by Mary Brady
“That was quick,” her sister said. “I thought I’d have to wait forever and then one more day.”
“What did you do that you’re sorry for?” Addy didn’t feel like jocularity at the moment.
“I had to do it. You’re investigating him, aren’t you? You’re trying to get the truth about Zachary Hale, aren’t you?”
“Why? What have you done?”
“I’ve told the FBI which files have the incriminating stuff. The exact ones, so it won’t take them long to arrest him now.”
Proof. Real evidence. And the FBI had it. Before, all she had was a base from which to start a story, hearsay, so to speak.
Addy stopped. Nausea swamped her. And confusion. “Why did you do it now?”
“I started feeling guilty and I just had to. What if he got away? What if he left the country? I couldn’t let that happen when he took all my money and spent it on who knows what.”
Addy listened to her sister, and yet Addy had so much of her own evidence that Zach was not that man, although none of it would stand up in court.
Addy had to force herself to breathe deeply in order to be able to breathe at all. “Are you absolutely sure the documents are authentic?”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Addy slumped onto the bed.
“Fine. Anyway, you already asked me and I told you that they looked authentic to me.”
Addy stood.
She was Adriana Bonacorda and that meant something.
Addy thought for a minute. This was her sister. She would at least have electronic copies. She was proud of what she had done and why shouldn’t she be? She thought she was protecting herself and her girls.
“Email copies to me.” Her sister often pretended to be scared, but usually she was the slyest one in the room.
“I don’t have any copies, Addy. I didn’t think it would be a good idea. I have my girls to think about and raising them from jail would kill me.”
“Savanna.”
“What if he comes after me? He could send his thugs or something. He could try to hurt my girls.”
She had copies.
“Savanna, he’s not in Boston and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any thugs. You and the girls are safe. Send me the files.”
Savanna heaved a sigh of resignation and then Addy gave one of relief. If she was going to ask the really hard questions, she had to have hard facts.
“The FBI told me I was interfering with a federal investigation and it’s a felony with jail time if I, well, interfered again. He frightened me, so no, I don’t, and as it turns out, I’m protecting you by not having them.”
“What? I don’t need protection, Savanna.”
“Why is it you’re the only one in the family who is capable of taking care of herself? The rest of us, according to you, are...are somehow lesser beings.
“Well, I only need you,” Savanna continued, “because I can use your talents to expose this man, this monster who takes away people’s lives, makes it so people will have to work until they die trying to keep their families fed and clothed, with no help for college or any kind of nice stuff. You knew, Adriana, with the money that man promised I’d earn, I planned on sending Yasenia and Cecelia to college. Now I’m just trying to figure out what to cut from their schedules so I can begin again to save money.
“Let’s see. Yassy was going to get a new leotard for gymnastics, but even gymnastics is out. CC needs...”
“Savanna, I’m—”
“Trying to help? Trying to help yourself.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” Was there something wrong with wanting to become the best investigative reporter? Was there something wrong with her whole lifestyle? Her sister answered, but Addy wasn’t paying attention. Nothing her sister said on the subject of Addy’s career meant anything.
She had to figure those things out for herself.
She had started out chasing Zachary Hale because of her sister and because the man had hurt so many investors. Those were the things she told herself. She tried to think back to remember why she had chosen one story lead over another. Tibet over Sri Lanka, Argentina over Alaska. Every single one of them was to further her career.
Was that wrong?
“Thanks, Savanna, I have to go.”
“Wait. What should I do?”
“There isn’t anything for you to do. Just look after yourself and your girls.”
“I’m taking the girls and I’m going to Mom’s.”
Of course she was. Their mother would dote on the children while Savanna got a therapeutic mani-pedi.
Addy put a hand to her forehead.
When she was with Zach it all felt like an outright fabrication by her half sister.
Zachary Hale.
Who are you?
Which man are you?
Addy wasn’t afraid. She was angry.
Angry mostly at herself. She should know for sure the answers to these questions.
She wanted to go back up Sea Crest Hill and demand Zach tell her about the files Savanna had directed the FBI to.
Her sister would make a great witness. Single mother, two children, sweet, petite, sleek dark hair. She had lost everything but she had identified the files that would convict the big boss, the wrongdoer, the guy who assured she’d work until she died and she’d still die in debt.
Addy pushed herself up and paced. After a while, she stopped and stared out the second-story window. She could see the wreckage at the docks, the pottery studio and people across the street using whatever supplies they could find, most likely parts of destroyed buildings, to temporarily patch the roof of the yarn shop. More rain was coming.
The sudden clear horror of it all dawned on her. Savanna knew, Hunter Morrison knew—why else would he be so adamant that she hang in there, stay in town where he could watch her? The chief knew for sure. And she had been too blind to see.
Did everyone in Bailey’s Cove know Zachary Hale was a crook? Is that why they protected him so much? Did they all benefit from his scheme?
Everyone who knew must have also known Zachary Hale had the reporter up on Sea Crest Hill to convince her of his innocence, or at least assure her silence.
There was something she could do.
She had to calm down.
She had to think, to figure out the truth. She had an article to write.
And then she could go help the people of Bailey’s Cove because no matter what she thought of a few, most of these people would be good, innocent folk.
* * *
ZACH STRODE OVER to the fireplace and poked at the dying embers. At the dining table, Hunter Morrison had been making phone calls since he returned an hour ago. Chief Montcalm had returned a few minutes after Hunter.
“Is the file threat real and does Ms. Bonacorda know anything?” Zach asked as he stopped worrying the fire and went to the refrigerator for a pale ale. He offered Hunter one. Hunter nodded and when Zach came over to the table, pointed to the chair opposite to him.
“Addy didn’t volunteer knowing about them and I didn’t bring them up.” Hunter said after Zach sat down. “If she doesn’t know about them, I didn’t want to tip her off.”
“How could she not know?” Zach demanded, then quickly held up a hand of conciliation and continued in a neutral tone. “The woman’s her sister.”
Hunter slugged back a few swallows of the ale and then put down the bottle gently. “Half sister. I understand they haven’t been close until recently. I don’t know when they started sharing the files from Hale and Blankenstock, but I think you’re right there could be no possible reason for Savanna not to tell her sister.”
“We’re doing what we can to find out what’s in the files. Tomorrow or the next day we shoul
d have copies.”
“Carla had to have planted the files in the first place. I still can’t believe she would slip so far down without saying anything to me, without my knowing.” Zach felt the pain of betrayal many times over because Carla had not spoken up and when she did, she blamed him.
“There is the possibility she’s being played by someone else.” The chief spoke with his hands on his hips. “If she is, then Carla Blankenstock would believe you’re guilty, because she knew she was not.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT RIPPED ADDY’S heart to pieces to believe anything so immoral about Zachary Hale, but the truth was before her in black and white.
All she needed from him was denial and she’d believe him.
They were in the loft. Adriana Bonacorda on one side, Zachary Hale, Hunter Morrison and Chief Montcalm on the other. The fire had gone out. The electric lights all burned brightly to keep the night at bay.
The proof in the files was so clear it could barely be debated, yet she wanted to believe it was all lies.
Zach stared at her, his expression cold and distant. She had never seen this side of him, not even when he was trying to get rid of her in the beginning. Was this the side of him that could have stolen the fortunes of others?
Addy didn’t know what to say. She had wanted so badly to believe him, but she had laid out all the proof against him and he had not denied the wrongdoing.
The chief of police trusted him.
Hunter Morrison not only defended him legally, he defended the man morally.
“I just need you to tell me it wasn’t you.”
What she truly wished for was that none of this happened and that she had met Zach at some charity event and she was reporting the event as a good news story. That Hale and Blankenstock had never taken a wrong turn, never made a questionable investment.
The three of them loomed over her, Zach and Hunter in their meticulously tailored business suits and Chief Montcalm in his uniform, starched and pressed to within an inch of its life.
Each one of them seemed to be daring her to continue. Each one of them had an expression that looked as if it was made of stone.
As one, they took a step toward her.
Fear tore at her from the inside out.
Addy sat up in bed.
Her room at the Three Sisters was dark and she was in her underwear on top of the chenille roses on the old-fashioned spread.
Finding out she was alone in her room, she breathed a generous sigh.
The exchange had been a terrible dream. If the real one turned out like that, she would ditch journalism because that would confirm without a doubt that she could not read people at all, that she might as well give up her aspirations. Her mother always told her she should be a teacher. A worthy profession, maybe she’d go study for that.
Groggy from lack of sleep and aching from working all day, she yawned and stretched.
Voices filtered up from downstairs and Addy remembered Christina had invited her to a late dinner with her friend Gregory Miller and a group of other hungry workers.
Thirty minutes. She’d been asleep for only a half hour, although it seemed so much longer.
Her muscles protested as she rose from the bed. If she hadn’t hurt so much she’d laugh. Out-of-shape reporter works with citizens to clear debris left from Hurricane Harold and now she can’t move. Maybe she should have taken time in her previous life to lift a few weights or at least walk around the block.
Helping to clean up Bailey’s Cove had made her many friends and given her a few muscles, albeit sore ones.
Before she dozed off, she had emailed her editor an article any other journalist could have written, but with a few specifics about the town in which Zachary Hale had grown up. She didn’t mention how he spent precious free time in Bailey’s Cove when not in Boston. She did tell a circumspect account of him and the others saving boats belonging to the townsfolk. She said nothing of the yacht in the harbor. She said nothing about the files her sister spoke about to the FBI.
For her efforts, she got reamed out in a blistering email from Smally. He reminded her how close to the edge she was skimming, but the editor did not turn her loose, she knew, because he was still hoping for details none of the rest were able to get.
Addy forced herself into the shower, which consisted of soaping everything and then splashing for a furious sixty seconds in water that was just a bit warmer than freezing.
She came out the other side feeling quite refreshed. Whatever Christina needed her to do, she would do.
When she got down to the kitchen, hot food was being prepared for a table set for a dozen.
“Greg Miller,” said a man standing at the sink peeling carrots. Greg was good-looking in that casual bad-boy sort of way, the kind who didn’t seem to notice or care that he turned heads. He nodded, not holding out a wet hand for a shake that Addy was convinced would be firm and friendly. “And you would be the much-spoken-of Adriana Bonacorda.”
“Oh, no!” Christina cried and pointed at the stove. “Addy, get the pot.”
Addy dived for the lid just as water started bubbling onto the stove top. Inside the pot, potatoes jumped and jostled in the boiling water.
“Thanks.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” Addy said smiling at the bustling group of people around her.
“Ha-ha, we just wanted your help,” Christina said with a warm grin. “We’re so lucky.” She continued to cut stacks of carrots into sticks.
“How so?” Greg asked as he added another peeled carrot to her pile and she held out her hands toward the bounty of simple fair spread out in the kitchen. “Compared to other areas of disaster where the population is dense, we have enough resources to go around. Dinner may be meat and root vegetables, but we’re eating well.”
“How is it,” Addy asked, “that everyone had enough stocked away for such an occurrence? You didn’t expect a hurricane.”
“There won’t be any stock left at the grocery stores when this is over, but the O’Brien’s wouldn’t horde a crumb. The Crandalls were a little reluctant to open their doors at first, but they’ve come around. The O’Brien’s convinced them the townsfolk are good for it. Kind of an ‘eat now, pay later’ plan.”
Dinner was soon ready and the table was almost filled with people who were fresh from the showers in the Three Sisters and as dog-tired as people could get.
“They found John Barleycorn, the Dillon boy’s cat,” someone said as Addy carried two bowls of hot whipped potatoes into the dining room. “Brown Dog herded him home.”
The boy from the police station got his pet back. Addy felt all warm and fuzzy from the news. She found she liked the feeling and wondered if that was one of the motivations for living in a community—the warm fuzzies.
Harried and apologetic, a couple arrived and took their seats at the table. The man sat next to a blond-haired woman who could be none other than Delainey Talbot, Christina’s sister, with her beautiful dark-haired daughter, Brianna. The child asked the man to move down one so her daddy could sit beside her. The man did so without hesitation, and then the child leaned against her mother with her eyes mostly closed.
As Addy approached with the filled and brimming bowls, Delainey gently sat her daughter up and stood to take one. Delainey seemed to be everything as wonderful as Christina was and that thought restored some of her shaken faith in Hunter.
Her steps faltered as she headed for the kitchen again.
Suddenly, it was all so clear.
Zach had not done anything to her to make her lose faith in him. She closed her eyes for a moment. No matter what, she would not doubt him again, even if he refused to see her ever again. He didn’t do what they said he had.
Christina breezed in with the sautéed carrots with a mint glaze and stoppe
d in front of Addy. “You all right?”
Addy smiled. “Just suffering a moment of clarity.”
“Darn, those are hard.” She leaned forward and kissed Addy’s cheek. “Hang in there, sister. It’s all worth it.”
She looked over her shoulder at Greg, who entered with two platters, each carrying a roasted chicken.
“We are burning gas tonight,” he said referring to using the oven for the chicken. “But the heat was well spent.”
Christina continued, “We have everything. Come and sit down.”
On cue, Gail and Sandy London, the twins from two houses down, entered carrying fresh butter and dinner rolls.
“Delainey, Addy, you two will know each other by reputation by now. And Addy, that bundle of sleepy gorgeous is Deelee’s daughter, Brianna.”
When Christina introduced her to everyone at the table she did not already know, including the late couple, the aforementioned O’Brien’s. Smiles were passed around.
Included at the table were the bartender Michael Murphy and his wife, Francine.
“Hello again, Addy. Thanks for all you’ve done for the town,” Michael said, his damp red hair slicked back. Francine seconded the thanks.
“Where’s Hunter?” Mrs. O’Brien asked.
“He’s up talking to Zachary Hale,” Delainey answered.
“Can’t they just leave that poor man alone,” Mrs. O’Brien said as she brushed her straggling gray hair back from her face and gave Addy a sheepish glance.
With the group seated except the missing Hunter, thanks was given for the bounty and those in bad shape remembered. Two children and four adults here injured and had to be treated at the local clinic as inpatients. Mr. March was still missing.
Addy thought for the first time about the cohesiveness of the small town. Bailey’s Cove, she knew from her research, was working to survive in the changing world.
“I was so happy to see the fuel trucks come back again today. Generators will hum once more,” someone said.