Low Pressure (10 page)

M
e
?” Bellamy exclaimed.

“You were as close to Susan as anyone. You were with her all that day until just before she was killed. Talk me through everything that happened from your point of view.”

“I did that with the lead character in my book. I wrote it from the viewpoint of a twelve-year-old girl.”

“I skipped the long paragraphs and only read the dialogue.”

“You still know what happened.”

“Not the behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“That’s the stuff in the long paragraphs.”

“Is there something you don’t want me to know?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, then. I wasn’t at the barbecue, remember? I need details.”

“You could go back to the book and read the parts you skipped.”

“Or you could just tell me.”

She gnawed her lower lip. He cocked his head to one side, prompting her. Then she suddenly began to talk, as though fearing she might change her mind if she didn’t.

“Daddy had initiated the company-wide Memorial Day barbecue two years earlier. It was the first party he and Olivia hosted as a married couple. Daddy used the occasion to establish Olivia as the new Mrs. Howard Lyston and to introduce Steven as his adopted son.”

Dent held up his hand. “Detail. If your dad adopted him, why didn’t he change his name to Lyston?”

“Olivia would have preferred it, I think. But Steven wanted to honor his late father by keeping his name.”

“Hmm. Okay. So the barbecue became an annual event. Brisket and ribs, kegs of beer, live music, dancing. Red, white, and blue banners.”

“Blue Bell ice cream. Fireworks at nine-thirty.”

“Quite a shindig.”

“Nevertheless, it had its detractors.” With her fingertip she followed a trickle of condensation as it slid down the side of her glass of tea. “There was a row at the breakfast table that morning. Steven didn’t want to go to the barbecue. He called the whole thing dumb. Olivia told him, dumb or not, he was going. Susan was acting like a bitch royale because . . .” She shifted her gaze up to him. “Because of the fight she’d had with you.”

“I came over on my motorcycle early—”

“Waking everyone up.”

“Someone inside the house had to activate the gate so I could get in.”

“It was me.”

“See? A detail I didn’t know. Anyway, I had to come early because Susan hadn’t answered her phone. I didn’t want to leave a message, but I had to tell her that I’d be late to the barbecue.”

“You were going flying with Gall.”

“He’d been doing some repairs on this guy’s plane and wanted to take it up, check things out. He asked me if I wanted to go along. I jumped at the chance. I told Susan I would hook up with her at the barbecue when we got back.”

“That didn’t go over well.”

“To put it mildly. She blew a gasket and issued an ultimatum. Take her to the barbecue when it started, or don’t bother coming at all. I told her I was going flying with Gall. She said fine, she’d have more fun without me.”

“She was in a snit. She told me . . .” She hesitated, then said, “She said she’d rather die than play second fiddle to that nasty old man.”

Those portentous words silenced them for several moments, then Bellamy picked up the story. “She was determined to teach you a lesson. Over Daddy’s protests, she drove her own car to the park. She left ahead of us, and I remember thinking how gorgeous she looked when she sailed out the door.

“She was wearing a new sundress, one that Olivia had bought her for the occasion. The blue color set off her eyes. Her legs were smooth and tan. Her hair was golden, shiny, and perfect. In fact, everything about her looked perfect to me.” She laughed softly. “Probably because I was so imperfect.”

“You improved. A lot.” He teamed his drawled compliment with a lazy-eyed once-over that he could tell flustered her.

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“Well, you caught one anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He shot her a teasing grin, then returned to the serious nature of the topic. “Susan went on ahead.”

“Yes, despite Daddy and Olivia’s wishes that we arrive together and present a solid family unit. She insisted on having her own way. I admired her daring, because I was just the opposite. I never disobeyed, never went against what my parents wanted and expected of me. I was the Miss Goody Two-Shoes of the family.”

“Cooperative by nature?”

“Or simply a coward. I was also so happy to finally have a mother, I didn’t want to do anything to disrupt the new family.”

“How old were you when your real mom died?”

“Three. Susan was seven. Mother left us with the housekeeper while she went to the supermarket. She collapsed in the store aisle. A brain aneurysm had burst. They said death was instantaneous.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “I hope so. Realizing that she was dying and leaving us without a mother would have been awful for her.”

“Do you remember her?”

“Sometimes I think I do,” she said wistfully, “but it might just be images formed from pictures of her and stories that Daddy told me. When I started school, being without a mother made me different from the other kids. I didn’t like that. I was thrilled when Daddy and Olivia married.”

“What about Susan?”

“She was more wary because she was older and could remember our mother. But to Olivia’s credit, she was tactful and patient with us. With Steven, too, who was suddenly no longer an only child, but the middle child having to share his mother with two stepsisters. As an adult I can appreciate how dicey the merger could have been. But there were no major upheavals.”

Dent’s family background suffered by comparison. He didn’t want to think about what he would have become if Gall hadn’t taken him under his wing. So to speak.

He resettled in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Goody Two-Shoes goes to the barbecue.”

She winced. “Not in a new sundress, mind you, but a pair of white slacks that were too big in the seat, and a red top with straps that kept slipping off my knobby shoulders.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t have the most graceful adolescence.”

He smiled, recalling how awkward she’d been. “I remember one time Susan and I passed through the kitchen where you were sitting at the table doing homework. Susan called you a dork for being such a conscientious student. You told her to shut up. But she kept teasing you. You picked up a bag—”

“Of colored pencils. I was working on a map of Europe.”

“You hauled it back to throw at her, but you knocked over your glass of milk instead. You burst into tears and ran from the room.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” She buried her face in her hands. “I was so humiliated.”

“Why? Susan deserved to be smacked for making fun of you. I thought you showed a lot of backbone by standing up to her.”

“But I flubbed it and spilled my milk instead. In front of you. That was the worst of it.”

“Because of the crush you had on me.”

Her face turned bright pink. “You knew?”

He raised one shoulder. “Sensed.”

“Oh, God. Now I’m really embarrassed. I didn’t think you knew I was alive.”

He’d known. But her adolescent crush on him hadn’t become noteworthy until that Memorial Day, and then it had taken on a significance that disturbed him even now.

But he wouldn’t go there. Not until she did.

Instead, he smiled. “What did you like about me?”

“You were so much older.
Eighteen
. You rode a motorcycle, flew airplanes, used bad words. You broke all the rules, and my parents called you reckless, rude, and undisciplined.”

“And they were right.”

She laughed lightly. “You were the dangerous bad boy. Every Goody Two-Shoes’s fantasy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “What do you think of me now?”

Instantly she sobered and held his stare for several seconds, then replied quietly, “I think you’re still dangerous.”

Quickly she scooted back her chair and began to clear the table. He watched her as she moved about the kitchen and noticed how nicely she was filling out the seat of her pants these days. She also filled out her soft, stretchy top. Not too much. Just enough.

Today she had worn her hair down. It was dark, thick, and glossy, and, whenever she moved, the longest strands grazed those not-too-much-just-enough breasts, and every time that happened, he felt a warm, pleasant tingle below his belt.

Yesterday, once she’d ditched the sunglasses, he’d noticed that her eyes were light blue, set off by black eyelashes. Her skin was fair, and he was really coming to like that sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, which was an impudent contrast to an otherwise solemn face. When the time was right, he would enjoy teasing her about those freckles, as well as her girlish blush.

He wondered what had gone wrong between her and her ex, and if their divorce had been as amicable as she’d claimed.

She returned to her chair across the table from him and, as though aware of his scrutiny and the track of his thoughts, she resumed immediately. “The barbecue was exactly as you described it. Susan was the life of the party, which wasn’t anything unusual. But that day she seemed to court attention.”

“She wanted to make sure I’d hear about it.”

Bellamy gave a curt nod. “She laughed out loud at everything and spread herself thin on the dance floor, dancing with every man who asked her, no matter how old or how young.”

“Allen Strickland.”

“Yes. But they didn’t link up until later in the day, after Susan had had quite a lot to drink. She and a group of older kids had left the main pavilion and had gone down to the boathouse. They were sneaking beer down there and Susan was swilling it.

“Being curious and, I admit, a bit jealous, I went down there to spy on them. Susan saw me sneaking around and threatened to kill me if I tattled to Olivia and Daddy. I told her that I wouldn’t have to tell them, that if she continued drinking like that, they would know by her behavior. She told me to get lost. So I did.”

“Did you tell on her?”

“No.” This time as she lapsed into thought, her fingertip followed the rim of the tea glass. “Later I wished I had told. If she hadn’t been half drunk, she never would have looked twice at a guy like Allen Strickland.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He was so blue collar.”

“And I wasn’t?”

“Well, you . . . you were different.”

“I rode a motorcycle and flew airplanes. He drove a company truck. Appears to me that the difference between us was the vehicles.”

“In terms of boyfriends, that’s huge.”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Where was I?”

“You were blaming yourself for Susan’s actions. You shouldn’t. She made her own choices that day.”

“But she was my sister. I should have watched out for her.”

“Was she watching out for you?”

She lowered her gaze and must have decided not to venture too far in that direction, because she moved past it. “I returned to the pavilion and tried to remain inconspicuous. Susan’s group eventually began trickling back from the boathouse. I became worried when she didn’t come back with the rest. I wondered if she’d drunk so much she’d gotten sick. I went back to the boathouse to check on her.

“Or . . .” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “Or am I confusing that with later?” She gave a small shake of her head. “It was so long ago that sometimes I have trouble piecing together the sequence of events.”

Watching her closely, he said, “You didn’t have trouble with the sequence when you wrote the book. The girl in it didn’t return to the boathouse until the tornado was on top of her.”

“Right,” she said vaguely. Then more definitively, “Right.” Still, frowning, she paused before continuing. “Susan was among the last stragglers to return to the pavilion. She looked more vibrant and beautiful than ever. Most women don’t hold up too well when they overdrink, but the alcohol had made her look . . . aglow.

“Allen Strickland asked her to dance. He was a great dancer. One of those men who can really move, make the steps look fluid and effortless. In full control of himself and his partner. You know the kind?”

“Not really,” he said wryly. “I usually don’t watch men dance.”

“Then take my word for it. He was good. Susan, too. One song segued into another, and Allen Strickland stayed her partner. The way they moved together was in-your-face sexy, and everybody noticed. His hands were all over her, and she wasn’t doing anything to discourage him. The opposite, in fact.”

She paused for a length of time, lost in the memory.

Then, speaking softly, she said, “Considering how the two of them had been grinding against each other on the dance floor, it wasn’t at all surprising that Allen Strickland was the first man the police questioned.”

“You’re wrong there, A.k.a.,” he said bitterly. “
I
was the first.”

Several hundred miles away, former Austin PD homicide detective Dale Moody was also remembering his first interview with Denton Carter. All these years later, he remembered it like it had happened yesterday. It played like a recording inside his head.

“Son, you’d just as well tell us what we know to be the truth, ’cause we’re gonna find out anyway, sooner or later. It would save you some trouble and earn our good graces if you came clean now. How ’bout it?”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“You and Susan snuck off into the woods so you could be alone, am I right? Things got hot. Then, like girls sometimes do, she called a halt to it. Hell, I understand how mad that must’ve made you, Dent. I myself hate when that happens.”

“I’ll bet you do. And I’ll bet it happens to you a lot. But it doesn’t happen to me. It sure as hell didn’t happen at the barbecue because I wasn’t even there.”

“You were, Dent, you were.”

“Not until after the tornado ripped through! Before that I was flying with Gall. Ask him.”

“I’ve got an officer out there now, talking to him.”

“Well, then that should be the end of it. I wasn’t at the barbecue, and I didn’t kill Susan. She was my girlfriend.”