One thing was certain; I couldn’t continue on as I’d been doing, pretending like everything was fine. I had no choice but to do what I’d been putting off—go to Willow Point and talk to Ami. But if I was going to start investigating again—and this time I’d possibly be digging into something bigger than the Harbour Falls Mystery—some things were going to have to change. First priority, I had to protect Adam. As per Ami’s demand, I’d not tell him anything. What if I did and something happened to him? How could I ever forgive myself?
So, yeah, I was going to have to make some tough decisions. Adam had once saved my life, and if it meant making sacrifices to return the favor, then I owed it to him.
I could only hope he wouldn’t hate me in the end.
Chapter Four
One thing became clear over the next several days. If I was going to investigate this larger mystery, really go all out, I’d have to leave the island. To stay here and start searching would inevitably lead to Adam asking questions, and I might slip up, say something about Ami. And she’d said not to tell him anything, at least not yet. Whatever that meant. In any case, it seemed prudent, until I knew more, to listen to the crazy girl.
How someone like Ami was involved in this whole thing, I couldn’t begin to imagine. But I foresaw a plethora of trips to Willow Point in order to get to the bottom of this mystery, as well as to find out how much she really knew. Due to this unfortunate fact, there was no way I could remain on Fade Island.
It was just too easy for Adam to keep tabs on me around here. The island was small, and much of the time I suspected Max was watching me. Even if I was just being paranoid at the moment, Adam would certainly make sure Max was keeping an eye out if he suspected there was a reason to do so. And if Adam discovered I was making frequent trips to the mainland, which I would be doing if I remained here, then Adam would have his reason. It was just too dicey of a situation, and I could see no way around it. I was going to have to move back to the mainland.
I called my dad to tell him I wanted to rent a place in Harbour Falls. He asked why. My poor father was probably perplexed since he knew of no trouble between me and my guy. I told Dad I just needed a change of scenery to keep the creative juices flowing. Yeah, right.
He scoffed, probably thinking exactly that since he knew I’d used the old writer’s block story not so very long ago. Dad cleared his throat, but said nothing for a solid minute. I cringed, I was glad he couldn’t see my face. At last, he sighed and then proceeded to give me a lead on a nice rental property.
An elderly lady named Mrs. Heider was hoping to rent her Queen Anne-style home for the next several months. With the holidays over, she planned to head down to Florida for the rest of the winter. Many of the seniors in these parts did that. Mrs. Heider lived in a quiet enclave of Victorian homes in one of the oldest sections of Harbour Falls. I knew the neighborhood well and could picture it in my mind. It was a tidy, well-kept area, comprised mostly of older folks. It was exactly what I was looking for, no one around to get all up in my business. As soon as I hung up with my father, I gave Mrs. Heider a call. We made arrangements for me to tour her home that very afternoon.
A few short hours later I pulled up to the last house on the street, parked in front of the Queen Anne. There was a “For Lease” sign in the expansive front lawn. If all went well, Mrs. Heider would be taking that down today.
The house had been renovated, clearly, but in a way that allowed it to retain all its original Victorian charm. There was a wide porch with a swing (hoisted up to the slatted ceiling for the winter), lots of intricate gingerbread trim, a gabled roof with slate shingles, and a soaring turret on the side closest to the only directly adjacent neighbor, the house next door.
I walked up the walkway, and Mrs. Heider met me at the door. As the tour commenced, she confided she was a great fan of my novels. Consequently, she seemed to take great joy in showing me a nice little room on the second floor that she had converted into an office area. “It’s perfect for a writer,” she exclaimed, leading me into a very floral, very femininely decorated space. It was a bit much, a lot of flowers. But rather cozy, I had to admit.
“This was my daughter’s room when she was growing up,” she explained, showing me around. “When she left I redecorated, took out the bed, and added this furniture.” She led me to a wooden desk in the curve of the turret. “I like to sit here to write out my bills and correspond with friends.” She turned to me, expectation in her eyes. “Do you think you could see yourself writing here?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I could. It’s very nice, a good spot for focusing.”
It was a great area for writing, and Mrs. Heider seemed thrilled at the prospect I might be penning my next novel here in her office. “Oh, that
