by S. R. Grey
After we arrived at his house, Adam made dinner. At one end of a long, ornate table in his impeccably decorated dining room, we sat down—Adam at the head of the table, and I to his left. Apart from a few distracted comments about how good everything tasted—and it really was delicious—we ate in relative silence. Adam seemed preoccupied, and I was lost in my own worried thoughts regarding Jimmy’s murder and my unenviable status as the primary suspect.
I reached for my glass of wine and bumped into Adam’s forearm. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
His eyes met mine, and I knew he sensed my feeling of hopelessness. “Maddy, everything is going to be fine. You have to trust me on this one.”
“How can you be so sure?” I murmured.
Adam covered my hand with his. “The police will find the person who killed Jimmy.” He sounded so certain. “And all of this will be over.”
“I hope you’re right,” I muttered.
I didn’t know how he did it, living under a veil of suspicion. I’d only experienced it for a little more than twenty-four hours, and I found the burden to be almost unbearable. Adam gave my hand another squeeze, and then we resumed eating. But not a minute later, the doorbell rang, the loud chime insistent. I threw Adam a questioning glance, wondering if he was expecting someone, but he shook his head. When he rose to go answer the door, I did as well. Adam hesitated for a moment and then shrugged.
Together we reached the foyer just as the bell began to ring again. Adam swung the front door open wide, and I could see there were two people on the other side. From my vantage point behind Adam, I saw Max, but his impressive bulk was shielding whoever was next to him. Max began to speak, explaining how he’d been patrolling the ferry dock and noticed someone pacing around in the dark. I thought I heard the name Hensley, so I stepped forward, fully expecting to see Ami. She’d made it over to the island after all.
But no, it wasn’t Ami standing next to Max. Instead the person at his side was Sean Hensley. And he did not look happy.
And that’s when things started to go from bad to worse.
Chapter 25
With a singular focus, Sean Hensley pushed past Max and rushed into the foyer. “Ward, please,” he begged, his face pained, and his voice desperate. “You have to help me. Please! My wife is missing.”
“What? Ami is missing?” I exclaimed, though no one seemed to hear me.
An image of J.T.’s scratched arm filled my thoughts. Ami was supposed to have been on that one o’clock ferry, but she never showed. And now, according to her very agitated husband, she was gone. Disappeared. Missing.
I opened my mouth to say something more, but Max and Adam were too preoccupied getting Sean under control to notice. Ami’s husband’s emotions vacillated between despair and anger at what could have happened to this woman he obviously cared for very deeply, despite her issues.
Sean eventually calmed down enough to put together a coherent timeline of what had happened. “She left the house at around noon,” he uttered, dragging a hand down his face. “She was fine though. At least I thought she was.” He glanced at me. “Ami said she was coming over here to visit Maddy.”
My face grew warm. Great, I thought. Thanks, Ami.
Max eyed me curiously, and I looked away, feeling guilty for no good reason other than the fact Ami had apparently vanished somewhere on her way to see me. Turning my attention back to Sean, I listened as he explained how he’d waited…and waited…for his wife to return. Hours passed with no sign of Ami. He’d tried her cell phone, but when he was directed straight to voicemail, he realized the phone was off.
“You have the resources, man,” Sean pleaded, his eyes focused solely on Adam. “Please help me. Look, I know she has, um, issues” —his voice cracked— “but I love my wife. Please, I have no where else to turn.”
“You can file a report with the police,” Max gently suggested, while Adam appeared to be assessing the situation with a cool head.
Tears welled in Sean’s eyes, and my heart went out to him. He clearly loved Ami.
“I tried the police,” he said, turning to Max. “They said I have to wait forty-eight hours. I can’t wait. What if, what it…” A tear trailed down his cheek, and in a choked sob, he turned back to Adam and said, “Please, Ward. I know you can do something.”
Sean’s heartfelt pleas must have touched Adam. Or maybe his own feelings for Ami got the best of him. In any case he agreed to help. He promised Sean he’d pull a few strings to get things rolling on the search for Ami. But Adam was adamant that he wished to remain anonymous for obvious reasons. The last thing he needed was to be publicly attached to yet another missing person.
So later that night on the local news—following a report on the search for more clues in the Jimmy Kingston murder that left me cringing—the missing person’s report Adam had pulled several strings to have aired as soon as possible was broadcast. Ami Dubois-Hensley’s pretty face flashed on the screen, along with her vital stats. Female, late 20s, blonde hair, blue eyes, five foot two…
I watched the report from Adam’s bedroom, sitting at the foot of his massive bed. Adam was still downstairs doing who knew what. Surely Max and Sean had left hours ago. I hadn’t been in Adam’s bedroom since the night we’d spent together in this room, sleeping. I didn’t even know if I should be here now, but my bags were by the closet, and he had been the one to bring them up, so I supposed this was where I should be.
The report ended, and I flipped the television off. It was getting late, and I had no clue if Adam was planning on sleeping in here or not. With everything going on, it felt like our relationship had stalled. And I didn’t know how to get it back on track. We’d not even been fully intimate yet, even though we’d declared our love.
Adam had been so aggressive before, and I really liked that version of him. I wanted him to be that way again, but ever since my meltdown following the night Julian had stayed, it felt as if Adam was holding back. Did he think I was too fragile? That I wanted space? He couldn’t have been more wrong. Because with everything going on, the one thing I craved was to feel even closer to him.
Feeling defeated, I didn’t even bother to change into my pajamas. Instead I tugged at the comforter beneath me, cocooning it around me as I scooted back to lie among the sea of pillows. That was me, adrift in Adam’s bed. How had things gotten so crazy? Jimmy murdered in cold blood; Ami vanishing without a trace. And I was linked to both.
It was only a matter of time before the police would seek me out to discuss Ami’s sudden disappearance. I mean, come on, who had she been on her way to visit? Only the prime suspect in the murder of a local bartender. Not a good position to find oneself in.
I buried my face in a pillow, suppressing a scream of frustration. Choking back a sob, my thoughts turned to the interrogation I’d undergone in Harbourtown. Detective Mitchell didn’t seem as if he really believed I was capable of murdering Jimmy. But he surely suspected—correctly—that I was withholding information. On the other hand, Detective Crowley was all set to send me up the river. I imagined him, at this very moment, working overtime to build a case against me. Maybe he liked and respected my dad, but he sure as hell didn’t care for me.
I knew the thing my father had said about being honest with the detectives was sound advice, but I was resistant to confessing all I was hiding. Sure I could come clean and tell the detectives everything I’d discovered, thus far, in my own private investigation of Chelsea Hannigan’s disappearance. But that would mean I’d have to give up my search for the truth. I’d never find out who was in that photograph. The one Jimmy had ended up dying for. And Adam’s name might never be cleared. This case had been in the hands of two local police departments for years, and it still hadn’t been solved. So no, I wasn’t going to tell the police all I knew. Not quite yet. Not until I had the answer I was so close to discovering.
; And as I drifted off to sleep, I prayed that in the meantime no one else would turn up missing…or dead.
The next morning, I woke up fully clothed, still wrapped in my comforter cocoon. From the impression in the pillow next to mine, it was apparent Adam had slept in here with me. I mentally kicked myself for sleeping so soundly. No wonder our physical relationship was stalled. I was just as much to blame—missed opportunities and all that.
Reluctantly emerging from my cocoon, I reached up to the side of the headboard and pushed one of several buttons. The heavy curtains covering the large windows began to pull back, revealing a mass of storm clouds darkening the horizon. The big storm that had been forecasted was on its way, the island blanketed in near darkness.
I snatched up the remote control and turned on the television. The same local news channel was on, and new reports were being broadcast. Ami’s white SUV flashed up on the screen. I turned up the volume. Her abandoned vehicle had been found at a small convenience store in Cove Beach. The same place Chelsea had last been seen. Weird. But, unlike that case, the vehicle was parked out of the range of the surveillance camera. I wondered if that had been done purposely. But why? Why would Ami park her vehicle out of sight? Or had someone else, knowing the camera’s range, parked it there?
But what had happened to Ami? The report made no mention of her stopping in the store to buy anything. So why had she been there? That store wasn’t far from the dock, so had she walked to the ferry? Had she still been planning on taking the ferry and meeting up with me? If J.T. were to be believed, he hadn’t seen her. Or, had he?
The news update ended, and I flipped the television off. One thing that had changed overnight—despite it still being less than forty-eight hours since Ami’s disappearance—was that the police were now involved. The missing person’s report on last night’s news had ensured it. Sean had Adam to thank for that.
After showering and dressing, I went downstairs. Adam was sitting at the breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee, and pecking away on a laptop. He wore jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, so I assumed he was working from home today. I spent an extra minute admiring how good he looked, his hair still wet from his shower and blacker than ever, but then I grabbed some coffee for myself and sat down across from him at the long breakfast bar.
“Have you seen the news reports?” I asked.
Adam looked up from whatever he was working on. “Yeah, I have.”
Knowing that Adam had inside sources—such as Max—I asked him if the police knew more than what was being reported. He said no, they knew nothing more. And then, seeing the troubled look on my face, he tried to comfort me by telling me he truly believed Ami would surely turn up soon—alive and well.
In that moment I realized just how much Ami’s mental diagnosis tended to color Adam’s opinion of her. He saw her as a victim. But not of foul play. No, Adam seemed to view Ami as a victim of her own mind. I heard the pity in his tone and suddenly knew why he’d kept her on as his employee for so many years. Sure she was competent enough to perform her job duties, but it was more than that. Adam felt sorry for her. Maybe even to the point of obligation. Ami probably sensed that. I supposed that was why she had so fervently defended Adam the first day I’d traveled with her over to the island. I just hoped she wasn’t in some way taking advantage of Adam’s kindness toward her.
Adam closed his laptop and said something about needing to go make some calls. I wanted to say something to let him know I was ready to move forward with him. I needed him, wanted him, craved him, and I was through with being coddled. So I sat my coffee cup down and said, “You should have woken me last night.” I tried to catch his gaze but couldn’t. “When you came to bed,” I added, stressing the last word.
He eyed me tentatively. “You needed the sleep.”
“Don’t baby me, Adam,” I replied tersely, rising to dump the rest of my coffee into the sink.
He moved toward me, his voice softening. “Maddy.”
“Just…” I waved him away, and he released a held breath.
A moment passed, neither of us moving. And then he retreated, departing, I assumed, for the study to make his calls.
Well, that had gone well. Not.
Too restless to concentrate on much of anything, I meandered around the house—making the bed, fluffing the pillows, wandering the long halls. At last I found myself at the closed door to the study. I wanted to talk to Adam, fix things from earlier, so I raised my hand to knock.
But before I had the chance, Adam opened the door. “Maddy,” he said, “I was just coming to look for you.”
From the look on Adam’s face, I knew something was up. When I asked him that very question, he didn’t respond directly. Instead he moved aside and asked me to come in. A loud thunderclap reverberated—making me jump—as I stepped across the threshold.
As he sat back down behind his desk, Adam appeared to be less than amused when I laughed at my own skittishness. “Madeleine, why is your cell phone turned off?” he snapped, while leaning back in his chair.
“It’s charging,” I responded, taking a few steps closer to the desk. “Why?”
“Hoffman has been trying to reach you all morning.”
A sick feeling came over me, and I shifted from one foot to the other. “Why? What’s going on?”
Adam closed his eyes and was silent for a minute. Oh, this is going to be bad.
When he opened his eyes, he said quietly, “The police want to talk to you.” He hesitated. “It’s about Ami’s disappearance.”
“What?” I murmured as I sank into the leather chair across from him. “They don’t think…?” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
Adam raked his fingers through his hair. “Besides Sean, you were the last person to speak with Ami. And the authorities know she was on her way to see you.”
“Adam, this can’t be happening.” I covered my face with my hands.
Before I knew it, Adam was kneeling in front of me. I felt a tug at my hands and intertwined them with his. “Shhh,” he soothed, warming my hands in his own. “It’s just another formality, nothing to worry about. Hoffman will be here with the detective—”
“They’re coming here?” I interrupted, just as another low rumble of thunder rolled ominously overhead.
“Yes, but it’ll just be Detective Mitchell.” Adam eyed me carefully, probably to make sure I fully comprehended that the nicer of the two detectives—Mitchell, not Crowley—would be the one questioning me. I nodded, and he continued, “And remember, Hoffman will be here as well.”
Adam hesitated, and I knew there was more. Sure enough, he said, “Maddy, you should know that the Harbour Falls police are now working with the Harbourtown PD on this one.”
“’Cause they think it’s connected to Jimmy, right?” I stated dully. “They suspect me in both cases. Oh, Adam, this is bad.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he reminded me. “Just let Hoffman do most of the talking. It won’t take long. Less than an hour, I’m sure, and then it will be over.”
Adam knew the drill with these things. No surprise there, since he’d been through a number of interrogations and questionings of his own over the years.
“So when will they be here?” I asked, suddenly feeling queasy at the prospect of more questions—questions to which I had no real answers. Or rather answers that I couldn’t divulge.
Adam tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Soon, another hour. Maybe less, since they want to get this wrapped up before the storm hits.”
The huge storm that had been in the forecast was promising to deliver a knockout punch by evening. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, and both Adam and I turned to the window just in time to watch it sizzle into the sea.
Yeah, a storm was brewing, and it was promising to be a big one
.
Max drove Detective Mitchell and Elliott Hoffman up to Adam’s compound following their arrival to Fade Island. Max took a seat in the foyer, while Adam ushered Hoffman, Mitchell, and me into his study. Detective Mitchell looked unsure when Adam offered his stately desk chair to him, but he sat down, nonetheless, and set up a small recorder after taking out his trusty notepad and pen.
Hoffman and I settled in the seats across from Mitchell, and Adam leaned casually against the wall by the door. The detective seemed about to say something, probably to ask Adam to leave, but held off when their eyes met in a meaningful stare. The implication was clear: Adam may have graciously given up his chair, but the trade-off was that he would be staying for the questioning.
Clearing his throat and focusing his attention back on me, Detective Mitchell said, “I’m sorry to be bothering you again, Miss Fitch, but this has to be done. I promise to keep it short.”
I gave him a tight smile and nodded. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Hoffman shifted in his seat, and Mitchell got down to it, mumbling some preliminaries into his recorder and then asking, “Are you acquainted with a female named Ami Dubois-Hensley?”
“Yes.” I didn’t wait for Hoffman’s go-ahead, since I saw no harm in answering this type of question.
“Would you consider her to be a friend?”
I mulled that one over, but had to say, “Yes.”
“How long have you been friends?”
“Since high school,” I replied. “I guess that puts it at more than ten years, probably around fourteen years.”