Bethany Campbell - One True Secret

He gazed up at her, her gown rippling in the wind. His throat tightened. “Yes. I would.”

“Then come with me,” she said, moving toward the gate. She turned and glanced over her shoulder, then made a beckoning motion.

Suddenly he wondered if he really was the one in charge here. He followed her as if powerless to do otherwise.

COMING BACK from the beach, Merriman met Eli and the Roth woman on the path. He grinned, feeling uneasy. She was pretty, but in too flamboyant a way. He liked faces that were subtler; they were more interesting to him.

Besides, Emerson Roth struck him as too edgy. She and Eli had been engaged in a complex fencing match from the get-go. Eli might relish such games, but Merriman did not.

He said to Emerson, “I’d like to do some more exterior shots, but closer up. That okay with you?”

Her eyes went wary, but only for a split second. She gave him a nod of permission. “As long as there are no people. Not even the groundsman. And he’s been told not to talk to either of you.”

“I understand,” said Merriman, mentally adding Your Highness. He saw Eli looking her over, as if trying to figure out exactly who lived behind that glamorous face. Merriman shrugged a goodbye to them both, then trudged back up the path. The wind was rising, and the clouds rolling in thicker and darker.

The pool area had a garden next to it, and the garden lured him. He liked the lushness of its tropical flowers, their startling spectrum of colors.

But he stopped before reaching the house and glanced again at Eli and Emerson Roth. Their backs were to him. Beyond them, the sea stretched, colored like steel, and the sky had turned dark gray. Even the sand looked grayish.

Eli wore wheat-colored jeans and a red shirt. The woman was a splash of turquoise beside him. Except for the muted greens of a few plants, he and she offered the only bright colors; they caught the eye and held it.

To hell with it, he thought. Permission or no permission, he’d take a few shots. She couldn’t object to having her back photographed could she? He raised the camera and snapped them, one, two, three times.

Then he turned toward the house and let himself in through the iron gate. He sniffed the air and could scent the smell of oncoming rain mingling with the heavy fragrance of the flowers. He walked slowly through the garden until an unbelievable tree caught his interest.

The tree was huge, but looked as if dozens of smaller trees had grown together, fusing into one. From above it dropped dozens of new roots to the ground, so that it seemed like a one-tree jungle. It was surrounded by a colorful stand of other plants.

He tried to make his way around this bizarre tree, to see it more closely. But then a flower caught his eye, a peculiar flower of gold and purple and scarlet.

Momentarily distracted, he dropped to his knee and began to take shots of this odd blossom. Suddenly he heard a rustling in the foliage. It sounded like the rustling of something large.

Merriman went still as a stone, wondering if the Keys were so tropical that they harbored things like anacondas or man-eating pythons. He knew there were alligators or crocodiles, but would they come this near to a house?

The rustling came closer, and Merriman held his breath. Of course, alligators crept around buildings—weren’t there always horror stories in the paper about them eating pet poodles and the occasional hapless tourist?

He vaguely remembered, from watching Peter Pan, that alligators had yellow eyes and could move with lethal speed. Something made a scuttling sound, almost next to him now, and Merriman whirled and stared down—into a pair of glinting yellow eyes.

After a split second of horror, he was relieved to see that the eyes belonged to the fattest cat he’d ever seen. Blue-gray, with a white nose, breast and paws, it stared at him with a disdain as massive as its body.

Well, thought Merriman, if he couldn’t snap the family, he could snap the family cat. This rotund beast had a fancy collar, and a tag shaped like a mouse. Say cheese, thought Merriman, looking through the lens.

Then, from behind his tree, Merriman heard light footsteps. The cat heard them, too, and cocked its head in that direction. It hunkered lower to the ground, as if trying to hide.

“Bunbury! It’s no good. I see you.”

The voice was feminine and breathless—and nearby. More rustling, and the animal cringed lower, its ears flattening. A pair of slender hands struggled to grab the cat by its fat middle.

Merriman found himself looking into a young woman’s face. Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a small, perfect O of shock.

“Oh, goodness,” she breathed, and she looked paralyzed, crouched there, her hands motionless on the cat’s gray fur.

Merriman lowered his camera. The sight of her was like a kick in his chest. She was lovely. Her hair was the dark golden brown of honey, and so were her eyes. Her skin was a paler shade of honey, and she wore a T-shirt that matched her hair.

A woman made out of honey, Merriman thought illogically, but his system, ignoring logic, said Yum.

She seemed in dismay, almost terror. “You can’t take my picture.”

“I—I wasn’t,” he stammered. “Just the cat’s.”

“You can’t take the cat’s picture.” Her voice was panicky.

“I’m sorry,” Merriman said with all the sincerity he could muster. He meant it. She was such an appealing creature, the last thing he wanted was to upset her. “I didn’t know the cat was here. When I saw him, it was an automatic reflex. I didn’t mean—”

She snatched the cat up and clutched it protectively against her breast. She seemed too upset to gather her thoughts. “He’s not supposed to be out here. I was supposed to get everything inside.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her. “Everything?” he echoed.

“All the animals. I couldn’t find him. You know—cats.”

“I know cats. Yes. Independent. I used to be one. I mean, I used to have one. Do you want me to help you? He looks heavy.”

“No. No.” She struggled to rise, but she was trying not to crush the foliage and still balance the cat. She had her arms wrapped round him under his forelegs, so he was staring at Merriman over the great mound of his belly. He looked like King Henry VIII.

The woman almost lost her balance, so Merriman sprang to his feet, putting out a hand to steady her. She went stock-still. “I didn’t know you were out here,” she said. “I looked out and saw Bunbury—”

He kept his hand on her upper arm, just to make sure she was all right and to convey his concern. “Bunbury is?”

“The cat.” She swallowed. “I didn’t see any people. Why were you behind that tree?”

“I never saw a tree like that. I just wanted to look closer.”

“You were squatting down behind it, hiding,” she accused. Her cheeks had flushed an enticing pink.

“There was a flower. A strange flower. That one.” He pointed an accusing finger at it. “I was kneeling to take a picture, that’s all.”

She hugged the cat more tightly to her. It screwed up its face in protest and emitted a sound that was more like a hoarse chirp than a meow. Merriman realized the woman was staring just as intently at him as he was at her. He still had his hand on her arm, but she made no protest, so he was happy to keep touching her.

Her face was gentle, not flamboyantly pretty like her sister’s, but pretty with a natural sweetness that almost hypnotized him. Her hair was brushed in a soft wave away from her face and hung nearly to her shoulders.

“I’m Merriman, the photographer,” he said, extending his free hand. “Please shake hands so I know you forgive me for startling you. I apologize. From the heart.”