One True Secret. Bethany Campbell
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detective? You never told me that. I’m surprised she didn’t knock your block off.”
“She tried,” Eli said from between his teeth. He still remembered how swiftly she’d drawn her hand back to slap him. And his feet hurt from walking on burrs. He was still barefoot, his feet scratched and bleeding.
“I don’t blame her,” Merriman said. “Why’d you tell her? It was sure to rile her.”
“I had to tell her so she’d stop trying to stonewall me,” Eli said. The car clattered over the rusted metal bridge.
“She doesn’t like it, but I’ve got her where I want her, and she knows it. That’s why she’s mad.”
“Great. I was just starting to get somewhere with the sister, and you make me seem like a…spy or something.” Merriman swore and stared glumly out at the rain.
Eli frowned at him. “Get somewhere with her? You mean you were actually getting information out of her?”
Merriman shot him a dirty look. “I don’t want information. I like her. I’ve never met anybody like her. And now you’ve queered it. She’ll think I’m a weasel.”
Eli grimaced in disbelief. “You like her? You’re supposed to be a professional. We’re here on a story. She’s part of it. If she talked to you, what in hell did she say?”
“We talked about flowers. I patted her cat. She seemed to trust me, but now—”
“You petted her cat? You talked about flowers? Does the word journalism have no meaning for you?”
“I’m just the guy who takes pictures. You’re the investigator.”
“Before you saw the broad, you were singing a different song,” Eli accused.
“She’s not a broad,” Merriman retorted. “She’s a lady. Now I’ll probably never see her again—thanks to you.”
“My heart bleeds.”
Merriman narrowed his eyes. “You know, for a guy who has Emerson Roth exactly where he wants, you’re in a rotten mood. You know what I think? I think you’ve got the hots for her. And you blew your chance with her—big time. Smooth, Garner.”
Merriman’s words annoyed Eli because they were true. Emerson Roth was a beautiful woman. But more than that, she had spirit, she was smart…and loyal to a fault. He didn’t want her to be guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors, but he feared she was.
He wanted her to have a reasonable, moral excuse for the games her family played. He didn’t want her to hate him. But it was too late for that. The damage was done.
Eli was relentless; it went with his job. He could go beyond relentless to ruthless when he had to, and he had been ruthless with Emerson.
She would talk to him again tomorrow because she had no choice.
And he would show her no mercy. Because he couldn’t.
THE THREE WOMEN sat in the living room. It was a large, airy room, and most days light flooded through the big windows.
But the sun was hidden in the gloom of fast-moving clouds, and rain beat against the glass. Emerson sat alone on the white couch, and Claire sat in the rattan rocker, looking atypically rebellious. Nana got up from the armchair and switched on the Tiffany lamp.
She turned to face the two young women. “So, Em, what did this detective tell the Garner man?”
“I don’t know,” Emerson admitted unhappily. “That’s why I have to talk to him again. To see how much he knows.”
Nana moved to the Queen Anne chair and sat down, looking small but regal. She twined her gnarled fingers together. “They looked at our credit card records?”
“Yes,” Emerson said bitterly. She’d warned them to be careful with credit cards. Emerson herself was careful even with checks. She paid cash whenever possible.
She cast an accusing glance at Claire. “Why did you charge our prescriptions so often? Why didn’t you think?”
Claire, clutching the arms of the rocker, kept her air of defiance. “I thought we only had to be careful about the Captain.”
“I worried for years that we’d slip up,” Emerson snapped. “I told you we couldn’t be too careful.”
Claire’s defenses wobbled. “Em, I made a mistake. I’m sorry. But my mind doesn’t work like yours. For me, it’s exhausting, watching every move I make. It’s confusing. It’s nerve-racking. It’s paralyzing.”
Nana shook her finger gently at Emerson. “She made an innocent faux pas, Em. Do not scold. It does no good to squabble.”
Emerson felt a surge of guilt for rebuking Claire. She knew that the family secrets preyed on Claire, that they gnawed at her nerves and undermined her confidence.
Claire was retiring, like Nana. Emerson took after the Captain. The Captain had been so bold it was breathtaking. But now he could no longer be bold, and his job fell to her. She was daring, she was quick-witted, and, like the Captain, she could play a part and play it well.
Yet Eli Garner was a formidable opponent. It was possible he was too formidable. Had she met her match? The thought terrified her. Not so much for her own sake, but for her family’s. Their future and their welfare depended on her. She was their protector, and she loved them passionately.
She let her gaze meander over the room’s walls. The paintings hung there, and she loved them, too. They were striking and so full of life they seemed to glow with it. It was her duty to protect them, too, all that vivid, glorious work signed Roth.
She turned to face Claire. “I’m sorry, too. It’s just…upsetting. To have people prying. Spying on you.”
Claire winced and nodded. Nana said, “Em, someone followed you to Marathon, when you went to get the Captain’s medicine. Do you suppose he even followed you to the pharmacy counter?”
“Yes. He must have.”
The thought of being stalked and watched gave Emerson a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. What else had the informer seen?
Nana squeezed her fingers together more tightly. “They may have watched the beach from out in the cove. They may have seen the Captain from there. They may have even photographed him.”
Emerson swallowed. “I know. A good telephoto lens— I wonder how much they could see, what they could tell about him?”
“Let’s hope very little,” Nana said. “We’ve always been discreet.”
But not discreet enough, Emerson thought bleakly. What else did Eli Garner know?
Claire said in a small voice, “What can we do?”
Emerson smoothed her hair, which was still tousled from the wind. At the front of the house, she heard a scraping sound, and then a rattling and banging. Now that the outsiders were gone, Frenchy must be fastening the hurricane shutters in place.
“The first thing,” Emerson said, forcing her voice to sound calm, “is to talk to the Captain. I’ll go to him.”
Nana shook her head firmly. “No. I will. It’s best if I do.” She started for the door. But she paused for a moment and stared at the paintings on the walls. Emerson thought she saw tears glint in the older woman’s eyes, and a knot rose in her own throat.
Slowly, looking tired, Nana left the living room.
When Claire was certain Nana was out of hearing, she looked warily at Emerson. “I suppose you’re going to tell me not to talk to the photographer again.”
Emerson remembered the sight of the two of them crouched by the cat, staring raptly into each other’s eyes. The photographer had initially struck Emerson as harmless. He’d seemed truly smitten by Claire, and she by him.