“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.
Chapter 10
Friday afternoon was spent fully emerging from my week of self-imposed isolation. First I called Helena to let her know everything was fine and promised to stop into the café sometime the following day. The trill of conversation punctuated the background, and when I asked who was there, Helena said Jennifer had brought somebody over on the ferry, and she was in the middle of filling their order for two lattes to go. Before I had a chance to question her further to find out who had arrived on Fade Island, Helena yelled out a hasty, “I gotta go, talk to you later,” and disconnected.
My next call was to my father. He kept stressing that Fade Island was a lot closer to Harbour Falls than Los Angeles, but sometimes it didn’t seem that way. So after catching the hint that my father was missing his daughter, I made plans to head over to the mainland and visit him on Sunday afternoon. That seemed to brighten his day considerably.
After I hung up, I glanced over to where I’d hidden the case files, in their new spot under a loose floorboard by the bookcase. I knew I should go back over the material, review it some more, but I wasn’t really up to delving back into the mystery. Not just yet.
For one thing, I was too preoccupied thinking about the night ahead—movie night with Adam. And after the week I’d just had, I wanted one night where I could pretend there was no mystery, no missing person, no unsolved case. I wanted to be Maddy Fitch—a girl who was looking forward to spending a fun, flirty evening with a guy she was falling for. Tonight I didn’t want to be Maddy Fitch—the writer investigating a complicated cold case and getting in way over her head.
With those thoughts in mind, I went upstairs to find something more appropriate than my current ensemble of baggy sweats and crummy T-shirt. After rummaging through half my wardrobe, searching for something casual, yet sexy, to change into, I finally settled on charcoal twill pencil-leg jeans; funky, black, open-toed ankle boots with lots of sassy straps; and a cute, black-lace, corset-style top with satin ribbons up the back. Yeah, this outfit was definitely hot, and I was pretty certain it would get Adam’s attention.
It was approaching seven, so I quickly showered and got dressed for the evening. I left my hair down and applied more eye shadow, liner, and mascara than usual to give my eyes a smoldering, smoky appearance. Satisfied, I went back downstairs to double-check the provisions for the evening.
There was beer in the fridge—a respectable import—and a frozen pizza in the freezer. That was going to have to do if we got hungry. After all, it wasn’t as if there was pizza delivery around the corner here on the island.
Since this was, in a way, our second date, and the first one had ended so badly, I felt a little apprehensive and nervous. Pacing around the kitchen wasn’t settling the butterflies in my stomach, so I went back into the living room, put on a mellow CD from some indie band, and popped open the cold beer I’d grabbed from the fridge. Sitting down on the floor in front of the TV cabinet, I began to organize my somewhat-limited DVD collection into categories. I sorted eight into “comedy,” four into “horror,” twelve into “drama,” and two into a special category I deemed “Hell-no-Adam-mustn’t-know-I-own-this.”
Falling into that last category was, first, a classic Disney movie. It was really cute, but Adam did
not
strike me as the Disney type. So Simba, Timon, and the gang got tossed under the sofa. The second DVD was a romantic drama, a real tearjerker. One of my favorites, in fact, but I feared Adam would suspect I was trying to send him some kind of message about how I expected
our
relationship to go.
Yeah, definitely too soon for that one,
I thought. I hesitated, though, because I really loved that movie.
Sitting there, DVD poised in hand, the glare of car headlights suddenly flashing across the living room wall drew my attention. Was it Adam arriving early? If so I had to get rid of the tearjerker flick. So I quickly jammed it under the sofa to join the Disney show.
I rose and went over to the window to look out. Adam’s car was, indeed, closing in on the cottage, but the Porsche was coming from the direction of town, not from Adam’s house.
Odd, maybe he’d gone into town first for some reason
. As the vehicle slowed around the bend near the cottage, I saw Adam driving. But what was strange was that there was someone in the passenger seat. A woman, for sure. One with short, dark hair. What the…?
The car sped off toward his house, and I went back to sit on the sofa, dumfounded. Why would Adam be driving by my cottage with a
woman
in his car? Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be here to watch a movie with me. Something was definitely off. And I didn’t like it one bit.
I went into the kitchen, slammed the empty bottle down on the table, and defiantly grabbed another one out of the refrigerator. And then I began to pace, the heels of my boots clicking across the linoleum floor. My mind went into overdrive. The woman wasn’t Helena or Ami, not with the dark hair. It couldn’t have been Jennifer either. This woman had short hair. Besides, I suspected Adam and Jennifer were not particularly friendly. How could they be with the J.T. factor thrown in? So who was in the car with Adam?
Lifting the bottle to my lips, I drank down the last of my second beer. I attempted to toss the bottle into the trash but missed. Damn, I was a lightweight when it came to drinking. I went over to pick the bottle up off the floor and froze.
Oh no!
What if the unidentified woman was Lindsey? From what Helena had said, I’d gotten the impression Lindsey didn’t come
here
to see Adam; it sounded more like a convenient tryst for when he was in Boston. But maybe she’d come up to the island to find out why Adam had stopped seeing her. Hell, I would have. And hadn’t Helena said Jennifer had brought somebody over from the mainland earlier today? I kicked myself for not calling Helena back earlier to find out who’d been ordering that latte with Jennifer.
Shit
.
Things rapidly went from bad to worse when I noticed it was three minutes after seven. My heart dropped. Not only was Adam with another woman, but he was apparently standing me up. Now determined to drown my sorrows in alcohol, I grabbed another beer. And that was when my cell phone began to buzz.