Wickingham Way (A Harbour Falls Mystery #3) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

M
ay arrived, and Adam and I found ourselves heading down to Boston. The time for Trina and Walker’s wedding had finally arrived.

With Helena and Nate accompanying us, we made the trip in Adam’s private jet. Adam was the pilot, of course, and like our New Year’s trip to Boston four months earlier, Nate chose to sit up in the cockpit with Adam, leaving Helena and I to make our own fun in the passenger area.

Helena’s pregnancy precluded her from imbibing on alcoholic beverages, so she opted for sparkling apple cider when I broke out the wine glasses. Since I didn’t really care to be the only person drinking on the flight, I also chose the cider.

Now, one might think the lack of alcohol might make for a boring flight…but no. Hell no, in fact. The nonalcoholic cider sent Helena and me into fits of giggles, same as if we’d been drinking alcohol.

“See, we don’t need liquor to make us silly,” I proclaimed, raising my almost-empty glass and swirling around what was left of the golden-toned liquid.

“It’s all the damn sugar,” Helena said, hiccupping.

“Give me that damn bottle.” I reached for the empty cider bottle. “I want to see what’s in this crap.”

Helena handed me the bottle, and as I perused the label, I murmured, “Oh, jeez, it
is
loaded with sugar.”

“Told you,” Helena stated smugly.

And then I read off the nutritional info, or lack thereof. When I announced the amount of calories per glass, Helena moaned, “Oh great, just what I need, more calories. I already look like I’m six months pregnant. No one believes I’m only four months along.”

Helena was showing—that was true—but she certainly did not appear to be six months pregnant. And nobody, to my knowledge, had thought her any further along than what she actually was.

“Oh, you’re delusional,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You look awesome, Helena. And you know it.”

“I don’t know about that, but thank you for saying so, Maddy.” Helena suppressed a yawn as she finished speaking.

So much for the sugar high. Now my pregnant friend was just flat-out tired. I was a tad weary myself from all the laughing. Or maybe it was a post-sugar crash. In any case, Helena and I grew quiet and nodded off for the remainder of the flight.

Adam woke me up a short while later. “We’ve landed, Maddy,” he said when I opened my eyes and stared at him, perplexed, as he knelt by my seat. “We’re in Boston, babe.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, yawning and stretching, “the wedding.” I glanced around. “Where are Helena and Nate?”

“They’re on their way to the hangar.”

I patted the seat next to me where Helena had been sitting. “Sit with me for a minute, Adam. We may not get any time alone the rest of this weekend.”

He sighed. “That’s probably true.”

Adam slipped into the seat next to me and leaned his head back against the headrest. I maneuvered in my seat until I was sideways, facing Adam with my legs tucked up under me. “The flight felt smooth,” I said as I gestured to the cockpit. “Was everything okay up there?”

Adam turned his head, and our eyes met. “Yeah, it was pretty uneventful.”

“So, are you excited for your sister’s wedding?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m happy for Trina and Walker, but big weddings aren’t really my style.”

Trina and Walker were having a huge wedding, like to the point that it was becoming the talk of the town. Impressive, since Boston was no small town. But Adam’s sister and her husband-to-be were already society-page staples. We’d discovered that fact on New Year’s Eve.

“I’m not really into the whole massive wedding thing, either,” I admitted.

Adam cocked his head, his gaze watchful. “Do you want a small wedding then?”

I placed my hand on his and smiled. “Yeah, I do. I think I’d like that better than an extravagant wedding.”

Adam agreed, and we spoke awhile longer about what each of us wanted from our impending nuptials. We were on the same page on almost everything. We even chose a date. The only thing we held differing opinions on was when to let everyone know what we’d decided.

“I think we should tell them tomorrow,” I said, “so they can mark their calendars.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?” Adam asked, referring to the date we’d picked.

It seemed Adam wanted to give me more time to think about it. Like I’d ever decide I didn’t want to marry him.
Silly man.

I leaned across the seat and kissed him. “I love you, Adam. And I say the sooner I become Mrs. Adam Ward, the better.”

Adam smiled. “Then it’s decided.”

And it was, so we sealed our decision with a kiss.

*

Trina and Walker were married in a huge, ornate cathedral, with nearly one thousand people in attendance. The reception afterward was held at a huge manor outside of Boston. The estate was packed, but Helena, Nate, Adam, and I sat together at an intimate corner table, along with Adam’s parents.

Dr. and Mrs. Ward were beaming the entire day. Not only had their only daughter married the love of her life, but their only son had finally found happiness as well.

Adam’s parents had been made aware of our engagement the day after it was official. And they’d been elated ever since.

“To Maddy and Adam,” Dr. Ward stated as he raised his champagne glass. “I propose a toast… May the happiness in your soon-to-be entwined lives outweigh any strife in the days ahead, and may the love you so fortuitously found continue to grow stronger as the years pass.”

There was a round of “hear, hears” and the clinking of glasses.

“So, have you thought about what time of the year you’d like to have this wedding, dear?” Adam’s mom asked as she gently set her glass back down on the table.

Adam glanced my way and smiled. “I told you so,” he mouthed, a reference to his prediction we’d face these kinds of questions today, particularly from his mother.

“Um…” I looked to Adam again for confirmation to share what we’d decided the day before in the plane.

When he nodded that I should continue, I told his mom we were thinking of an autumn wedding.

“Oh, how lovely,” she said. “That’s a fine time for a wedding. So, fall of next year, yes?”

“Uh, actually…”

Everyone at the table had apparently been listening in, for all eyes turned to me. I glanced to Adam once more, and he (thankfully) took over.

“Maddy and I are thinking of getting married
this
fall.”

“Not next year?” Mrs. Ward asked her son, sounding somewhat bewildered.

Adam shook his head.

Helena, meanwhile, was smacking me in the arm. “Hey, you didn’t say anything about getting married so soon. Not that I don’t think it’s a great idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea as well,” Mrs. Ward suddenly piped in. Her expression had morphed from bewildered to very pleased.

“As do I,” Dr. Ward added, smiling at his wife.

Clearly, both of Adam’s parents were ready for Adam to get started on this new chapter of his life, a chapter that included me…and possibly grandchildren for them.

“Yeah, why wait?” Nate, who’d been quiet up until this point, chimed in.

“When it’s right, it’s right,” Dr. Ward said.

While everyone around us clamored on and on about how wonderful it was there’d soon be another wedding to attend, Adam reached for my hand. “Do you want to dance, Madeleine?” he asked.

The music had been playing for a while, yet only a few people were on the dance floor.

“I’d like nothing more.”

And even though there were hundreds of people in the huge ballroom, as Adam and I danced, bodies held close as a slow song played, it felt like the man I was going to marry and I were the only two people in the whole world.

Epilogue

A
utumn arrived, splashing Maine in splendid colors. Fade Island was awash in shades of red, plum, and gold. I found the isle more beautiful than the year before, when I’d first arrived with the intention of solving a mystery. When I thought about it now, I couldn’t believe how much had happened in one year’s time.

Not one, but
two
mysteries had been solved, Adam was targeted for assassination, and I’d been run down by a crazed psychopath.

And those were just a few of the mystery-related things.

My personal life had changed in many ways as well. I’d renewed family ties, rediscovered old friendships, and made new friends. But most importantly, I found love…with Adam Ward.

From the moment we first saw one another again, in Adam’s living room after I’d trespassed on his property, Adam and I were on a trajectory to this day—our wedding day.

And here it was…

As I held onto my father’s arm, I took in the touching scene before me.

High above a raging sea, on a large, flat stretch of grassy land, Adam stood waiting for me at an altar that had been erected near the edge of a cliff on his estate property.

The man I was about to marry looked insanely handsome, as always. It was no surprise then when my breath caught in my throat as Adam smiled at me.

I faltered a little. But my father, at my side, kept me right.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Dad whispered as we walked along a snow-white runner that was dappled in autumn-toned rose petals. The thrum of “The Wedding March” played softly in the background.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I whispered back.

And I was fine, better than fine. I just couldn’t believe my dream was coming true. I was about to become Adam Ward’s wife.

All of our friends and families were in attendance to witness the happy event, seated in rows of ivory-colored chairs. They smiled encouragingly as I made my way down the aisle, the long train of my silk wedding gown rustling through the strewn petals.

I’d never felt so happy and loved. Not just by Adam, but by my father at my side, as well as the people in the seats.

As I made my way to Adam, I smiled as I walked by his parents, as well as his sister, Trina, and her new husband, Walker. Erin and Stowe, who’d flown up from Boston, gave a little wave from the far end of the row. Max lifted his hand and gave me a thumbs-up. And my brother, Brent, on the opposite side of the aisle winked encouragingly as I passed. His wife sat next to him, and beyond her, Helena’s mom.

Helena’s mom’s was cradling Helena and Nate’s newborn baby boy, who was swaddled in a blanket of blue. Little Nathan had been born two weeks early, but he was healthy as could be. He let out a small cry, and Helena, my maid of honor, beamed proudly as her eyes moved to her baby. Nate, Adam’s best man, looked pretty damn proud himself as he glanced over to where Helena’s mom was rocking the baby in her arms, trying to quiet him.

When we reached the altar, my dad placed my hand in Adam’s. “Be good to my daughter,” he murmured.

Adam squeezed my hand gently, and said to my dad, “I will, Mayor Fitch, I promise. I plan to love and honor Maddy every day for the rest of our lives.”

Adam’s serene blue eyes then met mine. And before we even recited the vows we’d written for one another, I knew in my heart that Adam would do as he promised: he’d be good to me. Of course, I planned to be very good to him as well.

While the reverend officiating welcomed everyone to our wedding, Adam held my gaze. “Forever,” he murmured quietly.

I whispered back, “Forever, Adam. Forever.”

The End

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my family and friends, for all the love and support from the very beginning of this journey. Thank you to all the bloggers who read and review my novels and do such a phenomenal job of getting the word out. Thank you to Damon for creating great covers and Benjamin for superb print and e-book layouts. And thank you, readers, for making all the work that goes into a novel worthwhile.

Feel free to contact me. I love hearing from readers.

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Author Bio

S.R. Grey is the author of the bestselling novel Harbour Falls, as well as Willow Point and Wickingham Way, all novels in A Harbour Falls Mystery series. She is also the author of I Stand Before You, the first novel in the Judge Me Not series.

Ms. Grey resides in western Pennsylvania. She has a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration degree, as well as an MBA. Her background is in business, but her passion lies in writing.

She is currently working on Never Doubt Me, the second novel of the Judge Me Not series. Expected publication: Spring 2014.

I Stand Before You
is the first novel of

S.R. Grey’s newest series,
Never Doubt Me
.

Read the first chapter here…

Prologue

Chase

I
lean my head back against the headrest, crank the passenger window down the rest of the way. The June night air rustles through my hair, reminding me I desperately need a trim. I run my fingers through the strands, chasing the path of the breeze.

My grandmother likes to lecture that I shouldn’t have hair sticking out at odd angles, strands curling at the nape of my neck.

“You’re such a handsome young man, Chase,” Grandma Gartner said just this morning,
tsk
ing when I sat down for breakfast. “You look so much like your father did when he was your age. But, you know,
he
always kept
his
hair short and tidy.” And then there was a pause, a long, dramatic sigh. She set down a plate of eggs—over easy—in front of me. “My poor Jack. God rest his soul.” My grandmother crossed herself.

Her poor Jack, my father with the short and tidy hair—dead and gone.

I thought:
I am not my dad
,
Gram.
He failed us, he gave up on us.
But the words never passed my lips. And they never will. Hearing them would only hurt my grandmother’s feelings and she’s too good to hear the angry thoughts poisoning my polluted mind. So I keep all that shit locked deep inside.

This morning was no different. I kept things light, said something like, “The girls like my hair like this, Gram. Got to keep the ladies happy, ya know.”

Then I ducked and waited for the inevitable swat with the dish towel. But it never came. Instead, the lines in my grandmother’s face deepened.

“You don’t need to be concerning yourself with keeping ladies happy, young man. You’re only twenty. Messing with women at your age will only lead to trouble.”

I knew what she meant this morning, and I know it now too. She’s worried I’ll end up getting some girl pregnant. Then I’ll be fucked, well and good. But I’m always careful, take the necessary precautions. Besides, it isn’t my womanizing ways that’s becoming a problem. If only. No, unfortunately, it’s my ever-growing dependency on drugs—something my grandmother would never suspect—that has me worried these days.

These days…
Yeah, right. More like these blurry, fucked-up segments of time.

Sighing, I roll the window up just enough to lean my head against the cool glass.
What am I going to do?
I silently ask myself.

What I really need to do is get the hell out of this tiny Ohio farm town I landed back in two years ago. I’m spinning my wheels here in Harmony Creek, hanging with a bad crowd. Problem is I have no plan, no money either. Drugs are my escape and have been for quite a while. My priorities are all fucked up. My life, it’s upside down. Every day it seems like getting high—and staying that way—is my only goal. I want to stop—believe me I do—but I don’t think I know how to anymore.

A lump forms in my throat at this thought, but I swallow it down. “Hey,” I say to Tate, who is driving. “Let’s get out of this town.”

Tate Cody, my friend…and my partner in crime in everything wild and crazy these days—women, drugs, drinking, fighting—you name it, we do it. And if we’re not doing it nowadays, chances are we’ve done it at least once over the past couple of years. We’ve yet to slow down; we live on the edge.

I sometimes wonder when we’ll fall.

“What do you think we’re doing, Chase, my man?”

I take in and process Tate’s reply, while he lifts a bottle of cheap gin to his lips and hits the gas. And for this one long, tortuous drawn-out second, I can’t make a distinction between what I asked Tate and what I was only thinking. I panic, assuming my partner in crime’s response is to let me know it’s finally happening, we’re really falling.

But then Tate adds, “I’m getting us out of here as fast as I can,” and I breathe a little easier. He just means we’re leaving Harmony Creek. Not falling, after all.
Shit, I need to ease up on the drugs
.

I glance out the window, and though it’s dark I can see we’re heading east, nearing the state line. Soon we’ll be out of Ohio completely, and in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania. That’s where we’re supposed to hook up with two girls tonight. They’re from New Castle, and we’re meeting at a lake across the state line.

I don’t really care about all that, though. What I’d really rather do is keep on going. Hop on Interstate 80 and clock the miles to Jersey. Better yet, Tate and I could go farther. We could drive our asses straight into New York-fucking-City. Now that would be sweet.

So while Tate barrels down a back road the police rarely patrol—until you get into Pennsylvania, that is—I pretend we’re leaving Harmony Creek for good. No looking back, no regrets, just flying the fuck out of this lame-ass small town.

And speaking of flying, I’m flying a bit now too, feeling fine, baby, fine. I close my eyes so I can savor the s-l-o-w creep of numbness that cocoons me like a warm and fuzzy blanket.

I feel nothing, yet I feel everything.

My skin tingles a little, but when I touch my hand to my face it feels detached, like these parts of my body belong to two different people, neither of them me. That thought makes me happy, escape is exactly what I crave.

Needless to say, I’ve smoked—a lot—and not just weed. But it’s the pills I swallowed a while ago that are starting to wrap me up and spin me the fuck out.

A bottle hits the back of my hand and my eyes fly open. Shit, I forgot I am not alone in this car.

“Drink, fucker,” Tate urges.

I take the gin, despite the fact I can barely see straight.
No
isn’t part of my vocabulary when I’m like this. And, sadly, more often than not, this is exactly how I am. This is who I am becoming: Chase Gartner, burgeoning drug addict.

As per most nights, Tate and I stopped at Kyle’s before embarking on
this
night’s little adventure. Kyle Tanner supplies us with more drugs than we could ever hope for. And the quality is always top notch. Kyle takes a certain kind of pride in dealing only primo product. But you’d never guess such a thing if you saw the rundown shithole he lives in.

Our dealer resides on the
other
side of town, over by the closed-down glass factory, in a clapboard house he shares with his meth-addicted dad. Lately, going there has been a contradiction of emotions for me. I love and hate concurrently when Tate and I cross over the railroad tracks that mark the end of the safe neighborhoods of Harmony Creek. Then, I vacillate between love and hate as I watch the Sparkle Mart grocery store appear…then disappear. I lean a little more towards hate when we reach the run-down apartment building where the junkies hang out, where their emaciated bodies lean lazily against the dirty brick exterior.

I sure as fuck don’t want to end up there, God, no. But maybe I’m powerless to stop my downward spiral. Lord knows, by the time we start down the long dirt road that leads to Kyle’s place, I crave and I want. And love trumps hate by that point. Even the junkies seem less scary. So we go…and we go…and we keep going back.

Tate tells me the road to Kyle’s house is the road to salvation.
Salvation, my ass.
I’d be more inclined to say Tate and I are traveling a path to hell. We’re in the express lane to damnation, and one step closer to burning every time we travel down that fucking dirt road. I know it, he knows it, but do we ever do anything to stop? Do we try to crawl out of the hole we’re wallowing in? No, never.

In fact, Tate wants us to delve in deeper—start selling. He says we’ll make, at the minimum, enough money to help pay for the copious amounts of shit we ingest…snort…smoke. Yeah, we do it all, everything short of needles. I somehow know if I ever cross
that
line, there will be no going back.

But I’m considering the selling thing, albeit for a different reason than my friend. Tate hopes to eventually make enough cash to buy his own wheels. He hates borrowing the piece of shit we’re currently in—his mom’s old, rusted Ford Focus. I just want to make enough money to buy a ticket out of this place. The little bit I earn painting people’s houses, picking up construction work here and there—it’s not adding up fast enough for my liking.

Hell, I still live at my grandmother’s farmhouse out on Cold Springs Lane. Granted, I recently fixed up the little apartment above the detached garage, moved from a bedroom in the main house to an area not too much larger. But that little apartment provides privacy, and that’s what I need. I am no longer a teenager, like when I first moved back two years ago. That’s why I want, more than anything, to just get the fuck out of here. I’m thinking the money I make selling will make escape a reality, not just some pipe dream. No pun intended.

I raise the bottle of gin to my lips and tip it back. Alcohol heats my throat. “I think I’m going to take Kyle up on his offer,” I say after I swallow the burn, the resulting grimace distorting my voice. “I need the money and it’s going to take forever to earn it legit.”

“You’re making the right decision, my friend,” Tate replies as he reaches over to take back the bottle.

Whoa…
My vision turns wonky. There are three overlapping filmy images of my friend, and then just two.

“It’s all about the numbers, man,” two filmy Tates tell me.

I tell myself I need to slow down, and then I say to Tate, “That it is.” I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from swaying in my seat. “That it is,” I repeat.

The irony is that I once had money. Well, my family did, enough that my parents had a trust fund set up for me. Not a big one, mind you, but enough that it would’ve allowed for me to go to a decent college, get set up in a new city, shit like that.

I have no idea what my future holds nowadays, but I know it’s been tainted by my past.

Back when I was around eight my parents moved from this town out to Las Vegas. My dad, who’d been successfully building houses here for a while, started a similar construction business out in Nevada. The timing was right, the stars aligned. We caught magic in the early days of the housing boom. Everything was golden and money poured in. It was happy times. For a while.

During those good times, Mom got pregnant. She gave me a little brother named Will that I still love like crazy and miss every fucking day. We used to talk on the phone all the time, but now I’m lucky if I get a two-word text from my little bro. I suppose when you’re eleven years old—and haven’t seen your big brother in two years—memories become a little hazy.

That’s another thing the extra money from selling drugs will help with: I’ll have enough funds to fly out to Vegas to see Will. Or I can just buy him a ticket to come here. As it is my mom, Abby, barely makes enough to get by out there.

But, like I said before, it wasn’t always that way. In the early years, my father’s construction company grew and thrived, so much so that I once entertained dreams of taking over the business. I used to imagine following in my father’s footsteps, as sons are apt to do.

One afternoon, when I was about thirteen, I told my dad I wanted to build homes, same as he did. I showed him some sketches, just some basic designs and floor plans I’d thrown together. My dad was impressed. And not the false kind of fawning parents often try to sell to their kids. No, my drawings truly floored Jack Gartner. I could tell he couldn’t believe his eldest son possessed that kind of crazy talent. He told me I should aim high, the sky was the limit. My sketches were incredible, he said, especially for my age. I could be an architect if I wanted, design skyscrapers even.

I had no reason not to believe him.

When you’re thirteen you think you can have it all. Life hasn’t roughed you up so very much…yet. At least it hadn’t for me. So I told my father I’d do both—I would design the skyscrapers, and then I’d build them. My buildings would sell like hotcakes, and I’d be as rich as Donald Trump. No, richer even.

“The sky’s the limit,” I said, echoing my father’s words back to him.

Dad smiled and patted me on the back.

Jack Gartner wasn’t patronizing me, he truly believed in my possibility. “You have talent, Chase,” he said. “Just don’t ever lose yourself. If you can stay true to your dream…to who you are…then you’ll do more than fly. Someday you’ll soar.”

Yeah, right. I sure am soaring at the moment, but I have a feeling this isn’t what Dad had in mind.

Tate tries to pass the bottle back to me, but my mood has dampened. The pills, along with the memories, are doing a fucking number on my emotions. I’m sad one minute, reflective the next, mad at everything, contemplative over nothing. I guess I am officially fucked up.

I push the bottle away, harder than necessary, and clear liquid sloshes over the side. “Asshole,” Tate mutters.

“Sorry,” I say.

Do I really mean it? No, it’s just a word, an empty string of letters. Empty, like me.

I tune Tate out. I am high as fuck and lost in my mind. We idle at a swinging red light hanging over an empty, dark stretch of road, and I sit waiting on an imaginary red light in my head, one on memory-fucking-lane.

When I blink, both lights turn green…

My dad started taking me to work the summer I showed him the drawings. I learned how to wire a home, how to put in plumbing, how to lay insulation. And that was just the beginning. I used to watch how my dad talked to the guys. He treated them with respect, and in turn they went the extra mile for him. It was all “Yes sir, Mr. Gartner,” “Consider it done, Jack.”

When I turned fourteen, my dad bought me a drafting table, a bunch of fancy software too. The kind real architects use, or so he said. I practiced all the time, got pretty damn good. I was building my wings, you see, preparing to fly.

Will was only five, but damn if that kid didn’t love to sit around and watch me sketch. For him, I’d draw all kinds of ridiculous structures.

“Dwaw me a house, Chasey,” he asked this one day.

I laughed while I tousled his blond hair. I remember the fine strands looked so light in the sunlit room. Hell, they were almost white. “All right, buddy, what kind do you want?”

“A house like a tweeeee,” Will sing-song replied, green eyes innocent and wide as he focused on the sketch pad I’d picked up from my desk.