One True Secret. Bethany Campbell

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      “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.

      Merriman might be as bad a scoundrel as Eli. Or he might not. But it seemed wrong to give Claire orders as if she were a child or an incompetent.

      “Suit yourself,” she told Claire. “But be careful. Do you want to see him again?”

      Claire didn’t answer immediately. She sat looking up at the painting over the mantel. Then, softly, she said, “Em, don’t you get tired of it? Of living this way? Sometimes don’t you think it would be better if we could just…tell the truth?”

      Emerson wanted to say yes. It would be much better for Claire, who was not a creature formed for deception. It would be better for her, too, because maintaining the illusion took all her effort and energy. It ruled her life.

      But she and Claire were not the only people caught in this complex web. There was Nana, there was the Captain…and there was more, much more at stake.

      “We’ll tell the truth someday,” she said, rising and going to the window. “But not yet.”

      “But how can you throw this Garner man off the track?” Claire asked.

      “I’ll find a way.” Emerson said it with a confidence that seemed perfect. But it was false. Secretly she was more frightened by Eli Garner than by anyone or anything she had ever encountered.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ELI DROPPED Merriman off at the hotel, grabbed his swim gear, then drove back north. He spent the afternoon at the best stretch of public beach in the Keys, Bahia Hondo.

      The wind was high, the rain intermittent. The beach was deserted, which suited him fine.

      His scratched feet hurt. The sand irritated them, and the salt water stung them. He didn’t care. The pain distracted him. He didn’t want to think about Emerson Roth, or her sweet-faced sister. He thought of them anyway.

      Neither did he want to think about his own life, but he couldn’t stop himself. For years he’d gone from place to place, trying to solve puzzles. Some of the puzzles were unsolvable. Others were foolish, mere hoaxes or pranks to be exposed.

      On occasion Eli’s work was dangerous. He had a scar on his chest from a bullet and one on his back from a machete. He’d been shadowed in Kuwait, beaten in New Delhi and drugged in Paris. He was still recovering from the caper in Yucatán, and he was not recovering swiftly. The machete wound still ached, and sometimes his fever came back.

      The life of an investigative reporter was much like that of a soldier. It could be ninety-eight percent boredom and two percent terror. Sometimes he was tired of both.

      His work could be disturbing as well as dangerous. If he had been hurt from time to time, he’d hurt others in return. He’d stripped them of their honor and watched the law strip them of their wealth, and sometimes their very freedom. Some of the people involved were criminals, and he didn’t mind what happened to them. But others were misled or deluded or desperate, and some were simply innocent bystanders.

      There was a puzzle about the Roths, and it was a troubling one. But what was its nature and how culpable was Emerson Roth?

      Sick of brooding, he waded into the churning waves. The sea was too rough to swim in comfort. He did anyway, the salt stinging the soles of his feet. Then he sat alone on the beach, throwing pebbles at the choppy waves and letting the rain pelt him.

      When the rain began to pour down in earnest, he put on his street clothes in the little changing room, СКАЧАТЬ