Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(6)

“Uh, I think so,” Ami answered, picking up speed. “I don’t know all the details of his qualifications or whatever. But he provides security for the island, its residents, and any visitors.”

Spoken like a true real estate agent. Uh-huh, I thought, sure. It sounded more to me like “security for the island” was code for “security for Adam Ward.” But I let it drop.

Thinking of Adam, I asked, “Hey, wasn’t Helena friends with Chelsea at one time? Isn’t that how Adam originally met her?”

The car bucked as Ami wavered on the gas. “Um, I think that’s how they met. I’m not exactly sure.” For whatever reason, she seemed irritated. “But, to be honest, I wouldn’t ask too many questions about Chelsea around here.” Around here? Did she mean on the island or the entire area in general?

“Sure,” I replied, hesitant to ask for elaboration for fear this line of conversation might lead to me blowing my cover.

Besides, I remembered plenty about Chelsea Hannigan. And really who could forget? She had attended a private school in Harbourtown, a neighboring town of Harbour Falls located a few miles inland. For as beautiful as Helena was, Chelsea had her beat. No contest. If Helena could be described as a model, then Chelsea was a supermodel.



Exquisitely styled, strawberry-blonde hair; endless legs; flawless skin; high cheekbones; eyes that were the most unusual shade of green. To many, Chelsea embodied perfection. Every female dreamed of having her body, and so did all the guys. Of course, both had vastly differing definitions of what “having” meant.

To top it all off, Chelsea was rich. Well, her family was. Sometimes she would pick Adam up at school in her father’s Ferrari, and Adam’s younger sister, Trina, would get stuck driving his car back home all alone.

This reminded me to ask, “Whatever happened to Trina?”

“She lives in Boston.” Ami glanced over, probably wondering what was with all the questions.

But I continued, “What about their parents? Do they still live in town?”

Ami nodded, and I shot off another question, “I heard Dr. Ward retired as dean at Harbour Falls U and that he and Mrs. Ward travel all the time now. Is that true?”

Ami’s eyebrows knitted together as she frowned. “Maddy, are you sure you’re not still into Adam? ’Cause you sure are asking a lot of questions that have to do with him and his family.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just trying to get caught up on all I’ve missed.”

Ami didn’t need to know getting “caught up” was an integral part of doing research for my next book. To be based on what had really happened to Chelsea Hannigan four years ago, the night before Chelsea was supposed to marry Adam Ward.

I had little doubt Ami would have further questioned my intentions, but we’d reached the property. Thank God.

As she crunched along the gravel driveway that ran along the side of the property, I maneuvered in my seat so I could see more clearly through the windshield.



The cottage, constructed primarily of gray flagstone, boasted a deep-sloping slate roof with a dark green-trimmed dormer window on the right. A prominent stone chimney bisected the fa?ade of the house. Adorable and quaint were words that came to mind. A gable, painted the same deep shade of green as the trim on the dormer window, accented the area directly above the recessed wooden front door. Truth be told, I was taken with its charm.

Placing the car in park, Ami shifted in her seat and took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I acted weird before, when you mentioned Chelsea. I know you haven’t been back in Harbour Falls for more than a few days, but there are some things we just don’t discuss around here. Make sense?” Oh, we’re back to that. She sat waiting for a response, so I nodded, thinking, sure, whatever.

Seemingly satisfied, Ami threw open the door. With more fanfare than seemed necessary, she huffed and puffed her way out of the driver’s seat. Standing, she stretched and then popped her head back in. “Now come take a look at this incredible cottage. I just know you’re gonna love it.”

I got out while Ami fumbled around in the backseat gathering up paperwork. Ami may have been acting strangely, but as I stood on the cobbled walkway leading to the front door, the cottage felt right. I knew I’d be comfortable living in a house like this for the next few months. I suddenly wanted to bake cookies, curl up by the fireplace, read a book in one of the little nooks I was sure would be found inside. It emanated the kind of homey feel that made me want to nest.

We’d reached the door, but Ami was digging around in her bag looking for the house key. My eyes wandered to a flower box beneath a window next to the door. Filled with dark, rich soil but no flowers, I started to make plans. Immediately, white chrysanthemums came to mind. An autumn bloom I’d always loved, I could already see the white blooms contrasting beautifully with the deep green shade of the window box.

Ami held up the house key victoriously and said in a relieved voice, “God, I thought I lost it.”



I followed her inside with a last, wistful look at the flower box. I made a mental note to ask Ami, before we parted ways, if she knew of a place where I could buy a couple potted white mums.

The next half hour flew by. With speed and efficiency, Ami whisked me from one beautifully decorated room to the next. Gleaming hardwood floors, warm and natural color schemes, a big bed covered in a fluffy down comforter. Oh, and the artwork on the walls. The angle, the treatment of light, the brush strokes—all beautiful works of Impressionist-style painters.