Low Pressure
Page 49
“Okay,” he said, not wanting to add to her distress. “But we need verification of everything you do remember, or think you do. We need someone who was there to fill in the gaps that you and I can’t.” He hesitated. “We need to talk to your parents.”
“About this? Absolutely not, Dent.”
“They need to know.”
“I won’t resurrect the worst time in their lives.”
“You already did.”
“Well, thank you for reminding me of that,” she snapped. “When I began writing Low Pressure, I didn’t know that it would be published when Daddy was fighting for his life.”
“You may soon be fighting for yours, and they would want to know that.”
“You saw a redneck in a souped-up truck, like that’s a rarity in Texas. But suddenly my life is in danger? You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
“Oh, denial now. That’s healthy.”
She had the grace to look away in concession.
“Your parents need to know about the potential danger.”
Adamantly, she shook her head.
“Howard’s got money. He could hire a bodyguard for you.”
“Have you lost your mind? I’m not going to have a bodyguard.”
He backed down from that. “Tell them, Bellamy.”
“No.”
“Talking about it with them could shake something loose.”
“I said no! And that’s final. Drop it.”
He hadn’t counted on getting her to agree, but her insistence was aggravating. He placed his hands on his hips and exhaled. “Okay then, Steven. And before you butt in with all the reasons why not, hear me out. You and he were at least in the same general vicinity when the tornado struck, which coincides with the time your memory goes kaput. He’s the next logical choice of who we should talk to.”
Reluctantly, she mumbled, “Probably.”
“Did he help supply you with missing facts when you were writing the book?”
“We met once in New York for lunch.”
He waited expectantly to hear more, but when she offered nothing, he said, “I’m not interested in what you ate.”
“Steven wasn’t very forthcoming with his impressions of that Memorial Day.”
“Why not?”
“He wasn’t very forthcoming about that, either.”
Dent frowned.
“Don’t read anything into it,” she said. “That was a terrible time for him, too. It’s in his past. Over. Buried. I don’t really blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”
“You said he went back east when he left Austin. Where?”
“He’s in Atlanta now.”