Street. We passed the tiny enclave of businesses, as well as the two olive-green bungalows, and then traveled the paved road that snaked its way along the lushness of the west side of the island. I imagined from above it looked like a snake winding through the grass.
Unlike the day before, today the sun was shining brightly and everything glowed in the afternoon light. Bright sunlight streamed through the foliage—just beginning to change from green to gold, orange, plum—and created a kaleidoscope of light on the road. Through the breaks in the trees, the blue ocean sparkled, a jewel off in the distance.
When we reached the last cottage, my dad helped carry everything into what was to be my home for at least the next three months—or however long it took to gather the necessary research to write my next novel. Fade Island was going to be the perfect location to conduct my own little investigation. It was quiet and private. And one of the main players, if not the main player in the Harbour Falls Mystery, lived less than one mile north of my new residence. The logistics were perfect.
After settling in, I walked into the living room. My father stood quietly, intently studying one of the impressionist-style paintings adorning the wall. The play of light coming through the window accentuated his salt-and-pepper hair, and it saddened me to see there was more salt than pepper. My dad stayed fit, but he was getting older. It scared me because he was all I had. My mother had passed away when I was a very young girl, and my only sibling, a much older brother, had left for college not long after. Over the years he visited occasionally, but he had his own new life in Chicago. So, for a long time, it had just been my dad and me.
I didn’t want to spend my first day on the island being maudlin, so I plopped down on the sofa and flipped up the cap on one of the bottled waters we’d brought from home. My father wasn’t that interested in art, so I asked, “Dad, is there something on your mind?”
“I’m just worried.” He sighed, making his way to the sofa. I scooted over, and he sat down next to me. “Just don’t get into any trouble out here, OK? Are you sure you want to start poking around in a case that’s been cold for more than four years?”
We’d been over this topic at least a dozen times since I’d been back. He knew I wanted my next novel to be based on the Harbour Falls Mystery. But he certainly had his misgivings. Not that I could blame him.
“I have to, Dad,” I tried to explain. “I need to know what really happened so I can write my book.” My dad looked away, and I added, “Hey, look on the bright side, maybe I’ll end up solving it.”
“Maddy.” His voice sounded chastising but in a half-hearted way. “Just get what you need for your research. Forget about solving this thing.” His eyes met mine. “And remember, I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“Were you able to get a copy of the case files?” I asked in a whisper.
I hated to push the issue, but I’d been secretly hoping he could pull a few strings and obtain a copy of the official documents pertaining to the Chelsea Hannigan disappearance. The files would give me a starting point, an insight into things that hadn’t been revealed to the public. Anything related to the case had been sealed to preserve the integrity of the investigation, making it nearly impossible for an individual without some kind of political pull to get his hands on those files.
My father, attempting to sound stern once again but failing, said, “Madeleine, I’m not kidding about you staying out of trouble. There are people here who aren’t going to take kindly to you asking questions about something most would rather forget.”
Recalling Ami’s words of warning, I conceded, “You’re right. I’ll watch my step.” It was looking like I’d have to forge forward without the case files. I picked up one of the throw pillows on the sofa and rolled a loose string between my fingers. I’d make do.
“Look,” my dad began. “I’ve thought about it a lot. You should be armed with some kind of background on this case. The fewer chains you have to rattle, the better.” I stopped picking at the loose string and looked up