by S. R. Grey
Me, too.
Hey, by the way, I hope you’re planning on having more than two beers tonight. Rules are out the window.
Ha-ha. And, yes, rules are out the window.
Good, she texts. Who knows, Essa, maybe you’ll get so loosened up that you’ll end up meeting your fantasy man.
If only she knew it’s her brother who stars in my fantasies. Just thinking about the man—and he is a man, not some fumbling college boy—gets me all worked up. But it’s ridiculous to continue on like this. I’ll surely never meet Farren, seeing as New York City is off the table.
Resigned to live my parent-directed life, which certainly does not include hot guys, I push all thoughts of my secret fantasy, Farren Shaw, to the back of my mind. Gathering up my purse, I stand. But before I leave, I think about the lecture I listened in on.
Fate…
Destiny…
What’s in store for me? Where will these so-called predetermined events lead me? Somewhere, everywhere, nowhere. The possibilities are endless. Still, I have to wonder if there will ever be an inevitable detour in my life.
“Yeah, right,” I quietly scoff. The only inevitability in my future is that my life will continue as planned. But the instructor’s words resonate in my head, reminding me that we can’t escape our destiny and that we always end up where we’re supposed to be.
Of course, for that to happen, it may require a bit more defiance on my part. Particularly when it comes to my parents and where they expect me to spend this summer.
Good, okay. That’s fine with me.
’Cause I think I’m finally ready to start pressing B every chance I get.
Continue the story…
Read the rest of Inevitable Detour
Read the first chapter of Harbour Falls
Harbour Falls
Chapter 1
Sitting in the idling car in the deserted and rain-drenched parking lot on tiny Cove Beach in Harbour Falls, I absently turned a business card over and over in my hands. Fingertips over smooth, heavy cardstock, with raised, royal-blue printing on one side…
Harbour Falls Realtors
Northern Maine Coastal Properties
Ami Dubois-Hensley
Agent
With an edge of a fingernail free of polish, I traced the outline of the design. It was meant to be a representation of my destination today: a mass of land out there in the churning waters bearing the ominous name of Fade Island. Heavy fogs, quite common in this tucked-away corner of northern Maine, often swallowed up the island—giving the illusion of it “fading” into the sea.
Suddenly the rain intensified without warning. Sheeting off the windshield in thick bands of water, my view of the ink-colored waves crashing along the beach blurred. I leaned forward to turn the wiper control up a notch and caught my refection in the rearview mirror. Wow, this perpetual dampness was really wreaking havoc on my long hair. I smoothed the unruly strands back into place as best as I could and noticed the California sun-kissed highlights, always so evident in my natural honey-brown shade, were already fading. Just like the island in the fog.
I’d only been back a few days, but life as I knew it felt slippery, like it could get away from me if I let my guard down. I adjusted the mirror; uncertainty warred with determination in the hazel eyes—so like my father’s—staring back at me. Questions that had haunted me since I’d first decided to return home washed over me anew. Why had I really come back to Harbour Falls? Just how dangerous could it end up being? Should I turn around and go back…before it turned out to be too late?
But it was too late. A white SUV had just pulled to a stop and parked in the space to the right of my car. Ami Dubois—or rather Ami Dubois-Hensley—opened the driver’s side door. As she began to fumble with one of those oversized golf umbrellas, it was clear, despite her seated position and long raincoat, that she was very pregnant. Guess she and Sean Hensley, friends of mine from the past, had decided it was finally time to start a family. Truthfully, it surprised me they’d waited this long.
Five years had passed since I’d last seen Sean and Ami, having attended their wedding in Harbour Falls. At the time we’d all been twenty-two years old and freshly graduated from college—me from Yale, and Sean and Ami from the University of Maine.
How time flew.
A twinge of sorrow tugged at my heart as I recalled how their wedding was the first major event I’d attended with Julian, a man with whom I ended up spending six years of my life. Of course we’d just been starting out back then. And now it was all over. Back in May we’d decided to go our separate ways. People change over time, sometimes drifting in different directions without ever realizing it. Until it’s too late.
Ami’s sudden rap on my driver’s side window tore me from my ruminations. I yanked at the belt of the black trench coat I was wearing, tightening it, as the thin material of the wrap dress I wore underneath would offer little respite from the cold and rain.
I opened the car door, and Ami, stepping back, smiled warmly and tilted the umbrella so I could slip underneath it. “Maddy, it’s been too long. God, how have you been?”
“Good,” I replied. “Just trying to adjust to this weather.”
Her pale blue eyes scanned down my form. “Well, you look amazing. I was so excited when Mayor Fitch…uh, I mean, your dad called and said you were moving back.”
Somehow balancing the umbrella in such a way as to keep us dry, she pulled me in for an awkward one-armed hug. Her swollen tummy pressed against my slender frame for a moment, until she drew away.
“It’s great to see you too,” I said. “But I’m not moving back permanently, you know. It’s just for a few months.” To keep the conversation from delving into exactly why I was back for such a specific amount of time, I motioned to her stomach. “Congratulations, by the way. My dad didn’t say anything about—”
“Oh, Maddy, I am so excited,” Ami interrupted. “Only one more month.”
She rubbed her stomach, her hand gliding over the big, clear buttons on her powder-blue raincoat. Standing there—ash-blond hair cascading down her shoulders in big, bouncy curls and a smile as vibrant as ever—Ami radiated happiness.
I’d forgotten how pretty she was, and pregnancy certainly agreed with her. Truly pleased for my once dear friend, I said, “How’s Sean? Thrilled, I bet.”
“Very.”
“Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”
“Um, no.” Ami hesitated and pressed her lips together. She took an inordinate amount of time to adjust the umbrella to block the swirling winds that were starting to kick up all around us, and added flatly, “We’d rather be surprised.”
“Oh,” I said slowly, “OK.”
An awkward silence ensued, and we both watched as a fast-food wrapper of some sort blew by us. It adhered to the trunk of my car, and Ami reached to snatch it up. “Nice car,” she murmured, crumpling the wrapper in her palm and dragging a finger through the beading raindrops. “Sean would love a BMW.”
There was something in her tone, something that made me feel self-conscious. Being a best-selling author of several novels allowed me to enjoy perks, such as my burgundy M6, back in Los Angeles. Flashy sports cars were a dime a dozen in California. But I’d forgotten, the people from this part of my life remembered me best as quiet, unassuming Madeleine Fitch—daughter of beloved and low-key widower, Mayor William V. Fitch.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I shifted away, shivering as icy raindrops began to pelt the back of my head.
Ami stuffed the crumpled wrapper in her raincoat pocket and said, “Uh, we should start over to the ferry. Jennifer is expecting us by two.” And just like that, everything was back to normal.
Jennifer Weston and her cousin, Brody, owned the only two passenger ferries that operated out of Cove Beach. During the summer, in addition to the usual service, the Westons offered whale-watching excursions, usually for tourists passing through on the much less-traveled route to Canada. Or sometimes folks would venture up
from Bar Harbor to explore this quiet little area, since it was relatively close. Not to mention somewhat infamous. But now that we were well into September, there’d be no whale watchers, no curiosity seekers. The ferries would be used strictly as transportation between Harbour Falls and my destination today, Fade Island.
A rocky and rugged landmass, mostly covered in thick, impenetrable forests, the island was located several miles from the mainland. While the eastern half remained untouched wilderness, the western half had seen its share of development over the years. Long ago a tiny fishing village had sprung up near the docks, and several Cotswold-style cottages were built to house the fishermen and their families.
Over time those early settlers dispersed, and the state had the cottages converted into rental properties. When I was growing up in Harbour Falls, it was not uncommon for families to spend at least a part of their summer vacation over on Fade Island. But I’d never been there. Not once. Eventually, as the residents of Harbour Falls expanded their vacation horizons, fewer and fewer people came to the island, and the cottages soon fell into disrepair.
But all that changed a few years back when the state of Maine sold the island to a private party. Almost immediately money poured in. The little fishing town was renovated, giving it a quirky, art deco uplift. The rental cottages were refurbished and made modern but in such a way as to retain their charm.
And a former resident of Harbour Falls—a man named Adam Ward—had a huge home in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright built overlooking the sea on the northern end of the island. Really it was more like a compound, complete with a private dock, a set of garages, even an airfield. It was hard to believe I’d once gone to school with the guy.
I had searched and searched to see if Adam had been the person who’d bought the island. It made sense, with the fancy home and all. But I came up empty-handed. The real estate transaction I culled from public records listed only a limited liability company with a bogus name as the owner. And the bogus name led me back to Harbour Falls Realtors but not to Adam. So the owner wished to remain anonymous. That was fine with me. I was tired of running around in circles.
One thing I knew for certain: Ami, as an agent of Harbour Falls Realtors, handled the business of renting out the cottages to a now-steady stream of wealthy summer vacationers looking for a private retreat. But Ami had no idea, in my case, she was about to rent to someone with a secret reason for wanting to stay on Fade Island.
It wasn’t the peace and solitude touted in the online brochure that I sought. Nor did I have a desire to just hang out in a nicely renovated cottage. Not even that picturesque lighthouse depicted on Ami’s business card, and located on the far southeastern tip of the island, held any appeal. Many a painter and photographer had traveled to the island to capture the image of the tall, imposing structure that harkened back to days past. Positioned at the end of a rocky peninsula and standing sentry in the shadow of a curved shelf of steep, jutting cliffs, the lighthouse was an artist’s dream, even if it was no longer in use. But I wasn’t here for that either.
No, I was much more intrigued by something the brochure failed to mention: the huge, private estate overlooking the sea on the other end of the island. To be more precise, I was intrigued by the sole occupant of that estate, the former Harbour Falls resident, Adam Ward. In fact, I’d purposely chosen the cottage closest to his home as the one I wished to view.
My father told Ami I needed a quiet place to work through a bad case of writer’s block. But that was far from the truth. Only he—and my agent, Katie—knew the real reason behind my wanting to spend these autumn months on a lonely, isolated island. It had everything to do with researching the subject matter for my next book and absolutely nothing to do with some silly, made-up case of writer’s block.
And my research had begun before I’d even arrived. For example, I knew there were only four year-round residents on Fade Island, as it was not the most hospitable place once the summer faded into fall. Heavy rains and storms were common throughout most of the year, but things became particularly treacherous during the winter months.
Snowstorms and loss of power were not uncommon. And there was no reliable way to get off the island, except for the ferry. But the ferry didn’t run when the weather got too crazy. Nothing did, not even the alternative means of transportation—several boats and a corporate jet—that Mr. Ward often employed. During those times Fade Island lived up to its name in another way; it was as if it faded from civilization.
The rain slowed to a fine mist as we approached the ferry, and Ami lowered the umbrella. “So who can I expect to see once we get over there?” I asked and then added, “Like, who lives out there year-round?”
Obviously I was well aware of the identities of the full-time residents. I thought I was being clever, feigning ignorance for Ami’s benefit. The less she knew I knew, the more likely she’d not question my cover story. Right? Maybe not.
I took one look at her face and wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “You don’t know? You’ve never heard?” She eyed me skeptically. “Surely, your father told you.”
I shook my head and looked away. A slender, pale girl with dark hair was messing with some ropes aboard the ferry, so I pretended to be focused on her.
But when I tried to keep on walking, Ami stopped and grabbed my arm. I couldn’t meet her gaze, certain she’d catch on to my deception. “Madeleine! You have to know Adam Ward lives on the island. It’s no secret he moved out there after…” She lowered her voice. “Well, after what happened.”
She was right; it was no secret. Back when Adam lived in Harbour Falls, he had everything, the world at his feet. A brilliant mind, he excelled in all things academic. But software engineering was his specialty. He coded and developed elaborate software systems that had every college and university with a computer engineering program vying for his commitment to study at their institution. And since his academic abilities were rivaled only by his athletic prowess, those schools with a football program offered Adam everything they could without attracting the attention of the NCAA. In the end, though, he gave up football and enrolled at MIT.
All those things were impressive, but what had caught my attention back then were his striking good looks. He was tall and had an amazing body, gorgeous jet-black hair, and stunning blue eyes. Yeah, it had been hard not to notice him. And notice him I did. But, sadly, he never seemed to look my way.
“Maddyyyy! Earth to Maddy.” Ami waved her hand in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry. I was just…I was just remembering,” I stammered, “um, high school.”
Ami had once been one of my best friends, and surely she recalled my unrequited interest in Mr. Ward. As if on cue, she smiled knowingly and said, “In case you were maybe wondering, he is still single.”
I barked out a nervous laugh. “We’re not in high school, Ami. I think my crushing days are behind me. Besides…” I trailed off.
She knew why. After all, everyone had heard the rumors.
“They’re just unfounded accusations and idle gossip,” Ami said in a hushed voice, her defense of Adam surprisingly fervent. “You know that, right?”
“It’s really not that.” And it wasn’t, but I didn’t want to explain myself to Ami. “It’s just…” I fumbled for an explanation. “I didn’t come here to start something with Adam Ward, OK?” Small lie.
Ami cast a doubtful glance my way, but before she could persist in her matchmaking attempt, I pointed to the ferry and said, “It’s after two. We’d better get going.”
The half-hour ride through the choppy waters to Fade Island was mostly silent, Ami and I lost in our own thoughts. Jennifer Weston, the slender, pale girl who’d been messing with the ropes, didn’t say anything more to us than she absolutely had to. A number of times when I glanced over at the ferry pilot’s house, I caught her glaring at me. But I had no idea why.
Before today I’d never had contact with her. She’d gone to school at Harbour Falls High but graduated a few
years before me. Still, I knew who she was. How could I not? Jennifer had been married for two years to my other best friend back in high school, J.T. O’Brien. I hadn’t kept in touch with J.T. after leaving Harbour Falls, but I heard a lot about him from my dad. And what he told me wasn’t good.
A few years back, J.T. had gotten into trouble with the law—some kind of drug and alcohol charge. After a stint in rehab, he surprised everyone by marrying Jennifer. She’d always had a thing for J.T., but he’d never shown any interest in her. So when they ran off to Vegas for a quickie wedding, nobody could figure out why. My father said there was speculation that she’d gotten knocked up. But nine months came…and went…with no baby.
All of this occurred during the spring and summer before my final year at Yale. At the time I was interning at a publishing house in New York, so I didn’t pay too much attention to the updates from home. When I returned to college that fall, I met Julian. And once we were together, I hardly kept up with the Harbour Falls gossip. Following a quick visit back for Ami and Sean’s wedding the following summer, Julian and I moved to Los Angeles. I embarked on my writing career, and soon my life was too busy to worry about people from my past. Except for the occasional, short holiday visit home, this whole area had fallen off my radar completely.
Well, maybe not completely.
There was one huge Harbour Falls Mystery—as the press had dubbed it—I could not avoid hearing about. The story even dominated the national news for a time. And inevitably, mostly on book tours and during interviews, I was asked for my thoughts regarding the case. I imagined people were curious for two reasons. One, I was from Harbour Falls, a primary location involved in the mystery. And two, I was a crime and mystery novelist, and the facts of the case mirrored the kinds of things I wrote about.
Only my cases were purely fictional, so my standard response had always been the same: I have no interest in real-life cases. And that had been true. But it no longer was; things were about to change.
The Harbour Falls Mystery was the real reason I was here. I had every intention of basing my next novel on the facts of the case. I was tired of fiction; I wanted to write a true crime novel. Plus there was a little part of me—the detective that lurks in all of us—that dreamed of solving this case.