Low Pressure

He shook his head. “I have no idea how you got there.”

Bellamy glanced over at Dent. He was looking at her, his eyebrow eloquently arched. Turning back to Steven, she said, “After the tornado, you managed to get out from under the debris.”

“It was sheer luck that I wasn’t crushed by the collapsing walls. But that section of the boathouse fell outward instead of in. I was scratched up and dazed, but nothing serious. I managed to wiggle my way out of the rubble and wandered back toward the pavilion. Howard and Mom practically smothered me with hugs. But of course they were frantic to find Susan and you.”

Steven’s recollections of the storm’s aftermath coincided with Dent’s, so Bellamy didn’t linger on them. “Why did Detective Moody question you?”

“Because of the sexual overtones of the crime. He interrogated every man past puberty, especially those close to her. The boyfriend,” he said, tipping his head toward Dent. “I was her stepbrother, but that didn’t exclude me. Even Howard was questioned.”

Bellamy was stunned. “Daddy was questioned? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sure that Mother and Howard protected you from knowing about it because of the disturbing implication.”

“It’s not disturbing, it’s disgusting.”

Steven looked down and traced the white tablecloth’s weave pattern with the tip of his finger. “Moody wasn’t so far off base.”

His softly spoken words had the effect of falling bricks. Bellamy was shocked dumb. Dent said nothing, either, but placed his elbow on the table and cupped his mouth and chin with his hand. Steven must have felt the pressure of his solemn stare, because when he gave up his study of the tablecloth, it was Dent he addressed.

“I don’t need to tell you what she was like, do I? You know firsthand that Susan was sexually supercharged. Which must have been great for you. But for her younger stepbrother who was grappling with his sexual identity, she was a nightmare with a malicious streak.”

Bellamy swallowed with difficulty and said gruffly, “Are you telling us that you and Susan…”

“No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “Never the grand finale. But not for her lack of trying. As it was, she got off by torturing me.”

“Doing what?”

“Are you sure you want to hear this, Bellamy? It’s ugly.”

“I think I have to hear it.”

“All right.” He took a breath. “Susan made a practice of sneaking into my room at night. Two, three times a week. Sometimes more often.”

“When did it start?”

“On Mother and Howard’s wedding day.”

Bellamy gasped in disbelief.

“She would lie down beside me, rub up against me, talk dirty, describe to me all the things we could be doing if only I wasn’t so afraid of getting caught. She would take off her clothes and dare me to touch her.”

He snorted a sound of self-deprecation. “God knows, sometimes I wanted to, because I was struggling with the realization that I was gay. At that point in my life, I was desperate to disprove it. But, in truth, the harder she tried to lure me, the more repulsed I became.”

“Did she know you were gay?”

“Maybe. Probably. Which would have made the torment even more delightful to her. It got to where I couldn’t stand the sight or smell of her and made no secret of it. She only became more aggressive and daring.

“Once, she got into the shower with me and told me that Mother was just across the hall. She sa

id that if I made a sound, and Mother caught us, she would tell her and Howard that I was forcing her to go down on me every night. I knew that she could cry on demand and was capable of convincing them of anything.”

He looked hard at Bellamy. “I’m sorry to be the one to destroy your delusions of our perfect family, but perhaps it’s time you knew the truth about our dearly departed sister.”

“You should have told me.”

“So you could have put it in your book, made it more salacious?”

She flinched as though he’d slapped her. “I don’t deserve that, Steven.”