The thought that Adam was living more freely brought a smile to my lips as I drove to my destination, the café down on Main Street, here on Fade Island. It had been too long since I’d visited Helena, and I intended to remedy that today. The road into town was slippery in spots, so I took it slow. Overall, though, the pavement was clear, due to Adam’s recent decision to equip the island with snow removal equipment. What a good call that had been.
It seemed that since our return from California, not a day had gone by without some sort of precipitation falling from a molten-colored sky. I had to admit all the snow made the island very pretty, postcard perfect, to be honest. Everywhere you looked was a winter scene come to life. But it was still a pain to get around in—even with the snow removal efforts. Personally, I was tired of all the white stuff and the cold temperatures, and I wondered just how much longer this poor weather would continue.
When I reached the café, I parked in front. Wasn’t like it was exactly busy. Even the fishermen, an off-season staple, avoided the island in this kind of weather. I gingerly climbed over a drift of accumulated snow at the curb, and trudged toward the door, feeling weighed down by my heavy winter boots. At the entrance, the dark-green cloth awning above me looked bowed. It was heavy with snow, the letters spelling out the word café all but obscured. I hesitated, my gloved hand on the door.
I hadn’t spoken to Helena much since returning from LA. A few quick calls, a text or two, nothing more. Ami had indicated in her letter that Helena was somehow involved in whatever secret Adam was keeping from me. But did a bigger secret really exist? The question remained unanswered. Who was telling the truth—Ami or Adam? I really couldn’t say which.
Though I’d tried to ignore it, Ami Hensley’s damn letter still had me questioning the secrets Adam had once confided in me. Okay, maybe I’d stumbled upon those secrets, and then Adam had told me the truth. But was it the truth? Should I believe Ami? She was hardly a pillar of truth and trustworthiness. She was a cold-blooded murderer. She’d killed Jimmy, the poor kid at Billy’s, a bar Chelsea once frequented, and she’d tried to kill me, with the help of her accomplice, Jennifer. Thank God for Adam…and Max. If not for their intervention, I’d be rotting in the caves alongside Chelsea.
Not that a girl like Chelsea hadn’t had it coming. Lying, cheating, deceiving others. All this and more had been a way of life for Ms. Hannigan. And she’d ultimately paid with the highest of prices, her own life. Jennifer had ended up dead as well, shot by Max Cleary, Adam’s hulking security guy here on Fade Island.
Ami was currently paying for her role in the crime, among other charges. She’d been sentenced to life, but wasn’t serving her time at a prison. It was weird to imagine Ami living at Willow Point, a mental health facility for the criminally insane located in Bangor.
I knew I should make the roughly two-hour drive and talk with Ami. It might end this whole guessing business. Maybe I’d find out her letter was just some sort of a sick, twisted joke. Then again, maybe not. In any case, I kept putting it off.
I wasn’t sure if it was the creep factor of Willow Point—home to many past atrocities…and some present ones as well, if rumors were to be believed—that was keeping me away. Or something else, like maybe the possibility that Ami’s letter told the truth. A part of me refused to believe Adam would have taken the time to orchestrate such an elaborate tale just to keep me in the dark. I mean, why? What could be worse than insider trading? Did I really want to know?
And then there was this question: If Adam was lying, why had he involved Ami Hensley in the cover-up? Was she part of the secret? Or had it just been convenient for him to have her doctor the newspaper page? She’d once worked for him, before her duplicity was discovered. He very easily may have trusted her, or thought she wouldn’t really pay attention. But Ami was clever, sometimes frighteningly so.
As I stood in the cold outside the café, considering scenarios, the awning above me creaked. The light snow that had been dusting my thick parka was picking up in intensity. Big, fluffy tatters of white now clung to brown Gore-Tex material. I brushed myself off and finally pushed open the door. A pungent blast of cinnamon and peppermint assaulted my nose. My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d not yet eaten breakfast.
I hurried inside to escape the increasing snowfall, and stepped right into what could only be described as…a Christmas wonderland. Wow. To say Helena Jackson, the café’s proprietor, had gone all out for this holiday season would have been an understatement. Bushy bunches of garland, festooned with red velvet bows, hung from the ceiling, arcs of evergreen. I took a sniff. The scent of pine intermingled with the host of other delicious fragrances permeating the room. But that wasn’t all when it came to the holiday extravaganza that was once a simple café.
Two fir trees stood sentry on either side of the coffee bar in the back, adorned with shiny silver and gold ornaments. The decorations glowed vibrant and bright, lit up by strands of multicolored lights. Blue, green, pink, yellow, a veritable festival of twinkling color. And every little wooden table in the café boasted a red or green pillar candle, unlit, but all wreathed in fresh pine.
“Wow,” I mouthed to myself just as
