But when I started to say, “Nate, I’m sorry. If you and Helena—” He cut me off.
“Maddy,” he said softly, “whatever it is you’re going to say, just know that it can wait. We know you’re innocent. Nobody in this café suspects you of anything. Don’t lose sight of that.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I could only nod in response. I really wished Helena were there to tell me herself, but Nate’s words still meant a lot.
“Let’s change the subject,” Nate said, noticing my watery eyes. “So what brings you to the café today?”
I thought about asking where Helena was and if I could talk to her, but then I remembered my actual reason for being there. So instead I cleared my throat and inquired, “Has the ferry been around with the mail yet?”
Yep, best to get back on task. I’d talk with Helena later. Nate had pretty much confirmed she wasn’t mad at me, so I’d just catch up with her next visit.
Nate eyed me curiously, surely puzzled by my sudden urgent interest in postal delivery. “Yeah, it’s here,” he responded, taking a step back and reaching behind the counter to grab several parcels of mail. “Brody dropped it off a little while ago.” Handing me a small bundle of envelopes, he added, “You expecting something important?”
I froze and searched his face for some indication that he somehow knew what I was hoping to find in my small packet of mail. But it appeared Nate was just making conversation.
“Nah,” I answered in a controlled voice that belied how I really felt. “Just the usual bills.” I held up the bundle, giving him a clear view of the gas bill on the top.
Now that the mail was in my hands, I felt anxious. The photo could be in there, even behind the gas bill I’d showed Nate. But I couldn’t check right in front of him, so I made some excuse about needing to get back to Adam’s house to talk to Max about something. When Nate shot me another confused look, it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen Max all morning. Damn, I wasn’t even sure he was on the island today. Had he gone with Adam to Boston? I sure hoped he hadn’t, or Nate was really going to wonder about me. But Nate seemed back to normal as we said our farewells.
Once I was back in the Lexus, I paged through the bundle of mail, unable to wait another minute to see if the copy of the photo had arrived.
Bills, junk mail, a magazine, and then…
My pulse quickened as my fingertips grazed over the second envelope from the bottom. A plain white envelope—the same size as the one now sitting in a plastic evidence bag at the Harbourtown police station. This one happened to be addressed to me; Jimmy’s childlike printing etched in black ink across the front. But unlike the envelope I’d found at Billy’s, this one was not empty.
I stared down at the envelope in my trembling hands. And then a burst of paranoia coursed through me when I noticed Jimmy had printed a return address in the upper-left hand corner on the envelope. A return address for Billy’s. Oh Lord. I shot a sidelong glance toward the café. Had Nate seen the return address? Why hadn’t Jimmy put his home address on the envelope? Or better yet, not written anything at all in the return address area. As far as I was concerned, even the Harbourtown postmark was too much information for this particular piece of mail.
I couldn’t help but wonder who else had seen the envelope? Nate said Brody had brought the mail over in the morning, which meant it had been sorted and bundled over at Cove Beach. Had anyone else besides Brody had access to the mail today? Jennifer could have seen it. J.T. could have too. And Helena may have seen it if she’d been in the café earlier. Crap!
No matter who had seen it—and hopefully it was none of the above—it could prove to be dangerous for me. Apart from all of those individuals being potential suspects in Chelsea’s disappearance—which meant the guilty party would most likely guess what the envelope contained, especially if they’d played a part in Jimmy’s demise—it also didn’t bode well that I was the recipient of a letter from a guy I was suspected of killing. Yeah, that tidbit might prove to be too tasty to keep to oneself. Surely someone like J.T., or definitely Jennifer, would just love to go to the police and tell them Maddy Fitch was receiving letters from the man she may have murdered. Talk about incriminating.
I was starting to feel a little sick, and I still hadn’t even opened the damn thing. But just as I slipped my finger under the flap to tear it open, a rap to my car window made me jump in my seat, the envelope dropping to my lap.
I looked up to see Nate on the other side of the glass. “Everything all right in there?” he asked, his voice muffled coming through the closed car window.
I pressed a button, and the window descended. “I’m fine, thanks,” I said, my voice shaky.
Nate looked at me hard. I was sure the color had drained from my face, my eyes wide with the fear of being found out. Without breaking my gaze from Nate, I felt for the envelope, and once I had it, slipped it into a side pocket in my jacket. All the while
