Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(9)

I didn’t want to spend my first day on the island being maudlin, so I plopped down on the sofa and flipped up the cap on one of the bottled waters we’d brought from home. My father wasn’t that interested in art, so I asked, “Dad, is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just worried.” He sighed, making his way to the sofa. I scooted over, and he sat down next to me. “Just don’t get into any trouble out here, OK? Are you sure you want to start poking around in a case that’s been cold for more than four years?”

We’d been over this topic at least a dozen times since I’d been back. He knew I wanted my next novel to be based on the Harbour Falls Mystery. But he certainly had his misgivings. Not that I could blame him.



“I have to, Dad,” I tried to explain. “I need to know what really happened so I can write my book.” My dad looked away, and I added, “Hey, look on the bright side, maybe I’ll end up solving it.”

“Maddy.” His voice sounded chastising but in a half-hearted way. “Just get what you need for your research. Forget about solving this thing.” His eyes met mine. “And remember, I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Were you able to get a copy of the case files?” I asked in a whisper.

I hated to push the issue, but I’d been secretly hoping he could pull a few strings and obtain a copy of the official documents pertaining to the Chelsea Hannigan disappearance. The files would give me a starting point, an insight into things that hadn’t been revealed to the public. Anything related to the case had been sealed to preserve the integrity of the investigation, making it nearly impossible for an individual without some kind of political pull to get his hands on those files.

My father, attempting to sound stern once again but failing, said, “Madeleine, I’m not kidding about you staying out of trouble. There are people here who aren’t going to take kindly to you asking questions about something most would rather forget.”

Recalling Ami’s words of warning, I conceded, “You’re right. I’ll watch my step.” It was looking like I’d have to forge forward without the case files. I picked up one of the throw pillows on the sofa and rolled a loose string between my fingers. I’d make do.

“Look,” my dad began. “I’ve thought about it a lot. You should be armed with some kind of background on this case. The fewer chains you have to rattle, the better.” I stopped picking at the loose string and looked up expectantly.

My dad harrumphed and said, “Why don’t you take a look inside the zippered compartment there in the front of that suitcase?” He gestured to a bag we’d not unpacked.



I reached over, unzipped the front pocket, and pulled out a thick folder stuffed with pages and pages of official-looking documents. A big “Classified” sticker was affixed to the front. “The case files,” I murmured.

“They’re just copies, but keep them in a safe place, Maddy,” he warned. “By safe I mean hidden.”

I placed the folder on the coffee table and threw my arms around my father. “Thank you, Dad. These are going to help so much. And everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

My dad tightened his arms around me. Guilt tugged at my conscience as I sensed the tension in his hold. “I love you, sweetheart. I just pray you know what you’re doing.”

I hoped so too, but I didn’t say it out loud. Instead I said, “I love you, Dad,” and clung to the one person I could always count on.





Chapter 3



After I drove my dad back to the dock—and watched the ferry disappear in the distance—a feeling of loneliness washed over me. I drove down Main Street and slowed at the café storefront. Should I go in? A woman with blonde hair flowing down her back was seated at a table on the other side of the picture window in front. She glanced up as I drove the Lexus by at a snail’s pace, and a look of recognition crossed her face. I was certain the blonde woman was Helena, but I wasn’t sure if it was me—or the car—that she recognized, so I drove on.

Even though it was fast approaching late afternoon, the air remained warm, and the island was still bathed in sunshine. My loneliness was rapidly turning to restlessness, so I hit the gas and headed back to the cottage. The surrounding landscape went by in a blur, until, at last, I reached my new home and eased into the driveway.

After dropping the car keys into a wicker bowl on the coffee table, I paced around the living room, undecided as to what I felt like doing next. I kicked off my flats and picked up the thick case file folder from the coffee table, but I was feeling much too agitated to delve into its contents. Instead I looked around the room for a good place to hide the folder.

Bookcases, packed tight with numerous volumes of hardcover books, covered most of one wall of the room. I tucked the folder between two heavy tomes and stood back.

Perfect! The folder was indistinguishable mixed in among the books. Satisfied with the hiding spot I’d chosen, I went upstairs and slipped out of the slacks and blouse I was wearing, and then stepped into a cedar closet that was big enough to serve as a small guest room.

Thankful my dad had helped me unpack some clothing before leaving, I grabbed a white cotton tank top and a pair of navy yoga pants from one of the shelves. I slipped the clothes on and then proceeded to rummage through a still-packed satchel. I mouthed a victorious “yes” when I finally located a pair of running shoes near the bottom. A hair tie had somehow ended up in one of the shoes, so I grabbed it, too, and secured my hair into a high ponytail.