One True Secret. Bethany Campbell
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even by phone.”
She smiled as if to herself. “He never liked the phone much. Ask people who knew him.”
“I have,” Eli said. A strand of her hair blew across his cheekbone, tickling him. “That’s true. He wasn’t crazy about the phone. But he’d use it. Until six years ago, this coming fall. Sometime around September. What happened?”
She turned and looked him straight in the eyes. “Do you really want to know what happened? Time happened. My grandfather went deaf. It came on suddenly. It was irreversible. Hearing aids can’t help him. Deaf men, Mr. Garner, don’t use phones.”
“You’ve dropped hints in New York about that,” he accused. “It’s a nice excuse, but a little too pat. A man doesn’t withdraw from society because he’s deaf.”
She showed him her profile again, as if she found him tiresome to look at. “Deafness can be isolating. My grandfather was a wit. He enjoyed conversation, making jokes. Now he’s uncomfortable in social situations. He loses patience. He feels left out. He doesn’t like people seeing him that way.”
She said it with such passion and conviction that he almost believed her. “Did he consult specialists? If so, whom? Can they confirm your story?”
Her tone became one of weary impatience, as if she were talking to an imbecile. “Of course he did. In Palm Beach. Dr. Joseph Z. Feldman. One of the best. But Feldman died four years ago. Had a brain aneurism playing golf. On the eighth hole. You can check it out.”
Oh, Eli liked that, the little detail about dying on the eighth hole. He imagined it would check out. But he didn’t believe her. He brought his mouth close to her ear again, and again her hair tickled his face like silky feathers.
He said, “Four years is a long time. Doctors make breakthroughs all the time. Hasn’t your grandfather been to a specialist since?”
“No. He refuses. He’s resigned himself to his condition. He’s a stubborn man.”
And you’re a stubborn woman. Damn stubborn.
“He must see some doctor, a man his age. Does he have a personal physician?”
She shot him a disapproving glance. “Yes. But his name is none of your business. He wouldn’t talk to you anyway. There’s a little thing called the Oath of Hippocrates. His dealings with his patients are confidential.”
He wanted to stop, seize her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her. He also wanted to stop, seize her by the shoulders and kiss her until…until he didn’t know what. He jammed his hands deeply into his pockets.
“I’ve been doing background checks for a month,” he said. “And I can’t find anybody in Key West who’s seen him up close for five years. Not even at a doctor’s office.”
She gave a small, derisive laugh. “There are doctors up and down the Keys. Not just Key West.”
He cocked his head in the direction of the ocean. “People boating used to see him from out there. Walking on this beach. Not anymore. Sometimes they see him riding in some sort of all terrain vehicle. There’s speculation that he can’t walk.”
“I told you, Mr. Garner—time. He’s eighty-three. He wears out more easily than he used to.”
Eli decided it was time to get tough. “When you or your sister or your grandmother needs a prescription, you get it filled at Killian’s Pharmacy in Key West. But you never get anything for your grandfather there. A man his age never needs a prescription?”
She stopped, wheeling to face him. “Excuse me—how in hell do you know about our prescriptions?”
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and the color in her cheeks rose even higher. He smiled, because he knew it would make her angrier still. “I told you. I’ve been checking.”
“How do you know we go to Killian’s?” she demanded. “How?”
He shrugged. “Claire’s picked up prescriptions there. And other stuff. Makeup. Perfume. Laundry soap. Even kitty litter. She must like one-stop shopping. And sometimes she pays by credit card.”
Her lips parted in disbelief. “My God, you’ve had a detective on us, haven’t you? Snooping in our credit cards. And you got somebody at Killian’s to talk about us. You bastard.”
“Six years ago your grandfather had sinus problems. He needed a prescription nasal spray. He also had a recurrent rash. He used a prescription salve. He was prone to backaches. He had a prescription painkiller for when it got bad. Has he been miraculously cured of all that?”
She made no answer. She glared at him so contemptuously that he was impressed.
He raised an eyebrow. “Or do you just make sure that you buy his prescriptions someplace else? And pay cash, so that you don’t leave a paper trail, the way Claire did?”
Her lip curled in disdain, and she made a sound deep in her throat like a small, warning growl. Turning from him, she stalked toward the path that led back to the house. He stayed by her side, and he didn’t let up. “You drive to Marathon at least once a month. You go grocery shopping there. Why? Why drive forty miles to Marathon instead of fifteen to Key West? Because the Winn-Dixie store there has a pharmacy? I think so. But the pharmacists there are a tight-lipped bunch. Not like a certain person at Killian’s. It’s amazing the information you can buy for a hundred bucks.”
She stopped in her tracks again, and this time he thought she was going to take a swing at him. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a human being. Low, rancid and disgusting.”
“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He smirked.
“A cliché. Sorry, but it’s true.”
“You had somebody follow me to Marathon?”
“No. The detective had somebody follow you.”
“Don’t play word games with me, you odious toad.”
“Then don’t lie. Why go to so much trouble to cover up what drugs your grandfather takes?”
“Go to hell,” she said. “This interview’s over. And don’t come back tomorrow. I’m not talking to a low-down sneak.”
“Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “But we have an agreement. You signed it with Mondragon.”
“Take your agreement,” she snapped at him, “fold it five ways and shove it where the sun won’t shine.”
She stamped toward her sandals, snatched them up and jammed them onto her feet. And she was off, walking up the path so fast she almost loped.
He didn’t have time to put on his own sandals; he went right after her. This was a mistake. The path was rough, and littered with burrs that cut his feet.
But he kept up with her anyway. “You have a contract, and you have to honor it,” he said, all teasing gone from his voice. “Besides that, you need to talk to me.”
“When we get to the house, you get in your car and get off our property. Or I’ll throw rocks at you. I swear it.”
He had no doubt she meant it. “You need to talk to me, because you need to know what else I know. If I can find these things out, so can other people. And I know some interesting things. You can discuss them frankly. Or I can publish them and say you refuse to explain. That would be damaging to you. And to your grandfather. To your whole family.”
She speared him with another of her killer glares. “I said don’t come back. I meant it.”
She lifted her skirt to avoid a short, burr-laden bush. He couldn’t stop himself. He grasped her by one forearm and forced her to halt.
She jerked as if he’d seared her with live wires. This time she was going to hit him. In a flash, she raised her open hand and drew it back to slap his face.
He