Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(72)

Adam sounded so sure. Was it due to a male ego that couldn’t comprehend such a thing? Or had Chelsea kept that particular indiscretion well hidden? The one drunken incident at Billy’s supposedly captured on film the only lapse.

But there was also another possibility, one I had to consider. Jimmy could be jerking me around. Especially since there had been cash involved when he came up with his tale. Making that possibility more likely, I had yet to come across one scrap of evidence corroborating his claim that Chelsea had been messing around with some blonde female.

I was about to drop it completely when Adam took a sip of soup and then casually asked, “What did you uncover that made you think something like that?”

I almost lied. Almost. But things were different now. It was like we had turned a corner in our relationship, and I didn’t want to be the one to set it back. So I was truthful. “I heard a rumor about a picture.”

“A picture? Of what exactly?” Adam had been eating up to this point, but now he set his spoon down next to his bowl of soup.

“A picture of Chelsea supposedly kissing some blonde girl.”

Adam eyed me intently, interest piqued. “Have you seen this picture?”

“No,” I said. “I told you it’s just a rumor. It probably doesn’t even exist.”

He held my gaze. I knew Adam was contemplating something, probably how much deeper to dig. Sure enough, he asked, “And just where did you hear about this alleged photograph, Madeleine?”

Well, now what? I didn’t want to start weaving another web of lies, so I admitted, “The bartender at Billy’s told me about the picture. He said Chelsea was there one night with this blonde friend of hers and agreed to make out with said friend so the bartender—a different one at that time—could take pictures.”



Adam rolled his eyes and picked up his sandwich, though he didn’t take a bite. “Did this bartender offer Chelsea something? Like make a bet with her?”

“Sort of. Jimmy said that the bartender told Chelsea he’d let her bar tab slide for the rest of that week if she’d do it.”

“Well, that’s why she did it then,” Adam said, biting into his sandwich nonchalantly.

I had given up on my own meal. Pushing the plate aside, I said, “But it’s not like she was on a budget or something. She certainly didn’t need the money.”

Adam swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was never about money with Chelsea. It was about winning. At any cost.”

His words made sense, and he had known Chelsea probably better than anyone. The possibility that Jimmy’s claims were an exaggeration—especially the one where he’d supposedly overheard Chelsea saying to her blonde friend that they’d “already done a lot more” than kiss—was more than probable. And knowing what I’d learned so far about my young bartender friend, it was probably nothing more than some perverted, wishful fantasy. I made a quick decision to not even bother telling Adam those sordid details.

“So,” I clarified, “you think there really could be a picture out there, but that it doesn’t depict anything more than Chelsea following through with some kind of a wager?”

“Exactly,” Adam confirmed, reaching over the table to smooth back a damp piece of hair that had fallen to my cheek. “So Madeleine, there is absolutely no reason for you to go back to that bar. Don’t forget you made a promise when you lost a bet of your very own.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Remember?”

“Yes, yes.” My cheeks flamed. “I remember.” How could I forget the bet I lost—the one where I’d ended up begging him to take off my jeans?



“Maddy,” Adam warned, “I hope you intend to keep your promise.”

Maybe one little white lie isn’t too bad? “Of course,” I muttered.

He seemed to consider my response, watching me closely. At last those stormy eyes calmed. I was off the hook, for now.

We finished our dinner and then moved into the living room to watch some television. After awhile I curled up in Adam’s arms and drifted off. He must have fallen asleep as well, because we both started when my cell phone buzzed across the coffee table. I grabbed it, quickly silencing the text-alert tone.

“Who is it?” Adam asked, his voice thick with sleep.

There were three consecutive texts from Helena. She’d set up our day in Boston for Wednesday, and apparently she and Trina already had the shopping itinerary planned out. I shared the information with Adam, showing him the texts, and asked what his upcoming work week looked like.

“I actually have meetings all day on Wednesday in Boston. You could fly down there with me in the morning,” Adam offered.

Adam went on to detail how I wouldn’t even have to bother planning transportation to Trina and Walker’s downtown loft apartment, since his driver could easily drop me off on the way to his morning meetings.

“Oh, that sounds like a plan,” I cooed in response, and then texted Helena with the good news that I’d definitely be joining her and Trina on Wednesday.

Shortly thereafter Adam left, and I went up to bed. Unlike before, now I was really looking forward to the Boston excursion. Helena would be closing down the café for the next two weeks until the first of November. And Adam had several business trips coming up; he’d informed me he was working on closing a deal with a big client located in Boston. That was why he’d had so many meetings there lately.