Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(43)

Helena stopped talking when Trina came out of the restroom and went behind the bar to start on our cappuccinos. After having heard this new information, I made a firm resolution to get the nerve up to talk to Adam. It had to be done. I needed to know what Chelsea had been holding over him. I couldn’t continue to pursue this relationship with him, knowing he’d been blackmailed and not knowing why.

When Trina returned to the table with the cappuccinos, the three of us sipped our steaming, hot drinks, and sat and talked until darkness began to fall. As our conversation began to wind down, Helena’s cell phone buzzed. It was Nate, calling to inform her that he was still with Adam, and they were running late. Unsure as to how much longer they would be, he asked if she could drive Trina back to Adam’s house.

I was readying to go myself, but Helena asked if I’d stay at the café until she got back. “I hate to ask,” she said, “but Brody Weston is supposed to be stopping here to pick up some hard-to-find part for the ferry that Nate tracked down for him.” She checked the time on her cell. “Actually he was supposed to by now, but I guess he got held up.”



I told her I had no problem with staying awhile longer and that I’d give the part to Brody when he arrived. Helena thanked me and placed a small cardboard box—I assumed it held the part for the ferry—on the counter.

After they left I paced around the café looking for something to do. I was wired from all the caffeine and consequently restless as hell. There was a pile of unfolded cloth napkins on the other end of the counter, so I reached over, pulled them to me, and began to fold them. Soon I had a row of neatly folded napkins before me. Just as I was working on the last one, I heard the café door swing open.

I turned, expecting to see Brody or possibly even Adam and Nate. But instead my eyes fell on J.T. O’Brien. Judging from his unsteady stance and the fact that he was wearing only a thin T-shirt and long shorts despite the cold, wet weather, I suspected he was drunk…or on something.

I placed the napkin I’d been folding down and keeping my voice even, said, “Hey, J.T. Are you here to pick up the part for the ferry?”

He walked toward me, his expression dark and troubled. “What the f*ck are you talking about, Maddy?” he slurred, his tone gruff.

Obviously he wasn’t here for the part, so why was he here? When he was only a few feet away, I noticed he was holding an almost empty bottle of amber-colored liquid against his leg. “Why don’t you give me the bottle?” I said, sighing and reaching for it. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“You think I’ve had enough?” J.T. snorted, pulling the bottle out of my reach. “Sorry, but I don’t take orders from someone who hangs out with a killer.”

I knew what he was insinuating. “Shut up, J.T., you don’t really believe that,” I said, turning back to the counter, hoping maybe he’d just leave.



“You don’t know anything!” J.T. bellowed from behind me.

Ignoring his outburst, I muttered, “You’re an ugly drunk.”

Suddenly the whiskey bottle he’d been holding whizzed past my head, missing me by mere inches. It crashed into the wall behind the coffee bar, raining down shards of glass and dark, sticky liquid. I spun around, my hands reaching back to grip the edge of the counter as I cowered away from an approaching drunk and furious J.T.

“God, J.T.,” I gasped, horrified. “What the hell is wrong with you? Stop it!”

He closed in on me, halting only inches away, close enough for me to smell the whiskey on his breath. “Stop it,” J.T. mimicked in a high-pitched voice. His dark eyes were wild and flashed menacingly. I knew I was in danger. “Maddy, as I see it, you are in no position to tell me what to do.”

His lip curled up into a nasty sneer, and he leaned over me. Trying, and succeeding, to intimidate me. I turned my head to the side, my sweaty hands slipping as I struggled to keep hold of the counter behind me. “J.T., please,” I whimpered.

In my face J.T. yelled, “Please what?” He slammed his hands down on either side of me.

“P-p-please stop,” I stammered, tears welling up, despite my effort to suppress them.

J.T. laughed what could only be described as a sinister laugh, throwing his head back and chortling. Seeing an out I tried to duck under his arm. But he was too quick. He stopped me by grabbing the front of my shirt and bunching the material up in his fist. “And where do you think you’re going?” he growled. “Trying to run so you can go find your rich, murdering new friend?”

I didn’t answer, and J.T. continued. “You do know you’re just another piece of ass for Ward to pursue?” He cocked his head to the side, sizing me up. “Shame too. I always pegged you for having better taste.”

He touched my cheek, and I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “Fucking bitch,” he roared while slamming me back forcefully against the counter.



A sharp pain cut across my lower back, and J.T. was back in my face. “Tell me, Maddy, what is it about Ward? Is he that great of a f*ck?”

I closed my eyes, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I hadn’t even gotten to that point with Adam, but I knew it wouldn’t matter to an enraged J.T. O’Brien. “Answer me,” he demanded, his hot whiskey breath nauseating me.