Low Pressure

Bellamy glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting Olivia to be there admonishing her to remember her promise. “Let’s not talk about her, Daddy. It pains you too much.”

“Your book—”

“Upset you. I know. I’m sorry. I never meant—”

“You raised questions.”

Unsure of what he was getting at, she said nothing.

“Was that intentional?”

“No,” she replied, releasing her breath slowly. “But as the story unfolded, implied questions emerged. I suppose they’ve been buried in my subconscious.”

“In mine, too.”

“What?”

“I’ve harbored questions, too.”

She was stunned. “Such as?”

“Primarily, I question the same thing that tabloid columnist did. Allen Strickland went to prison for killing Susan. But did he do it? I don’t want to die with uncertainty, Bellamy.”

“What makes you think it wasn’t him?”

“Maybe it was. But I don’t want to spend eternity with maybe. I need to know.”

Her visit with Steven had left her feeling that the preteen Bellamy had been better off not knowing everything that was happening around her. She also came away realizing that Low Pressure had been written from a very naive perspective.

On that Memorial Day, there had been strong un

dercurrents at play, nuances that, as a twelve-year-old, she hadn’t perceived. Even if she had sensed them, she wouldn’t have had the maturity to identify and understand them.

Dent had cautioned her that any truths uncovered might be terribly ugly, possibly explosive, worse even than the one she’d learned about Steven and Susan. She had come close to believing that the course safest to her peace of mind would be to leave the past alone.

But now, her father was asking her to dig deeper. How could she refuse to grant—or at least attempt to grant—his dying wish? His asking this of her renewed her resolve to continue turning over stones regardless of the ugliness she might find beneath.

“I want to know with certainty, too, Daddy. Since I wrote the book, very recently in fact, some things have come to light that I didn’t know.”

“For instance?”

“Susan was seeing other boys, not just Dent Carter.”

“You’ve been talking to him?”

“Among others.”

“Do you trust him?”

“He’s given me no reason to distrust him.”

“He wouldn’t, though, would he? Has he romanced you yet?”

She cast her eyes down.

Knowing what that signified, he grimaced. “Ask yourself why he’s latched on to you, Bellamy.”

“Why do you think he has?”