Daniel spun on his heel, his raised voice making her jump. “Because it is! It’s not so easy to come up with another book.”
Well, that was an overreaction. She would have to calm him down before raising the issue of the receptionist. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I just thought it would be easy because No Secrets was.”
Daniel flushed a deep red. “Well, it wasn’t, okay?” He stomped around the kitchen, slamming cupboards until he found a glass. “One day it came to me.”
Kelly shrank back on the sofa. Daniel’s anger had made occasional appearances, but this time it was as if she’d not just touched a nerve but sliced it open.
“Don’t yell at me if you’re upset. I said I was sorry—”
Daniel bustled over to the sofa and slid in next to her, looming over her with a menace she’d never seen in him. Ever. “Do you not trust me to write a book? Is that what you’re saying?”
That straw broke the back of Kelly’s tolerance. A flood of hurt poured out in a gush. “Trust? You spend the evening on the deck with your receptionist in her painted-on cocktail dress all the while claiming nothing is going on despite her challenging me to my face. You work late at the office, only coming home when I call wondering where you are. You are in no position to talk about trust!”
Daniel closed his eyes and growled through his teeth. “I have done nothing wrong! What will it take for you to accept that?” His cell phone pinged, and he grimaced as he checked it before turning it facedown on the sofa.
“I know what I saw on the deck, Daniel. And to be honest, doing the right thing is not as simple as avoiding the wrong thing.”
Daniel shook exasperated tears from his eyes. “What more can I do?”
That was better. “I need to know you’ve drawn a line through anyone else.”
“I have.”
“So I’ve got nothing to worry about at Crossroads?”
“No, you haven’t. And frankly, I’m tiring of saying it.”
“And what I saw at the work dinner was nothing to worry about?”
“No.”
Now was the time. “We need to see someone.”
Daniel shrugged. “Can’t we just talk?”
“That’s the problem. I want to talk to my husband, not a counselor.”
Daniel thought about it for a moment. “Fair enough. We can talk about seeing someone else. There are some things I’d like to know too.”
A truce settled between them. More a cease-fire than peace.
Daniel calmed as he breathed hard through his nose. “Something happened at the work dinner you need to know about.”
A numbness washed over Kelly. Hadn’t he just said nothing happened?
“It’s Milly.”
Kelly traded her suspicion and self-defense for a sinking sense of failure. “What happened?”
“Milly was trying to get people’s attention by threatening to jump from the railing of our deck.”
Kelly’s hand shot to her mouth. “Who saw her?”
Daniel started his sentence before reeling it in and having a second go at it. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Milly talked with someone about her problems.”
“It doesn’t matter? And what do you mean she’s talked with someone?”
Daniel beamed. “Anna, and she’s offered to talk more with her.”
The relief in Kelly clashed with an expected self-defense. Daniel had turned to his work-wife to fix their daughter. She shrugged to keep the tension in her shoulders from creeping up her neck and broadcasting its presence across her face. She failed.
“Anna is a trained counselor, and our daughter turned to her. At least she turned to someone.” He leaned away from her. “Or is this about something else?”
The last of the connection that had sparked back to life fizzled and then faded. Then a heavy silence.
Milly padded down the stairs, removing her earbuds on the final steps. Kelly didn’t need her daughter to see them fighting. Again. Not after the breakthrough of Milly finally talking to someone. Anyone. She had to deflate the tension, so she turned to Daniel. “Did you get the photos from the work dinner?”
Daniel stiffened. “They’re at work.”
“Any good ones?”
“I think so.” Daniel stood from the sofa and disappeared into the study.
Kelly stared at the closing door. Why the gear shift to disinterest? What was in the photos he didn’t want her to see? It had to have something to do with what happened on the deck. Even after his denials.
Daniel’s phone pinged. With a sideways glance at Milly, who was shoulder-deep in the fridge, Kelly grabbed it and headed out to the deck.
The text message was from a woman but not one from work. Amanda, his editor. “Daniel, we’ve all but lost the momentum we had with No Secrets. It’s been nearly a year now. Call me.”
Kelly threw a furtive glance back into the house. Milly still grazed in the fridge. Daniel’s study door remained closed.
She back-arrowed to the list of her husband’s messages. Before Amanda’s message was a recent text from an unknown number. Five minutes ago, when he’d turned over his phone.
“Daniel, we need to talk at work tomorrow. Mon.” Then a second message, almost as an afterthought: “xx.”
Kelly fought hard to rein in an anguished scream and swept away the message with a quivering finger. She had her evidence. If Daniel didn’t mention anything after tomorrow’s workday, something was going on. And he was lying. She needed to know where he got these photos developed. Her finger flicked through his phone history. No unfamiliar but persistent phone numbers. No calendar entries. And nothing about the photos.
Kelly reentered the kitchen, vindicated but grubby. How had her marriage reached a point where she was snooping through her husband’s phone messages? Silently, she placed his phone on the counter.
Milly closed the fridge, a block of cheese in hand. “Do you snoop in my stuff like you do with Dad’s?”
“I was just checking the details of Dad’s photo place. Do you know where he takes Gramps’s camera film?”
“No, but he said Monique from work found a place.”
So the answer to the question of Daniel’s faithfulness lay with the receptionist who wanted him to break it.
Nineteen
Daniel couldn’t shake the image of Howard appearing on his deck, three years after he’d delivered the eulogy at his funeral. Howard did not appear on his deck. Howard could not appear on his deck. And he hadn’t been holding hands with Anna.
There was only one explanation: Simon. He was manipulating his photos to blackmail him. Another situation to fix, but this one was easy. He would go there after his next appointment and threaten legal action. But there was one question he couldn’t answer, one that led him deeper into the murky waters of possible blackmail. If Simon knew the truth about No Secrets, then he was working with someone Daniel knew.
But who? Another counseling practice? Simon said he’d had another shop. Maybe it was near Flinders Counseling, Peter’s old practice, still smarting over Daniel’s poaching of their brilliant young counselor. Or was this Kelly’s way of forcing him to see someone? He needed to know who knew. And once he found out, he needed to shut them down. If he didn’t, he’d be laughed out of counseling as a fraud, and once the media got wind of it, they’d camp in front of his house until they had dragged his name through the mud.
Anna’s burgundy highlights swung through his office door. “Hey, Boss!”
Daniel tried to raise a smile and failed. His second attempt was more successful.
Anna cocked her head. “How did the group photo turn out?”
Daniel concentrated hard to keep the manufactured smile from falling from his lips. “Uh, there was a . . . problem with it at the photo place.” That much was true.
“That’s a shame. Make sure you fix it so we can hang it in the reception area.”
Daniel had to shift the conversation. “Could you send in Monique? I ne
ed to chat with her.”
Anna’s eyebrow stayed aloft as she disappeared into the corridor. A moment later, Monique came into his office and shut the door. She perched on the edge of the sofa.
Daniel took a deep breath as he plowed into the speech he’d rehearsed on the drive into work. “Monique, I’m sorry if you’ve taken my friendship the wrong way. You are a wonderful young woman whose professionalism I respect. You make a difference to Crossroads and our clients. But I need you to understand that the level of our relationship is strictly professional.”
Satisfied he’d delivered his message, he sat back, ready to pick up the pieces.
“No.”
Daniel was prepared for a storm of tears. He wasn’t prepared for “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
Monique looked up at Daniel from beneath those eyelashes. “She makes you unhappy, Daniel. I will make you happy.”
Daniel shoved his testosterone down. Way down. “Monique, it can’t be that way.”
The thin veneer of Monique’s bravado cracked. Her bottom lip dropped, then her eyes, and then the tears.
“I think it’s just—”
“You can’t do this to me!” Monique stood in a rush, and the door banged hard into the arm of his couch as she stormed out.
Daniel closed his eyes as his pulse thumped in his ears. He was being a case study in how to stay true to his marriage vows, unlike the men who filtered through his counseling door, eyes glued to the carpet or defiant in a firmer-than-normal handshake.
He needed air before his next appointment. Daniel grabbed his phone and headed down the corridor, running headlong into Peter.
“Great dinner the other night!”
“Thanks, Pete. It was . . .” Daniel’s indignation needed an outlet. “Hey, thanks for taking a photo of Milly standing on the railing and not telling me.”
Peter’s gaze probed him. “I never saw Milly on the railing. I can assure you that if I had, I would have told you.”
Daniel backpedaled. “Sorry. I’ve just had an uncomfortable but necessary conversation with Monique.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It is now.” Daniel moved past Peter and headed for some fresh air.
Peter’s voice came from over his shoulder. “If I didn’t take a photo of Milly on the railing, who did? Could you show me the photo?”
No, he couldn’t. Showing Peter Milly’s photo would lead to the group photo.
Monique’s desk was empty. The reception area wasn’t.
“Daniel!”
Laurie Wood jumped to her feet, hand extended. “Sorry if we’re a bit early, but it’s so nice of you to greet us out here.” She pumped his hand. “You are a miracle worker. Well, your book is.”
Daniel edged back from the wave of enthusiasm Laurie was surfing. He nodded to a smiling Mark on the couch, sitting under the empty space on the wall where there should have been a large photo of the Crossroads Counseling team.
“It’s just an amazing book. How did you jam so much great counseling advice in there?”
Daniel tried to shut out her voice so he could think. “It’s difficult to do, Laurie . . . Why don’t you head down to my office—”
But Laurie’s wave was just cresting. “Saying you’ve got to be open. If your partner is offering help, it’s proof they care—just wonderful! I’ve already read it twice and told everyone on Facebook your next book will blow them away! When is it coming out?”
Laurie’s stabbing bursts of praise pierced his conscience. He wasn’t the oracle she claimed him to be.
Daniel ushered the couple down the corridor. He needed to keep his head in the game, and then, after he’d shown them the door, he would confront Simon.
* * *
Daniel closed the door on Mark and Laurie and picked up Gramps’s camera.
The engraving on its base flashed in the light. No matter what you think you might see, the camera never lies. Daniel’s fingers probed the lens, the trigger, the back of the camera . . . No one had tampered with it. He pulled the group photo from his satchel. Howard stood to the side of the group, clutching his manuscript. Guilt trumped Daniel’s sadness at seeing Howard.
It had to be Photoshop.
Daniel twisted the photo in the light, examining the edges of Howard’s figure for clues. But that just raised a more serious question: How did Simon know about Howard?
Daniel placed the envelope and camera in his satchel and threw it over his shoulder. Head down, he charged into the corridor . . . and into Peter.
“Daniel, do you have a moment?”
“If you’re quick.”
“Why won’t you show me the photo of Milly?”
Daniel slammed a door on the answer. He couldn’t afford to be analyzed by a mind as sharp as Peter’s.
“Obviously, I got my wires crossed. Don’t worry about it.”
“If you say so.” Peter stroked his chin, studying Daniel. “Actually, no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your wires crossed before. What’s going on?”
Daniel didn’t know, but he was about to find out.
Twenty
The harsh chirp of the dial tone sliced through the thumping of the pulse in Kelly’s ear. She closed the doors to the house from the deck, the scene of her confrontation with the woman about to take her call.
“Hello. Welcome to Crossroads Counseling!” The spring in the receptionist’s voice almost pronounced her punctuation.
“Good morning, Monique. It’s Kelly. Kelly Whiteley.”
The spring uncoiled. “Oh, hi.”
“Is Daniel available?”
“He left the office about ten minutes ago.”
A light breeze flitted off the ocean. Kelly’s pulse thudded on. Time for a long shot. “I need your help.”
Monique’s silence was loud.
“Daniel has asked me to pick up his photos, but I didn’t write down the place he said I should go.”
“Maybe I should pick them up for Daniel.”
Kelly cringed at the way her husband’s name sounded coming out of her mouth. It stoked her anger into flame. “That’s fine, Monique. I can do it.”
“I’m happy to run errands for Daniel, if that’s what he needs.”
The flame flared higher. “Could you put me through to Anna?”
Monique all but chuckled. “She’s out too. Listen, the photo place is just around the corner, so it would make more sense if I picked them up for him.”
Just around the corner . . . Bingo! That had to be the bank of mom-and-pop shops that had survived the crushing corporate jackboot of megamalls and global brands. The home of Ming’s Court Chinese Restaurant, where Kelly and Daniel had celebrated each tiny milestone in the early days of Crossroads with to-die-for steamed dim sims.
“Thanks, Monique.” Kelly cut the call with more than a little relish.
* * *
A tiny bell jingled and a thick curtain of acrid chemicals stung Kelly’s nose, firing memories of her high school photography class, of the first creative expressions on film and fumbles in the darkroom.
A young man with slicked-back silver hair stood behind the counter. Kelly approached him, a wall of antique cameras to her right, a jigsaw of framed photos on the wall to her left. She floated a disinterested air into her voice. This was just a routine family errand. “Hello. I was hoping to get a copy of some family photographs my husband had developed here.”
The man’s eyes clouded as if he were measuring her words. Or her.
The lightness in her voice slipped. “I would like one copy of the set he picked up yesterday.”
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing.
“Please?” She looked down at the name badge stuck to his white laboratory coat. “Simon?”
“Was there a problem with the photographs?” His voice was melodic and warm, marinated in honey.
“Not as such. We just need another—”
Simon’s frown stopped her mid-sentence. “I can’t do t
his for you.”
“What do you mean you can’t do this for me?”
“I sense you’re not being honest with me.”
“What does honesty have to do with it?”
Simon made his way around the counter. “Honesty has everything to do with it. I see this all the time—the world would be a better place if people owned up to what’s going on in their lives. Don’t you think so? Kelly?”
Kelly recoiled as if he’d slapped her across the face. “How do you know my name?”
With a light chuckle, Simon pointed to the Rubicon Pharma name badge on her suit jacket. “It looks like we’re both branded.” He guided her by the arm to the photo frames on the wall. “Let me show you what I mean about honesty.”
Simon stopped in front of a large, black, wooden frame that held a close-up photo of a young woman’s face. Behind her, a bathroom stall. Shame burned fierce in bloodshot eyes that looked beyond the camera.
Kelly peered at the photo, scouring for hidden meaning, and found none. “What’s so honest about this?”
In silence, Simon moved along the wall. Photos of full wineglasses clutched behind backs. A suitcase thrown in the back of a taxi. A balding man in an unbuttoned business shirt slapped by a middle-aged woman in track pants and a San Francisco sweatshirt, a younger woman in a disheveled blouse clutching at his tie.
Whatever he was showing her, Kelly couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry, but how is this honesty?”
Simon lightly traced a photo of a woman jamming cake into her mouth before tweaking the frame to straighten it. “These are the real images of these people, allowing us to see how they truly are. The camera never lies, you know.”
A switch flicked in the deep recesses of Kelly’s memory. She’d heard that before. And recently.
Simon moved past a photo of a man texting with one eye on his sleeping wife and stood in front of a large photograph in a thick, ornate golden frame. She saw an elevated bed next to a bank of machines, cords draping over the pillow, on which slept a young child. Red balloons floated above the pillow, wishing a speedy recovery. The child’s mother, head in hands, leaned on an older man in animated discussion with a nurse.
The Camera Never Lies Page 10