Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“Denton Carter was never my enemy.”

“Aw, please,” he scoffed. “He never had a kind word for your family. Your parents hated the sight of him even before your sister got killed. You gotta admit it’s kinda kinky that you and he are all smoochy-smoochy.”

“Hardly.”

“Pictures don’t lie. I’m partial to one taken at the airport, where he’s got his hand in your hair. Very sweet. Very intimate.”

Suddenly she realized that Van Durbin might actually be of help. From the bottom of her shoulder bag, she pulled out the envelope of photos he’d left on her doorstep. She took the one in which Jerry was in the background and pointed to him. “Do you know this man?”

Van Durbin looked closely and shrugged. “Just some guy.”

“You don’t recognize him?”

“No, should I? Who is he?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Steven called out to her and when she looked around, she saw that Olivia was already inside the limo. William was standing in the open door, and Steven was wearing an expression of consternation. He tapped the face of his wristwatch.

“Your stepbrother got here quick,” Van Durbin said. “Having to come all the way from Atlanta. Who’s that with him?”

“His business partner.”

“ Business partner?” He formed a lewd grin. “If you say so.”

She stuffed the envelope back into her bag, removed her sunglasses, and looked at the columnist with censure and disgust. “If you have a grain of decency, you’ll keep your distance from me and my family. At least until my father is laid to rest.”

He mulled it over. “I could do that. In exchange for—”

“Bellamy. Olivia’s getting anxious.”

She glanced back at Steven and held up her index finger, asking him to grant her one more moment. To Van Durbin, she said, “In exchange for what?”

“Leveling with me.”

“About what, specifically?”

“Dale Moody.”

She kept her expression impassive. “What about him?”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“I wanted to interview him when I was researching my book, but had no luck locating him.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t answer his question, and his grin told her he’d noticed. “The reason I’m asking, a little birdy told me that Moody might have bent some rules during his investigation.”

“There were subtle suggestions of that in my book.”

“Yeah, but my little birdy wasn’t so subtle. My little birdy practically accused Moody of knowing that he was sending the wrong guy to the pen.”

“Does this little birdy have a name?”

He frowned comically. “You know better than to ask me to identify a source, Ms. Price.”

Her money was on Rupe Collier, which seemed likely and in character.

“Bellamy.” This time Steven called to her with even more irritation.

To Van Durbin she said, “I swear to you, on my father’s casket, that I don’t know where Dale Moody is. If I did, I would be interviewing him myself. Now, I’ve leveled with you. Stay away from me and my family and let us mourn my father in peace. If you don’t, I’ll file a restraining order against you, then sue you and your cheesy newspaper.”

Howard had specified that the visitation at the funeral home be kept private, limited to his company’s executives and close personal friends.

His funeral was more public. Bellamy didn’t realize just how public until the family limousine approached the church, where motorcycle policemen were needed to funnel the traffic into surrounding parking lots that were already overflowing. While the turnout was a moving and well-deserved tribute to her father, Bellamy dreaded having to endure the rite and all that it entailed.

She, Olivia, Steven, and William were ushered into the church through a side entrance and escorted into a parlor, where they waited until the church bell chimed two o’clock, then they filed into the sanctuary and took their seats in the front pew.

During the service, Bellamy tried to concentrate on the hymns being sung, the scriptures being read, and what was being said about her father and the notable life he’d led, but it all became a jumble. Superseding everything were the facts that her father was gone and that she had failed him.

And if she had killed Susan, she had committed a cardinal sin.

The four of them were led from the sanctuary ahead of everyone else. As they were climbing into the limousine, Steven remarked on the news cameras and reporters being contained behind a barrier across the street. “I see that Van Durbin is among the horde.”

Bellamy spotted him and his trusty photographer. “As long as he keeps his distance.”

“I suppose wild horses couldn’t have kept him away.”

At first Bellamy thought Olivia was also referring to Van Durbin, but then she saw that her stepmother was looking toward the main entrance of the church, where people were filing out and making their way down the steps.

He would be a standout in any crowd, but he looked particularly attractive in a dark suit and cream-colored shirt. Of course he would never bend to convention entirely, and he hadn’t. His necktie was loosely knotted beneath his open collar, and his hair had been left to do what it did naturally, which was to be as unruly as he. He sported a day’s scruff.

The sight of him caused Bellamy’s heart to flutter.

His mouth was set in a grim line as he descended the church steps. When he reached the bottom one, he stopped and just stood there, staring hard at the back window of the limo, although she knew he couldn’t possibly see her through the darkly tinted windows.

She turned away and looked out the opposite window. But several minutes later when the limo finally pulled away from the curb, she couldn’t resist glancing back. Dent was still there staring after them.

Upward of five hundred people came to the reception at the country club that followed the graveside service. Howard had stipulated that anyone who wanted to come was welcome, because he didn’t want to risk someone being overlooked when a guest list was compiled.

None of his surviving family members was happy about it, but they formed a stoic receiving line in the club’s foyer and welcomed people as they arrived. Steven and William withdrew to the bar as soon as etiquette permitted. Bellamy remained at Olivia’s side a while longer, but when she was drawn away by members of her bridge club, Bellamy gave up her post as well.

She made her way to the bar, where she joined Steven and William at a corner table. William stood as she approached and held a chair for her.

“We couldn’t stand the banalities any longer,” Steven said. “If I hear one more, ‘Darlin’, I’m so sorry, bless your heart,’ I’m going to hang myself.”

“They mean well, Steven.”

“What will you have to drink?” William asked her.

“White wine.”

“Not nearly strong enough for this occasion.” Steven raised his glass of vodka.

“You’re probably right, but I’ll stick to white wine.”

“I’ll get it,” William said, and left them to order the drink at the bar.

“I like him,” she said as she watched William walk away. “He’s very attentive and kind. Attuned to everyone’s needs. He’s been fantastic to Olivia.”

“I tried to talk him out of coming. He insisted.”

“He’s your family, and I’m glad he’s here for you. I know it was very difficult for you to come back.” Steven had been nervously toying with his plastic stir stick. She reached across the table and covered his hand to still it. “If you can hold out for just a little while longer, you—” She broke off when she saw his expression change dramatically. Whipping her head around, she saw the cause of his alarm.