Low Pressure

“A knife in the belly? I’d say so.”

“And it’s my fault.”

“No it isn’t. It’s this creep’s fault. He’d better hope the police catch him before I do.”

She went over to the window and opened the drapes. It was no longer stormy, but the sky was overcast, making for a dreary-looking day. Which was appropriate, because not only did she feel the weight of responsibility for the attack on Gall, but in addition to that, the latest report from Houston was dismal.

When she’d called Olivia from the hotel lobby, she reported that Howard’s condition had sharply declined overnight. His lapses into semiconsciousness were becoming increasingly longer. His lungs were filling with fluid, and he could no longer swallow.

As her husband’s systems began shutting down, Olivia was emotionally unraveling.

“Do you want me to come right away?” Bellamy extended the offer sincerely, although it was in direct opposition to her father’s request.

Olivia underscored it. “If Howard wanted you here, he wouldn’t have sent you away. As much as I would like having you here to lean on, I must go along with his wishes. But it means a lot to me that you offered. Thank you.”

Bellamy wondered if her stepmother would be quite so grateful if she knew that her husband’s decline could be the result of his disturbing conversation with Bellamy yesterday afternoon.

Rather than relieve him of his lingering doubts and anxiety regarding Susan’s death, she had contributed to them by passing along what Moody had told her. She still didn’t know what to make of her father’s anguished response to the possibility that she’d witnessed the crime, and it seemed doubtful that she would have an opportunity to ask him.

Beyond her concern for all that, she was disconsolate over losing him. For months she’d been trying to brace herself for this inevitable outcome. But now that his death seemed imminent, she realized the futility of trying to prepare for it. One couldn’t. She couldn’t. Death was unacceptable. Even now, when it seemed likely that she would never see her father again, she wanted to reject the finality and permanence of his departure.

But it was a reality that she must face. Quietly she said, “Daddy’s going to die soon.”

Dent moved up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Do you want me to fly you down there?”

“I offered to go. Olivia said no. And she’s right. As much as I want to be there and see him one last time, I can’t go back on the promise I made him.”

“Which was a bitch of a promise to ask of you.”

She tended to agree. The more she learned about that horrible day, the more confounding the facts became. And this quest for the truth had placed her and the people around her in danger. She wanted to fulfill the promise she’d made her father, but she feared the cost of doing so.

She said, “We can’t just stand by and let Ray Strickland continue his personal vendetta.”

“The police have his license plate number. Hopefully he’ll be apprehended soon.”

“But until he is—”

“We gotta keep looking over our shoulders.”

“We’re not the only ones.”

He turned her around to face him. “You’re frowning. What are you thinking?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

“We need to warn Moody.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“He sent Ray’s innocent brother—”

“Presumed innocent brother. Even Moody’s not sure.”

“Okay, but if Allen Strickland was innocent, Moody is a target for Ray’s retribution.”

“He’s had years to get retribution on Moody. He hasn’t.”