One True Secret. Bethany Campbell
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implicate you and your family in a million-dollar scam. So you need to talk to me if you want to prove that you aren’t in the middle of the biggest fraud in the art world.”
MERRIMAN FASCINATED Claire. He’d put Bunbury down so he could take notes on the flowers and shoot more pictures, but he’d patted and rubbed and caressed the cat so thoroughly that Bunbury was clearly in love.
He stayed next to Merriman, rubbing against the man’s leg and purring. Claire hadn’t thought the cat would take to strangers, for he hardly ever saw any.
But she saw few herself, and she, too, took to Merriman. He seemed shy and friendly at once, a mysterious combination. And he acted so interested in everything she said that she found it easy, even pleasant, to answer his questions.
“It’s a coral vine,” she told him as he knelt to shoot a vine covered with dark-pink blossoms. “The flowers look like a string of hearts. Some people call it the Chain of Love.”
He snapped three shots, then wrote the name in his notebook. He looked up and gave her a bashful smile. “Chain of Love. That’s a pretty name.”
His smile was intriguing. It was straight, not curved like the grin of the Cheshire cat. And when he smiled, for some reason, his forehead wrinkled, so that his smile looked…thoughtful.
He had thick dark-blond hair that wouldn’t stay put; it stirred constantly in the breeze. He was handsome in a way that was both boyish and rugged.
He pointed at a white-flowered vine, strung with similarly shaped blooms. “Is this another kind of Chain of Love?”
He looked so earnest that she almost smiled herself. “That’s a bleeding heart. In some places they use the flower to cast spells.”
The wind rippled his hair so it fell over his forehead. “What kind of spells?”
Maybe she shouldn’t have brought that up; a blush heated her face. “Spells to…attract something…that you, uh, desire.”
“Could I take a sprig?”
She tilted her head in puzzlement. “What for?”
“A souvenir. Something real. Not just pictures.”
She licked her lips nervously. He watched the movement as if it hypnotized him. “I guess,” she breathed.
“I’ll take the pictures first.” He moved nearer the vine, Bunbury pressing against his knee. He clicked the shutter three times and jotted a note in his tablet. Carefully, he picked a section of vine hung with delicate flowers. He tucked it in the buttonhole of his blue shirt.
Then he gave her such a long look that she felt more embarrassed than before. He said, “I don’t suppose you’d let me take your photo.”
“Oh, no,” she said, alarmed. “I couldn’t do that. We don’t want our pictures in any magazine.”
“Not for the magazine. For me. To remember you. Nobody else would see it. I promise.”
She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t do that.”
“I’d really like to,” he said. “On my word of honor, it wouldn’t be for publication.”
“No,” she repeated. “I can’t. I don’t even know why you’re taking pictures of the flowers. They could be anybody’s flowers.”
“They’re your flowers,” he said.
“Not really. I just help take care of them. They belong to my grandparents.”
“Maybe they inspire your grandfather’s paintings. His paintings are colorful. Strong colors.”
She turned and stared at the banyan tree. “I can’t talk about him. Or the paintings.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. He put his tablet aside and rubbed Bunbury’s back. His expression went solemn, as if he was thinking hard. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Confusion filled her. “No. Probably not.” But she had wanted to say yes. She had wanted to say it very much.
“The next day?” he persisted.
“No. I shouldn’t be here now. I should go back inside.”
She got to her feet and went to pick up Bunbury, but the cat was pressed so affectionately against Merriman’s thigh that her hand brushed the man’s leg.
She’d knelt so that her eyes were now on the same level as Merriman’s. “Would you go out with me?” he asked.
She froze, her hands on the cat’s bulging middle. The question was extraordinary. “What?”
“Would you go out with me?” he repeated. “I wouldn’t pry into your family’s business, I swear. I’d just like to be with you. I know it—”
The gate clanged as Emerson burst through it. She stopped and stared in anger at Claire and Merriman kneeling so closely together. Beyond her, standing outside the gate, Claire could see Eli Garner, his expression fierce.
“What’s this?” Emerson demanded. “Claire, you were supposed to stay inside.”
Claire, usually mild-mannered, was offended by her sister’s tone. “I came out to get Bunbury.”
“Have you been talking to this person?” Emerson glared at Merriman.
“I told him the names of some plants,” Claire said.
“You—” Emerson pointed at Merriman. “Your hour here’s up. Leave now.”
“Emerson,” Claire objected, “there’s no need to be rude. He hasn’t done anything.”
Emerson ignored her. She shook her finger at the photographer. “I said time’s up. Leave. You and your sleazy friend.”
“Emerson!” Claire was shocked. She’d never seen her sister so imperious.
Merriman stood, picking up his tablet. “I’ll leave,” he said calmly. “And your sister’s right. I asked her about the banyan and the flowers. That’s all we talked about.”
Claire, too, rose, clutching Bunbury. Merriman turned to her. “Goodbye. And thank you. I hope I’ll see you again.”
“I—I hope so, too,” Claire stammered, amazing herself.
Then Merriman was leaving, and Claire felt a sense of something almost like bereavement. He nodded to Emerson. “Good day, Miss Roth. I’m sorry to have upset you.”
As soon as he was out of the gate, Emerson slammed it behind him.
“Em! Why were you so hateful?” Claire protested.
“He’s a nice man. He really is.”
“Nice?” Emerson fumed. “Those men are treacherous. They want to ruin us.”
Claire shook her head stubbornly. “I can’t believe that about him. I won’t.”
“You will when you know the truth. Come inside. Nana’s got to hear this. We need to have a council of war.”
“War?” Claire echoed, horrified.
“Yes.” Emerson said it with ferocious conviction. “War.”
“GOOD GOD,” Merriman complained, “what did you do to that woman? What did you say to her?”
As the car passed through the gates to the estate, rain began to fall in fat, cold drops. Eli glowered at the sky as if even the heavens had decided to punish him. “I told her the truth.”
“What truth?” Merriman asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, put the top up, will you?”
“I told her that Mondragon had a detective investigating them. And he found out some strange things.”
He