Low Pressure (49 page)

“Mostly,” she said on a sigh, “I wish that Howard had lived long enough to see the end of all this.”

“I wish that, too. But thank God it’ll soon be over for the rest of us. Bellamy’s quest, for lack of a better word, came to an end when Susan’s undies were found in Ray Stickland’s house. Case closed.”

Olivia put her elbow on the arm of her chair, leaned her head into her hand, and massaged her forehead. “The recovery of her panties will be in the news. It will be written about, talked about, speculated on. For days.”

“But not forever. Another scandalous story will soon come along.”

“That little trick of hers cost us all so dearly.”

Steven went perfectly still. He stopped breathing, and he would have sworn that his heart stopped also, except that his body was infused with an incredible rush of heat. His eyes remained fixed and unblinking on his mother.

Eventually she lowered her hand, raised her head, and looked over at him, smiling wanly. “We have no choice but to get through the coming media blitz. God knows I—” She broke off and looked at him curiously. “Steven? What is it?”

He swallowed. “You said that little trick of Susan’s cost us all so dearly.”

Olivia’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

“What little trick were you referring to, Mother?”

She still didn’t speak.

“Mother, I asked you a question. What little trick? Her little trick of taking off her panties and giving them to men?”

“I—”

He shot to his feet. “You
knew
?”

“No, I—”

“You knew, didn’t you? You knew she’d done that little trick with me. Many times. Did you also know about everything else?”

When she stood up she was wobbly on her feet and had to grab the back of her chair for support. “Steven, listen to me. Please.”

“You knew about . . . everything? All of it? And didn’t do anything about it?”

“Steven—”

“You didn’t stop it. Why?”

“I couldn’t,” she whimpered.

He trembled with rage. “It ruined my life!”

She covered her mouth to stifle her sobs. Her entire body was racked by them, but he bore down on her mercilessly. “Why didn’t you stop it?”

“I—”

“Why?
Why?
”

“Because of Howard!” she cried. “It would have destroyed him to know.”

For long moments, Steven stood there, staring into her stricken face. “It would have destroyed Howard, and you couldn’t have that. But it was okay for me to be destroyed.”

“No,” she wailed, reaching for him.

He slung off her hand.

“Steven!
Steven!
”

She was still screaming his name as he took the stairs two at a time.

D
ent pulled his car to a stop in the semicircular driveway in front of the Lystons’ house. “Gall’s timing couldn’t be worse, but I asked for the meeting, so I feel like I should go.”

“You definitely should,” Bellamy said.

“I’ll make it short and sweet.”

“This is important to you, so don’t rush it on my account. Besides, I’ll be busy mending fences. When I left here yesterday everyone was upset and angry.”

“You came to me and spent the night. For that alone, they probably scratched you out of the will.”

“It was worth it,” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

They exchanged a warm look, then, remembering why they were there, she said, “They’ll want to hear about everything that happened today, and there’s a lot to tell.”

“Which is another reason why I don’t want to leave you. I hate letting you out of my sight with Strickland still at large.”

“There’s a police car parked outside the gate.”

“I’m glad of that. If the detectives hadn’t suggested it, I would have.” He looked up at the sky through the windshield. “It also looks like rain. Maybe I should wait out here while you go inside—”

“You’ll do no such thing. You braved the police station for me all day today. I appreciated your presence, especially knowing the discomfort it cost you to be there. The least I can do is brave a rain shower.”

Their parting kiss left them wanting to get their separate obligations done with so they’d be back together sooner. She waved him off, went up the steps and into the house. No one was about on the lower floor, which was surprising since she’d notified Steven that she was on her way.

She called out to him and Olivia, but it was the housekeeper Helena who appeared, coming from the direction of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Ms. Price. I was just about to leave for the day and didn’t hear you come in.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Mrs. Lyston is upstairs in her room. She asked not to be disturbed for a while.”

“And my brother?”

“He left.”

“He went out?”

“No, he and Mr. Stroud are flying back to Atlanta.”

“I thought they weren’t due to leave until tomorrow.”

“He told me they’d had a sudden change of plans.”

Sudden was an understatement. Steven must have left shortly after their telephone conversation.

Seeing Bellamy’s disappointment, the housekeeper said, “He left a note for you on the desk in Mr. Lyston’s study.”

A note. That was all she warranted? He couldn’t have delayed his departure long enough for them to say a proper good-bye?

“Do you need me for anything before I go?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you, Helena.”

“I’ll say good night then.”

Bellamy went directly into the study. The built-in bookshelves were filled with memorabilia that chronicled her father’s life, from a black-and-white photograph of him with his parents on the day of his christening to a picture taken of him just last year playing golf at Pebble Beach with the president of the United States.

But for all its comfortable clutter, the study seemed empty without him. She and her dad had enjoyed long talks in this room. It put a lump in her throat just to walk into it. Usually it represented warmth and security. Today, it was gloomy and oppressive, its dimness unrelieved by the open drapes. Outside, the sky had grown increasingly overcast.

She switched on the desk lamp as she sat down in her father’s chair. The squeak of the leather was familiar and, again, she was almost overwhelmed by a wave of homesickness for him. She was made even sadder by the envelope with her name written on it lying on the desk.

She broke the seal and read Steven’s brief note.

Dear Bellamy,

Had the circumstances of our lives been different, maybe I would have been the brother you wished for and I wished to be. As it is, I’m doomed to disappoint and hurt you. I apologize again for Dowd. Honorable intentions, but a bad idea. I wanted to protect you, because I do love you. But if you have any love in your heart for me, for both our sakes, please let this good-bye be final.

Steven

The message pierced her heart, making her hurt as much for him as for herself. She held the note against her lips and fought back tears. They were heartfelt, but to cry was futile. She couldn’t undo the past that had left such deep scars on her stepbrother’s soul.

Her eyes strayed to the framed photograph on the corner of her father’s desk. She wondered if Steven had noticed it when he left the note. If so, he’d probably found it as disturbing as she did.

Once, she had asked her dad why he kept this particular photograph where he would see it every day. He’d told her that it was the last picture taken of Susan, and he wanted to remember her as she looked in it: smiling and happy, alive and vibrant.

It had been taken that Memorial Day before they left for the state park. They were all decked out in their red, white, and blue clothing, which Olivia had mandated they wear for the occasion. They’d assembled on the front steps of the house, and when they were posed, their housekeeper at the time had snapped the picture.

It was similar to the Christmas family portrait only in that it revealed so much about their individual personalities. Steven look sulky. Susan was radiant. Bellamy appeared self-conscious. Olivia and Howard, standing arm in arm, smiling, looked like the embodiment of the American dream, like tragedy couldn’t touch them.

A low rumble of thunder caused Bellamy to turn her head and glance nervously out the window. Rain was spattering the panes. She rubbed her chilled arms and got up to pull the drapes. A masochistic bent forced her to look up at the sky.

The clouds were malevolent looking and greenish in color.

She closed her eyes for several seconds, and when she opened them again, saw that the clouds weren’t green at all. They were gray. Scuttling. Moisture-laden rain clouds. Nothing more.

Nothing resembling the apocalyptic sky on that afternoon eighteen years ago.

She turned back to the desk and picked up the framed family photograph, holding it directly beneath the lamp-shade to maximize the light, tilting it this way and that so she could look at it from different angles.

What was she looking
for
, exactly?

She didn’t know. But something was eluding her. Something important and troubling. What was it? What was she missing? Why did it seem essential that she find it?

A bolt of lightning struck close by, followed by a sharp crack of thunder.

Bellamy dropped the picture frame. The glass inside it shattered.

Dent entered the Starbucks near the capitol building where the state senator had suggested they meet. Most everyone in the place was pecking away on a laptop or talking on a cell phone, except for the two men who were waiting for Dent. Gall had dressed for the occasion, trading his greasy coveralls for a clean pair. He was nervously gnawing on a cigar.

The man who stood up with him as Dent approached their table was sixtyish and balding. He wore a plaid shirt with pearl snap buttons. It was tucked into a pair of pressed and creased Wranglers held up by a wide, tooled leather belt with a silver buckle the size of a saucer. His broad, sunburned face was open and friendly, and the hand that clasped Dent’s as Gall made the introductions was as tough as boot leather.

He pumped Dent’s hand a couple of times. “Dent, thanks for coming. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Have a seat.” He motioned Dent into the chair across the small table from him.

Just then a clap of thunder rattled the windows. Dent looked out and saw that it had begun to sprinkle. When he came back around to the two men, he said, “I can’t stay long.”

His rudeness caused Gall to glower, but the senator smiled genially. “Then I’ll make my pitch quick. Gall has already laid out your terms to me, and, frankly, I don’t think they’re fair.” He paused, then laughed. “I can do you better.”

Dent listened as the senator proposed a sweet deal, which only a damn fool would walk away from. But most of his attention was on what was happening outside. The wind was buffeting the sycamore trees planted at intervals along the sidewalk. The sprinkles had turned into a heavy rain. Lightning and thunder had grown more frequent and violent.

Bellamy would be afraid.

“Dent?”

He realized the senator had stopped speaking, and that whatever he’d last said necessitated a response of some kind, because both he and Gall were looking at him expectantly.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, hoping that was a suitable reply.

Gall took the cigar from his mouth. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Dent stood up and addressed the senator. “Your airplane’s a wet dream. And I can fly it better than anybody. But right now, I’ve got to go.”

As he wended his way through the tables he heard the senator chuckle. “Is he always in that big of a hurry?”

“Lately, yeah,” Gall said. “He’s in love.”

Dent pushed through the door, which the wind caught and jerked out of his hand. He didn’t stop to close it, but bowed his head against the pelting rain and took off running.

With trembling hands, Bellamy shook the shards of broken glass from the frame, then ran her fingertips across the photograph itself. She looked carefully at each family member individually, trying to figure out what was bothering her about the picture.

Lightning flashed. She cringed. And for that instant, she was twelve years old again, in the wooded area of the state park, petrified with fear as she crouched in the underbrush. She needed to take cover from the weather, but she was too frightened to move.

The flashback was so intense her breath started coming in loud, rushing gasps. Taking the photograph with her, she scrambled around the desk to the nearest bookcase and dropped to her knees in front of the cabinets beneath the shelves. Inside were all the research materials she’d collected while writing
Low Pressure
. She’d had Dexter send her all the files, which she’d left behind when she fled New York. When they arrived, she had asked her dad if she could store them here in a space he wasn’t using.

Moving unsteadily, she stacked the bulky folders on the floor in front of her and began rapidly sorting through them until she found the one containing photographs of the tornado and its aftermath. She’d clipped them from magazine write-ups and newspaper articles, and printed them off the Internet, until she had dozens of pictures that had been taken that fateful Memorial Day in Austin.