Now she had my attention. “Do you know something?”—silence—“If you know anything at all, Ami, you have to go to the police. Do you realize they think I killed Jimmy?”
Ami remained quiet but then said in a soft voice, “Actually I may be able to help you. But it’s too dangerous to talk over the phone. We should meet in person.”
“Fine, when?”
“I can make it over to the island in an hour. Meet me at the dock at one o’clock.”
After I agreed, we ended the call. I didn’t have much time. I wanted to tell Adam what was going on, so I tried his cell. But it went straight to voicemail. I thought about leaving a message, but there was too much to tell, so I just disconnected.
How could Ami possibly help? What did she know? These were the thoughts that occupied my mind as I finished my coffee, rinsed out the cup, grabbed my jacket. Shit! I suddenly remembered my Lexus was down at the dock. Since we’d taken Adam’s speedboat and docked on the northern end of the island, I hadn’t even considered my car. But when I opened the front door, resigned that I’d have to walk all the way down to the dock, I got quite the surprise. The Lexus was in the driveway. Adam must have had Nate or Max return it to the cottage sometime within the past twenty-four hours. In any case I was just thankful it was there, so I hurried out, hopped into the car, and turned the key that was still in the ignition.
The drive down to the dock took no time at all. I passed the café, but it was still closed. It was Tuesday, the day Helena was supposed to return to the island. She should be back by now, I thought, opening the café for business. Maybe she’d gotten tied up in Harbour Falls. I hated that I’d lied to her about my real reason for having been in Harbourtown, but I wondered if my remorse would really matter to her.
Detective Mitchell had informed me that the young officer had indeed found Helena waiting for me at the restaurant. But he hadn’t divulged what her reaction had been when she’d been told why I wouldn’t be meeting her for lunch. Had she been angry with me for lying? Or mad that I’d involved her in my mess? Surely she had to be wondering why I’d been at Billy’s. All the players in the Harbour Falls Mystery knew the significance of that place, so it was a certainty she’d put two and two together. Writing a book about the mystery had fallen off my priority list, but solving it was still at the top. Yeah, Helena was no fool, and she’d soon realize why I’d come to Fade Island. I just hoped she could forgive me when she did.
It was after one when I pulled into the parking lot down by the dock. The ferry was just coming in—fifteen minutes late—when I got out of the Lexus. Odd, since the ferries were quite punctual despite the motley crew that operated them.
I squinted into the glare from the sun to see if Ami was on board. But I frowned when I caught sight of the pilot instead. J.T. O’Brien. Ugh, why did it have to be him? I’d been hoping for Brody to be the one piloting the one o’clock ferry.
The possibility of a connection between Jimmy’s demise and J.T. made my blood run cold. He was about the last person I cared to see today. Hell, I still had no idea what he’d been up to over on the east side of the island. Digging around, burying something, reburying something, who knew?
I shuddered as I approached the dock. J.T. glanced up as he secured the ferry to the dock. “Maddy Fitch,” he said, expression grim. “What brings you down to the dock?” He lifted a dark satchel. “Are you really that anxious to get the mail?”
For a brief moment, I froze, panicked that J.T. somehow knew I was waiting for something from Jimmy. But he’d have no way of knowing such a thing. Besides, there was no way Jimmy’s mail—if he’d remembered to send it—would be here so quickly. Mail service was notoriously slow around these parts.
Looking past J.T. and ignoring his comment, I said, “Where’s Ami?”
He looked perplexed, but I couldn’t discern whether if it was an act or not. “Who? Ami Hensley?”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, she told me she was coming over on this ferry.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Maddy. The only thing I brought over is the mail,” J.T. said flatly as he hoisted the satchel over his shoulder and pushed past me.
A shiver ran down my spine at the brief contact, and I took a step back. Before I could think better of it, I muttered under my breath, “Likely story.”
J.T. dropped the satchel to the ground and spun around to face me. “You accusing me of something?”
“No,” I replied, looking everywhere but at his face.
And that was when I noticed a deep scratch running down the length of his forearm. It looked like it had been inflicted by something sharp, like maybe a long fingernail, and worse still, it appeared to be a recent wound. Like really recent.
My stomach lurched as J.T. stepped to close the gap between us. Fear gripped every part of my being, and I held my breath, expecting the worst. But suddenly a black Porsche screeched into the parking lot, skidding to a stop. Thank God!
With his hot breath in my face, J.T. muttered, “Lucky bitch.” I stepped back, and he hissed, “One of these days, your luck is gonna run out.”
Calmly picking up the mailbag, J.T. snorted in derision and began walking toward the steep grade that led up to Main Street.
Adam got out of the car and shot J.T. a look of undisguised fury. But he kept on walking,
