Page 80 of One Happy Summer

“Would it bother you if I did?” I ask, confused.

She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing her upper arms with her hands. “No, I did say it, after all. It just doesn’t seem like something you’d tell them.”

I look away then. “Well, you’re right. I . . . didn’t tell them,” I admit, and then push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

She gives me a rueful grin. “I’m glad you didn’t, because I was wrong,” she says.

“You were . . . wrong?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I was incorrect in my assumptions.”

“How could you know that?” I ask her.

“It’s sort of a funny story, actually. I ran into a mutual friend of ours. Or, not really a friend.”

I pinch my brows together, not following.

“The woman—the strange, demanding one that we’d see around town. The one with the big hat.” Presley mimes a large hat on her head with both hands.

“I don’t . . . understand,” I say. What does that strange woman with the strong sense of smell have to do with the pictures?

“I know this is weird,” she says. “But as it turns out, she’s a paparazzo.”

“What?” I say, not believing her.

“Apparently she came to the island to check up on Noah Belacourt and then happened to run into me.”

“How . . . but . . . what?”

“I know,” she says. “I didn’t believe it either. But I saw her in LA, snapping pictures, and she admitted to it.”

I twist my lips to the side. “But how did she get the pictures of us in my mom’s backyard?”

Presley nods. “I had the same question. She said she’s been doing this awhile and it’s easy to make friends with people, so I’m guessing it was from a neighbor’s yard?”

“But she was never carrying a camera with her.”

“She hides it and uses a remote. It’s a magic trick.”

“Whoa,” I say. “That’s . . . really weird.”

“It is. Anyway, her name is Deborah Voss, and I’ve filed a restraining order against her.”

I tilt my head. “That sounds like a smart plan.”

“So, she was the one who took the pictures, all of them except the ones of us on the beach that morning. She doesn’t know who that was. She made a pretty penny and plans to retire in Boca Raton.”

Presley smiles as she looks down, but then she looks up at me.

I chuckle. “That’s . . . wow.”

“I know.”

There’s silence in the room now, both of us looking anywhere but at each other. Presley hugs herself again, and I fiddle with my glasses.

“So, that’s what you came to tell me?”

She nods.

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