreviated date. I learned of his travels from the many texts and voicemails he left, telling me he was out of town but asking me to please tell him “what the hell had gone wrong” and how could he fix it.

A part of me wanted to talk to him. After all, I still had so many questions. Apart from the whole phone-call mess, I had never gotten around to asking Adam if he was still seeing Lindsey, the woman Helena had told me about. Another reminder that I’d behaved recklessly on my date with Adam.

Helena had somehow found out about our interrupted date, probably from Nate, who I was sure had heard about it from Adam. Helena had already left almost as many voicemails as Adam himself. When I didn’t respond to any, she threatened to drive out and break down my door if I didn’t, at the very least, let her know I was OK. So I texted back that I was hanging in there, and I’d talk to her eventually, but I just needed some time to myself. That seemed to have calmed her.

Running low on food, I reluctantly placed a small grocery order online but then couldn’t bring myself to open the door when Nate knocked. Standing on one side, peering through the peephole, I waited until he finally gave up and placed the groceries on the step. “Maddy, I know you’re in there,” Nate had said. “I’m going to leave these here, but locking yourself away from the world isn’t healthy, you know.”

“I know,” I’d whispered, leaning my head against the smooth wood door and listening as Nate drove away.

My father was another issue entirely. He wanted to rush out to Fade Island and move me back to Harbour Falls as soon as possible. He only relented when I solemnly promised to stay away from “that Ward guy,” as he had put it.

So far keeping that promise was proving to be a snap.

As September faded into October, I discovered holing up in my cottage gave me a lot of time to think. And I waffled back and forth, wondering what I should do. Give up on the case? Scrap the book idea? Forget about Adam? I wasn’t sure what to do with any of those things.

The day after the date-that-had-gone-all-to-hell, I became so despondent that I called my agent, Katie, since she was also my best friend. Barely holding back tears, I’d told her that I was ready to break my lease and return to Los Angeles. I was done with Fade Island and everything associated with it. She reminded me that Maddy Fitch didn’t give up so easily. I made a commitment, and I should stick with it. Besides, the case really did have the makings of a great book. Her words gave me pause; I promised to reconsider. However, that didn’t mean I was ready to jump right back into the investigation.

Instead I found a better hiding spot for the case file—under a loose floorboard in the living room—and forgot about the Harbour Falls Mystery. Or maybe I just pretended to forget as I kept myself preoccupied with mundane tasks.

Busy, busy, busy, I was like a whirlwind, cleaning the already-spotless cottage daily. In eight days I’d done the laundry—four times, reorganized my closet twice, alphabetized my shoes, and when I’d run out of domestic projects, I had plopped down on the sofa and eaten all four tubs of Häagen-Dazs chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream Helena had so thoughtfully snuck in with my grocery order.

With nothing left to do, it was no surprise I now found myself bored. Bored to tears. I paced around the living room, back and forth, back and forth. Enough. Tentatively I went to the front door and opened it a crack. I’d not been out of the house in days.

Indian summer was now upon us, and it was beautiful outside. The two white-flowering chrysanthemum plants from Max still rested on the doorstep. It’s as good of a day as any to finally get them planted in the window box, I said to myself as I eyed the pots.

Yes it was.

So I slammed the door and jogged up the stairs to change my clothes. I threw on an old, faded pair of jeans and a black tee. The jeans sat kind of low on my hips, and the tee was cut off at the midriff. It was a little risqué for gardening with that much exposed skin, but it wasn’t like I was expecting company. Nope, not on this island. There was little chance I’d even be seen. So I slipped on some old, beat-up Chucks, found an old, but still usable, garden trowel under the sink, and went outside to get to work on the flowers.

I knelt below the window box and worked the plants free from their plastic pots. I then carefully placed one mum—and then the other—in the rectangular structure. There was dirt already in the box, and as I worked, I found the sun-warmed soil a soothing balm for my frazzled nerves. A light ocean breeze rustled through the leaves, and I leaned my head back, allowing the sun to warm my face. Despite my indecision in the days leading up to this one, it was at that exact moment I knew, without a doubt, I would stay on the island until I found all the answers I was seeking. I’d finish my investigation, no matter what.

Resolved, I stood, swiped my hands clean, and brushed away some dirt from my jeans. I stepped back from the window box to admire my handiwork, and just then I heard a familiar—and currently unwelcome—sound of a car engine. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Adam’s Porsche pulling into the driveway.

“No way,” I hissed through gritted teeth, while quickly calculating the distance to the front door, wondering if I could get there faster than Adam if I made a run for it.

“Maddy, wait,” Adam’s voice rang out as I bolted for the door. What the hell is he doing here? Had I not made it clear I didn’t want to see him? Persistent, much?



Obviously he was back from the business trip. He’d never mentioned where he’d gone. Maybe back to Boston? Where Lindsey lived. As I lunged for the doorknob, I had myself convinced his trip had probably included a visit to his former hookup. Especially since I’d left him hanging on date night. Bastard, I thought as I worked myself into quite the angry frenzy.

Just as I was shouldering the door open, almost in the clear, Adam’s hand glanced down my arm. “F*ck. Just stop for a minute, OK? This is getting to be ridiculous.”

I shrugged his hand away and spun to face him. “No, you are getting to be ridiculous,” I spat. “Don’t you f*cking get it? I want to be left alone.”

Adam’s eyes flashed in anger, his jaw clenched. “Maddy,” he said sharply, “you can’t stay away from me forever. After all, you do live on my island.”

I crossed my arms across my chest, and Adam’s eyes glanced down to my exposed skin, making me feel oddly excited instead of angry. “What do you want anyway?” I huffed.

His eyes met mine. “At the very least, you owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I said, marching into the cottage with Adam right on my ass.

“Get out!” I yelled, turning and pushing at his shoulders. But I couldn’t budge him. The man was more solid than a damn rock.

I gave up on trying to get rid of him. Instead I grabbed the front of his white button-down shirt and said icily, “Why don’t you leave me be? Forget about me, and just go f*ck your little skank.”

“What are you talking about?” Adam snapped, genuine confusion in his tone.

I laughed derisively, tugging at his shirt as I said, “Oh, I don’t know. Does the name Lindsey ring a bell?”

Adam looked positively pissed. “Who told you about her?” he demanded as he attempted to pry my clenched hand from his shirt. But I held on tightly and glared.

“F*cking Helena,” he mumbled under his breath when he saw I wasn’t going to answer.

Releasing my grasp, at last, I took a step back. “So it’s true then?”

“Maddy, I don’t have to answer to you.” Adam chuckled darkly, looking down as he casually tucked his now-rumpled shirt back into his black dress slacks.

“You do when you practically asked me to be your girlfriend last week. Or were you just lining me up to be your newest piece of ass?” I accused.

“Is that what you think?” Adam asked in a disturbingly calm voice, his blue eyes meeting mine and flashing something far from calm.

I had to look away. “Uhh.”

“Answer me,” he said, quickly closing the narrow gap between us.

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered, taking a step toward the open door.

With lightning speed Adam slammed it shut, quickly spinning us around so that my back was up against the wood. His hands slid from his hold on my shoulders down to the bare skin at my waist. I inhaled sharply, surprised at how good his strong hands felt, despite how heated our argument had become. Or maybe that was why it felt so good? The fact that I could make him this angry sort of thrilled me.

“Did I somehow leave you with the impression that I was looking for just a piece of ass?” I tried to look away, but Adam nudged my chin. “A piece of ass that you were about to give up, I might add,” he said smugly.

“Shut up,” I said, but it sounded unconvincing, even to me.

Easing me back against the door, Adam pressed his firm body to mine. “Do you think I just want to f*ck you, Madeleine?”

I stifled a moan, and he laughed softly. “Or is that what you’re looking for? A good, hard”—Adam rocked against my hips—“f*ck.”

Despite my protestations, Adam’s intensity was enticing. The danger, a thrill. My breathing quickened, and I rasped, “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, that’s not all I want.”

“And,” Adam pressed, “do you really believe that’s all I want from you?”

“No, I don’t think that’s all you want either,” I finished, raising my hands from my sides to find purchase at his trim waist. This exchange was leaving me weak-kneed.

“Good,” he said softly, relaxing into me. “See how much nicer things are when we agree.”

Adam was so warm, so solid. He was right. Agreeing with him was much nicer. I sighed and shifted so that our lips were almost touching. But Adam pulled back and grinned wickedly. “What are you doing, Maddy?”

The laughter in his eyes told me he was no longer angry, so I admitted, “I’m trying to kiss you, dammit.”

“Madeleine,” Adam scolded teasingly. “I think we still have some things to discuss before we start back down that road.”

Good God, the voice of reason.



I leaned my head back against the door and rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’m still mad at you anyway,” I reminded him, although I was the one who obviously needed reminding.

Adam stepped back but, to my twisted delight, kept his hands on my bare waist.

“Yes, exactly why are you so angry with me? Surely not because of some woman Helena told you about. Did she also remember to tell you I haven’t seen that particular woman in quite some time?”

Oh shit. While I was elated to hear Adam hadn’t been in touch with his Boston babe lately, confirming what Helena had said, I still had to think of a plausible explanation for my behavior over the past week. I couldn’t exactly tell him I’d had my dad snoop into old phone records relating to his missing fiancée. Or that we’d found out that he was the person she’d been calling.

“Um, I don’t know if I can explain…” My voice faltered.

Adam sighed. “Does this have something to do with the real reason you’re here on my island? Did you come across something in your little investigation for your book that scared you off and made you run?”

I swallowed, hard. “What? You know why I’m here?” I gasped, stunned.

“Yes, I know exactly what you’ve been up to. Writer’s block, my ass,” he scoffed.

“How did you find out?” I asked meekly, and then thinking of the others on the island, I added, “Oh God, does anyone else know?”

“Maddy,” Adam began, “it’s my f*cking island. When someone—especially an author who writes mysteries—shows up wanting to spend three months here in the off-season, I make it my business to know why.” He paused, eyeing me intently. “And to answer your other question, you can relax. Nobody else knows about your little project.”

“Are you mad?” I whispered, closing my eyes to escape the intensity of those stormy eyes.

Adam slid his hands down to my hips and pulled me roughly to him, muscles flexing enticingly. “Open your eyes,” he practically growled.

Frightened, I did but was surprised to see a softening in his gaze. He squeezed my hips gently. “No, not anymore, But I was plenty pissed at first, especially when you wouldn’t tell me yourself. I certainly gave you plenty of opportunities. The first night I drove you back, the lighthouse.” Adam paused and kissed my forehead, his lips lingering. “But no, I’m not mad at you. Not now.”

“Besides,” Adam continued. His lips traveled down to mine, where he paused and whispered, “Why would I be angry when I have nothing to hide?”

“Um, yeah, about that…” I trailed off, turning my head.

I had to think straight. Adam had a way of using my attraction to him to manipulate me. If I was ever going to get an answer out of him, it had to stop now.

Adam stilled, his fingers clenched on my hips. With hot breaths caressing my cheek, he asked softly, “Is there something else you want to tell me?”

“Uh, ask you, actually,” I said, my voice shaky but resolute.

Adam pulled back, his interest seemingly piqued. “Is it the reason for your behavior on the flight back? And why you’ve been avoiding me this past week?”

“Yes,” I said in a near whisper.

“Do go on then.”

I was afraid to ask him the question, but I was more afraid of the answer. Adam cocked an inquiring eyebrow and waited. I tried to slide away from his grasp before phrasing my question, but he tightened his grip on my hips, effectively pinning me to the door. It was clear there would be no escaping Adam Ward.

“I, uh, I found something out the other night. Um, while we were still in Boston. Right before takeoff actually.”

“What was it?” Adam sounded like he was running out of patience.

“It was about a phone call. A phone call, uh, Chelsea made…” I swallowed. “That night.”

Adam closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “What night would that be, Madeleine?”

He wasn’t making this easy. “You know, the night before she, uh, disappeared.”

My voice had grown so faint by this point that I didn’t know if he had heard, but then, eyes still closed, he asked, “OK, so what phone call are you talking about?”

“A call she made from a pay phone at a bank in Harbour Falls.”

Adam said nothing for at least a solid minute. And then he opened his eyes, his penetrating, indecipherable stare falling on me once more. My pulse raced, my heart pounded. I had nowhere to go; Adam had me trapped. Moments earlier I would have been aroused by his proximity, but finally I sensed the peril I could be in. And I was kind of terrified.

“You certainly are thorough, aren’t you?” he said at last.

“She called your cell phone, Adam,” I blurted. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yes, I did,” he answered, his tone impassive.

No. No. No!



I started to squirm, attempting to break free. “Let me go,” I demanded, but Adam was unyielding.

“Quit trying to get away, Maddy.” He grabbed my flailing hands, sighed, and then pressed his body to mine in an attempt to stop me from fighting him. “You’re not running away this time.”

Exhausted and defeated, I slumped in his arms. “What did you do, Adam?” I cried, causing him to loosen his hold. “God, please tell me it wasn’t you. Please tell me you had nothing to do with whatever happened to her,” I sobbed and slid down to the floor.

He knelt down beside me, placing his hand on my cheek. I put my hand over his and let out a choked sob. Everything had finally caught up to me.

“I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Chelsea. I swear,” Adam said, his voice tired and defeated.

I glanced up at him, and I just wanted so much to believe him. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to think,” I choked out.

Adam, helping me up and leading me to the sofa, said, “Shhhh, calm down.” He took my face in his hands and, with his thumbs, wiped away the stray tears. “What do you want to know?”

The tears subsided, and slowly I got ahold of myself enough to ask, “What happened when she called?”

Adam leaned back into the cushions and sighed. “There’s not much to tell. I was asleep at the hotel. Nate, Helena, and I had been drinking, and I passed out when I got to my room. Chelsea’s call woke me up.” He took a deep breath. “She started yelling, and I yelled back. I ended up hanging up on her.” He paused. “We’d had a fight earlier that night.”

“What was she yelling about?” I looked over at him, watching his features, beautiful still, even as he recalled that night.

“Most of it I couldn’t make out.” Adam ran his fingers through his hair. “It was a short call, but there were a couple of things I caught. She wanted me to tell her to stop whatever it was she was about to do.” He shrugged. “And something else, like, she’d turn around and come back if I’d tell her I still loved her.”

“And did you tell her you still loved her?”

“No,” Adam said, pained. “I told you, I hung up on her. I didn’t love her anymore, and I couldn’t lie.”

I wanted so badly to question him further about why he was marrying someone he just admitted he no longer loved, but frankly I was afraid. There had to be another way to investigate the validity of the blackmail claims. Asking Adam point blank about that particular rumor was just too intimidating.

So, instead, I focused on the phone call. “What did she mean when she asked you to tell her to stop whatever it was she was going to do? What was she up to?”

“Good question. I don’t know, probably nothing. Chelsea had a flair for drama.”

I looked down and asked softly, “Why didn’t you tell the police about the call, Adam?”

“What good would it have done? That call didn’t shed any light on what may have happened to her. It didn’t even make sense. And the police were already focused on me as the primary suspect. Why would I give them yet another reason to not even consider other possibilities?” His hand was at my chin again, urging me to look into his eyes. “Maddy, I need for you to believe me. I had nothing to do with her disappearance.”

I held his gaze, searching for any indication of guilt. He seemed so sincere.

“Do you believe me?” Adam quietly asked.

My heart and mind were at war, but my heart won this round. “I believe you, Adam,” I said softly.

His pained eyes filled with gratitude. He leaned down and curved his lips to mine in a simple gesture that spoke more intimately than any of the lust-filled kisses we’d previously shared. “Thank you,” he murmured, looking exhausted as he pulled away and leaned his head back against the sofa.

Thankfully our conversation drifted into less emotionally charged territory. We talked about the trip he’d been on. Making my earlier concerns that he’d used his trip as an excuse to see Lindsey seem even more foolish, he told me he’d not been anywhere near Boston. His business had been in Washington, DC. He didn’t elaborate on the nature of his business there but instead talked of restaurants and museums, and how we should fly down there some time so he could take me to those very places. Eventually we both grew weary and found ourselves stretching out on the sofa, my back to his chest, his arm draped over my shoulder.

In the waning hours of the afternoon, silence descended, and I fell into the best sleep I’d had in over a week, wrapped in the comforting warmth of—what I hoped was—an innocent Adam.



When I woke up, it was dark. Everything was quiet, except for Adam’s steady breathing coming from behind me. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d not eaten for hours. Delicately I extricated myself from Adam’s arms, being extra careful not to wake him, and then I tiptoed into the kitchen, where I began to rummage around for something to eat.

I was pretty certain Adam would be hungry as well, so I decided to make some pasta and a salad. I put water on to boil and took some vegetables out of the refrigerator, all the while trying to be as quiet as possible. Unfortunately I dropped a wooden bowl as I was setting the table, and minutes later a disheveled Adam appeared in the doorway. Sleepy and tousled but still one fine-looking man.

“Hungry?” I asked, holding up a head of lettuce and a tomato.

Adam stretched, and my eyes were drawn to the way the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his well-muscled torso. “Starving,” he replied, yawning.

He chuckled when he caught me staring at his body, so I quickly looked away and said, “It won’t be long if you want to have a seat.”

Adam pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

I could not think of a single thing for him to do—other than just sit there and continue to look incredible—so I went with, “No, I think I have it. But thanks for offering.”

Soon the pasta was ready, so I drained the softened noodles, scooped some onto each of our plates, and ladled tomato sauce overtop. Adam thanked me as I placed our dinner on the table, and I smiled in return as I sank down into the chair across from him.

It took me a few minutes into our meal, but I finally worked up enough nerve to bring up the case once again. I still had a few questions. And I had an offer of my own.

Since Adam already knew why I was on the island, I told him I was willing to share all I’d uncovered so far in my investigation. He’d been honest; now it was my turn to reciprocate. On a roll I even confessed that I had a copy of the case files and, going one step further, offered to let him read through them. But surprisingly Adam waved it off. “I’ve already seen all those files—”

I gasped, interrupting him. He rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly think you’re the only one with the right connections, Maddy? I read those files a long time ago.”

“Oh, OK,” I mumbled dejectedly, crunching into a bite of salad.

“Anyway,” Adam continued, “I have no desire to rehash the details of the case. It’s part of my past, and I’d like to keep it that way. Do what you need to do, but keep me out of it, got it?”

“Sure, I can do that. But you really don’t mind if I continue to look into it?” I asked, somewhat baffled that he wasn’t asking me to shut down my investigation. Maybe this was proof enough that he was innocent.

Adam twirled his pasta unconcernedly. “It’s just research for a novel, right?”

It suddenly dawned on me that, of course, Adam would naturally assume I was writing another work of fiction. He probably thought I was utilizing the case files as some kind of general outline. I was suddenly grateful I’d not gone off about my trip to Billy’s nor revealed that there was a mystery blonde Chelsea had been photographed kissing.

I had to rethink things. Maybe it was best to keep my real plans—to write a nonfiction account of the Harbour Falls Mystery—a secret after all, so I responded with, “Yeah, just the usual background research I do before sitting down to write.”

Adam held my eyes for a moment, searching. I kept my expression neutral, and he finally said, “In that case I don’t foresee any problems.”

After we were finished eating, and Adam helped me clear the table and load the dishwasher, we sat back down at the kitchen table. “I hate to eat and run, but I really do have to get going,” he said.

I glanced at the florescent-blue digital readout on the stove; it was only a little after eight. Nights were boring and lonely at the cottage, and had been especially so during my week of seclusion.

“Already? Why?” I blurted, and then added in a softer voice, “I’m sorry. I was just hoping you’d stay longer. I thought maybe we could watch a movie together.”

“I wish I could, I really do. But there are some things I have to take care of before tomorrow morning.” Adam reached over and caressed my cheek. “Trust me, I’d much prefer spending the evening watching a movie with you than catching up on work. But duty calls.”

“That’s fine, I understand,” I said.

Adam must have detected the disappointment in my tone, because he offered, “Maybe another night?”

“What about tomorrow night?” I paused, and then added, “It is a Friday after all, the start of the weekend.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, smiling. “How ’bout I get here at seven?”

“Perfect,” I replied.

When Adam left he did so with only a chaste kiss to my cheek. Tease, I thought, when I noticed him suppressing a smile. Was he still withholding kisses? We’d see just how long that would last. I smiled as I envisioned movie night with Adam Ward…curled up on the sofa.

But I wanted to look more appealing than this. I glanced at my apparel—yeah, the wrinkled tee and dirt-smudged jeans look was not going to cut it if I wanted to really capture Adam’s attention. Although the exposed skin at my midriff had not gone unnoticed by him, I wanted to wow him with a sexier look. Silk couture, a la date night, might be a bit much, but I’d have to find something more enticing for tomorrow night.

While I sat mentally sifting through potential outfits, guilt began to nag at me. Reminding me that honesty—not some contrived outfit—was the real foundation of a burgeoning relationship. Adam had been honest with me about the phone call. It seemed wrong to let him go on believing I was planning on writing some fictional novel. But what choice did I have? I feared he’d ask me to stop if I told him the truth. And honestly, I didn’t want to give up on the investigation. I didn’t want to give up on the idea of a nonfiction book about the disappearance, and more than anything, I really didn’t want to give up on Adam.

So what would happen if—or when—he found out I’d lied to him? I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, and if it did come to pass, I surely hoped he’d understand.