Nurse Allen must have heard Ami’s shrill protest because she rushed into the room. After a short, hushed discussion with the guard, the nurse confirmed I was allowed to accept the gift. She explained that Ami was enrolled in an art therapy course and she’d made the key—so it was a key!—with the help of an instructor. Ami wasn’t permitted to work with any sharp instruments, like a saw or carving knife, for obvious reasons. But once the key was fashioned, Ami had been allowed to paint and decorate it.
I didn’t dare look at the wooden key as I held it tightly against my palm. Not with the stern nurse and the big, scary guard looking on. This key held a clue, a piece to a puzzle I sought to solve, and I didn’t trust anyone.
Fifteen minutes were up, the nurse informed me. So I said a hasty good-bye. Ami smiled slyly and mouthed, “Come back soon.”
I raced down the hall, bypassing the elevator that had moved like a snail on the way up. I practically flew down three flights of stairs to reach the first floor. I wanted to see what Ami had given me, why it was significant, but there were cameras everywhere. I squeezed the piece of wood tighter. I knew it was a key, but what did it mean? It obviously wasn’t going to unlock anything. It wasn’t real, just a facsimile. But I knew that key held some sort of great meaning, seeing that it was my first clue.
Once I was outside the door, I drew to a stop. There was some activity over on the west wing, a guard getting into a car. At first I wondered why there were cars parked over on the abandoned side, but then I realized there was a small employee lot over there. A few trees obscured most of the parking area, probably the reason why I’d not noticed it when I first drove up.
In addition to the departing guard, there was one other visible, the same guard I’d seen earlier, way down at the end of the east wing. I was essentially alone, so I opened my palm. I studied the wooden key in my hand. Ami had painted it a gold color, just like a real key. But there was nothing remarkable about it, no words, no letters. What the hell kind of clue was this?
Sighing, I flipped it over.
Wait…there was something on the back. A number—#11—painted in black. This was my clue: a key with #11 printed on it. Hmm…what could it mean? I felt sure the number was important. But why? Was it the number of an apartment, a house, a safe deposit box? What could it be a reference to? Unfortunately, the possibilities were endless.
By giving me such a cryptic clue—but one that already had me guessing—Ami had just ensured I would return. Clever bitch.
Chapter Seven
Almost two weeks had passed, fourteen days with no Adam in my life. I dared not call, though I’d held the phone in my hand a number of times, even hovered a finger over his name in my contacts once or twice. But I was the one who’d said I needed time, even though it wasn’t true. Adam didn’t know that, however, and it wouldn’t be fair to send him mixed messages. Not while I was trying to ultimately help the guy. That thought didn’t make any of this easier, though.
All the snow we’d endured had mercifully subsided. Today the sun was out in full force, the sky an azure sea. My laptop was open in front of me, the cursor beating time on a blank page. I was up in the room with the turret, sitting at the desk, daydreaming when I should have been writing.
But I had discovered it was damn near impossible to write a convincing love story when the relationship that inspired the tale was in shambles. So, instead of typing, I stared out the window, watching a fluffy and white cloud roll by. Ever since the day I’d gone to Willow Point, the weather had improved significantly. In addition to the lack of new snowfall, the temperatures were mild.
I drew my gaze from the window and glanced down at the desk. The key Ami had given me lay next to the laptop, the #11 facing up. What did it mean? I still hadn’t figured anything out. Since I seemed to be investigating a secret involving four specific people, I desperately wished I could ask one of them—other than Ami—what that damn key might mean. Adam was obviously out. And Helena had been less than forthcoming the day I’d been at the café, shortly before Christmas. So I wasn’t going to start bothering her.
Naturally, Nate was out of the question. I just didn’t know him well enough. Besides, he was Adam’s friend. So is Helena, I thought with a sigh. She had, however, called a few days after I left the island, asking me why I was no longer staying at the cottage.
“Adam and I broke up,” I had said quietly. “It just didn’t feel right to stay there.”
Helena had been silent, and I’d continued, “I mean, Adam owns the cottage, he owns the cars I drive. Hell, he owns the island, Helena. I had to go.”
“Well, Nate and I are still your friends,” she had said softly. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I wish you’d reconsider. I miss you already, Maddy.”
I’d blown out a breath, swallowed the lump in my throat. “I miss you, too.” And then I just put this out there, “You can always come over and visit me here, you know.”
Helena promised she would, especially now that the weather was better and the ferry was running regularly. I was relieved she hadn’t asked why Adam and I were no longer together. He’d probably told Nate the reason anyway, that I supposedly needed “time.” God, it sounded so
