Low Pressure

“To us, yes. To everyone else, it’s entertainment. And from now on, the Lyston family will be remembered only for that salacious murder in Austin.” She began to cry in earnest. “I feel like the foundation of our life together is crumbling beneath me. It’s more than I can handle right now.”

He patted the side of the bed and coaxed her to come back to it. She went to him and leaned down to rest her head on his shoulder. “You can handle it,” he said gently. “You can handle anything. And what you’ll be remembered for is having been the most loving, wonderful, beautiful wife any man could have dreamed of. Making you my wife and mother to my girls was the smartest decision I ever made.” He turned his head and kissed her hair. “This will go away. I promise.”

For a time they clung to one another. He said all the things he knew she wanted to hear. He told her that Van Durbin and his ilk would soon be exploiting someone else’s personal tragedy, and that, until then, they would rely on each other for support as they always had.

Eventually she sat up and blotted her eyes. “There’s something else. I hesitate to tell you because it’s almost as upsetting as the business with Van Durbin.”

“What could be that bad?”

“Bellamy is with Denton Carter.”

He hadn’t seen that coming. He’d been as shocked and put off as Olivia when Bellamy informed them that she had booked a flight with him. Some situations were best left alone. But, after sensing the animosity on both sides, he’d thought yesterday’s flight would be the last they saw of him.

“By ‘with,’ what do you mean, exactly?”

“I shudder to think. She told me that Van Durbin had confronted her and Dent as they left our building. I think it was a slip of the tongue, because her voice skipped and then she went on talking in a rush and didn’t mention him again.”

He pressed her hand reassuringly. “There could be a simple explanation for why he was there. Something about payment for yesterday’s charter, maybe. Don’t borrow trouble.”

She gave him an odd look.

“What?” he asked.

“You said those very words to me when Susan started going out with him and I wanted to put a stop to it. I didn’t have to borrow trouble, Howard. He is trouble, and I still blame him for what happened to our daughter.”

“That ought to hold her.” The locksmith tested the newly installed lock on the utility room door, then moved aside and invited Dent to test it for himself.

Satisfied, he nodded. “Thanks for coming out so soon. What’s the charge?”

Dent paid him in cash and tipped him ten bucks for treating the repair as an emergency. After seeing the locksmith on his way out the back door, he went into the living room, where Bellamy was in conversation with the two police officers who had responded to their summons.

She was sitting on the sofa; the officers were standing amid the boxes of knickknacks and books she still hadn’t unpacked. Dent, who had an ingrained aversion to cops, didn’t venture any farther into the room but propped his shoulder against the door frame, which was a good observation point.

He had followed Bellamy home from Lyston Electronics, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his rearview mirror. He didn’t believe Van Durbin had followed them, but he probably didn’t need to. Surely EyeSpy had a battalion of underpaid Internet geeks doing research and electronic investigative work. Finding out Bellamy’s new home address would have been duck soup.

When they reentered her house and saw again the evidence of last night’s intruder, Dent had said, “With Van Durbin in town, you’ve got more to worry about than media coverage of this. Call the police.”

She’d capitulated without further discussion, apparently having seen the wisdom of having the break-in on record. Two uniformed officers had arrived a few minutes later. They’d questioned both of them, walked through every room of the house as well as the backyard, poking about. They’d called in another officer to dust for fingerprints. He’d already come and gone.

The questions being put to Bellamy now were similar to those the sheriff’s deputy had asked of Dent earlier at the airfield, the implication being that the vandalism was retribution for something she had done.

“Have you had any cross words with a neighbor? Maid? Yardman?”

She shook her head no.

“Co-worker?”

“I don’t have co-workers.”

One of the policemen looked over at Dent. “You said you followed her home last night?”

“I flew her to Houston and back yesterday. She left something in my airplane. I was returning it to her.”

He nodded and, with one eyebrow eloquently arched, exchanged a meaningful look with his partner. Going back to Bellamy, he said, “We, uh, took the pair of underwear for evidence. Using a personal garment like that to paint the words on the wall… Well, ma’am, it suggests the perpetrator has, uh, intimate knowledge of you.”

“Or he’s read my book.”

One’s face lit up and he snapped his fingers. “I thought you looked familiar. You’re that author.” To his partner, he said, “She’s famous.”