One True Secret. Bethany Campbell
in ’98,” she admitted. “It wrecked some boats on Houseboat Row in Key West and that was sad. It did more damage to the neighboring Keys, but no fatalities, thank heaven. We’re not really all that hurricane prone. Honestly.”
She took a deep breath. She didn’t usually make speeches that long.
He didn’t sound convinced. “That’s not what I’m hearing people say.”
“People like to exaggerate,” she said. She smiled, realizing that she was reassuring him. It was a nice feeling.
“Then you’re staying put?”
Claire stole a look at the closed door and thought of Emerson’s gathering of papers and documents. But nothing had really been said yet about going.
“Probably.” Claire hesitated. “But if it bothers you, you should evacuate.”
“We’re supposed to be at your place tomorrow,” Merriman said, determination in his voice. “If you’re there, we’ll be there. I’ll be there. Will I see you?”
She felt her face burn, her stomach flutter. “I don’t know.”
His tone grew pleading. “Did your sister tell you not to? Look, I’m not the investigator on this story. I just take pictures. Would it help if I talked to her?”
Claire swallowed. “She said it was my choice. But…I don’t know if I should.”
“Yes,” he said with feeling. “You should. I know you should. I think you know it, too.”
Claire thought of him kneeling in the garden by Bunbury. She thought of the man’s tousled hair, his serious blue eyes, his forehead that furrowed so thoughtfully when he smiled. She remembered his kindness to Bunbury and his deference to her.
Claire had been pursued before, and she hadn’t liked it. The men had been arrogant or leering. Merriman was different. When he looked at her it was with a sense of wonder, as if he respected and admired her.
“I—I don’t even know your first name,” she said.
“I haven’t got one.”
“You don’t?” This revelation shook her slightly. What sort of person had only one name? She could think of only rock stars and cartoon characters.
“My first and middle names were horrible,” he admitted.
“I went to court and had them dropped. I don’t know what my parents were thinking. So I’m just plain Merriman.”
“Well…” She pondered it.
“Do I need to have a first name to see you?” He had a strange, endearing desperation in his voice. “I’ll get one.”
She smiled. “No. Merriman is fine. Don’t you even have a nickname?”
“No. But you can make up one if you’ll let me see you. Will you?”
“You’ll be too busy taking pictures. Emerson said you can look at the inside of the house tomorrow. At least, the first story.”
“Could you be the one to show it to me? Explain what I’m seeing? You were helpful with the flowers. You could do it again, inside.”
She paused. “Emerson will do it.”
Merriman persisted, but his persistence was gentle. “She’ll have her hands full with Garner. She’ll have no time for me. Would you?”
Do you want to see him again? Emerson had challenged. Suit yourself.
She did want to see him again. So much that she didn’t feel like her usual self at all. In two days he would be leaving, maybe forever. She couldn’t bear not to see him at least one more time.
“I—I’ll try,” she stammered, dazed by her own daring.
“But you can’t ask me about my family. You can’t. You have to promise.”
“I promise.” She heard a harsh rattling noise in the background. “Drat,” Merriman said. “Somebody at the door. Garner, probably. He’s been out wandering. I have to go. Claire, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”
“Tomorrow,” she said, still feeling dazed. “Good night.”
She listened to the click as he hung up. Her chest felt as if it were full of winged things, struggling to be free. As she hung up the phone, she thought, What have I done?
“YOU’VE done what?” Emerson demanded when Claire told her.
“I’m going to help show Merriman around tomorrow. He phoned and asked. He was very nice about it.”
Emerson stood in the doorway to the living room, her hand on her hip. She wanted to snap that of course he acted nice; he was trying to dig up all the dirt he could.
But something in Claire’s face stopped her. A kind of radiance shone from it, and Emerson had never seen Claire’s cheeks so pink. So she didn’t zing out a sarcastic answer.
“Be careful what you say,” she muttered.
“I will, I promise. But he’s not like the other one. He’s not like Eli Garner at all. He’s…different.”
With mixed feelings, Emerson realized that Claire was actually taken by this man. Up to now Claire had never had a real boyfriend…and she was twenty-five years old!
The men who had chased Claire had frightened or repelled her. The ones she admired, she admired from afar and in silence. Over the years, the few male friends she’d had were gay. Not flamboyant sorts, but boys as sensitive and almost as shy as she was.
Yes, it was high time Claire got interested in a man. But, Emerson fumed inwardly, why this one? He might be “nice” and “polite” as Claire hoped, but his alliance with Eli Garner made him suspect.
She trained a gaze on Claire she hoped didn’t show her very real reservations about the man. “They’re only going to be here an hour, you know.”
A sly man can do a lot of damage in an hour, Emerson thought. Especially to someone like Claire.
“I know,” Claire said, with a hint of defiance. “And so does he.”
“Shall I tell Nana about this decision? Or do you want to do it yourself?.”
“I’ll do it myself,” Claire said in the same tone. “Is she upstairs?”
“Yes.” Emerson didn’t have to tell Claire not to discuss the matter in front of the Captain. Extreme weather excited him. When the wind was high, so were his emotions.
Claire started upstairs. Fang stayed pressed close to her, as if only she could protect him from the storm. Emerson sighed, shook her long hair and ran her fingers through it.
Nana’s reaction, like Emerson’s, would be mixed. For a long time Nana had been wanting Claire to mingle more. But with the enemy? Emerson knew Eli was the enemy. Merriman seemed a gentler, more head-in-the-clouds sort, but was he really trustworthy?
She gritted her teeth. If Merriman used or betrayed Claire, Emerson would kill him, just plain murder him in cold, vengeful blood.
On impulse, she snatched up the phone. She glanced up the stairs, making sure Claire was out of earshot. Then she looked at the number Eli had scribbled on his card and dialed it, stabbing the phone buttons militantly. She wanted him to know she was capable of skinning him alive and nailing his hide to the wall.
He answered on the second ring, his deep voice lazy. “Eli Garner here.”
Drat! His voice sent a quiver through her midsection. “This is Emerson Roth. I want to talk to you.”
“Ah,” he said, “I was just wanting to talk to you.”
“Me?” she asked, taken aback.
“You.