Low Pressure

During the service, Bellamy tried to concentrate on the hymns being sung, the scriptures being read, and what was being said about her father and the notable life he’d led, but it all became a jumble. Superseding everything were the facts that her father

was gone and that she had failed him.

And if she had killed Susan, she had committed a cardinal sin.

The four of them were led from the sanctuary ahead of everyone else. As they were climbing into the limousine, Steven remarked on the news cameras and reporters being contained behind a barrier across the street. “I see that Van Durbin is among the horde.”

Bellamy spotted him and his trusty photographer. “As long as he keeps his distance.”

“I suppose wild horses couldn’t have kept him away.”

At first Bellamy thought Olivia was also referring to Van Durbin, but then she saw that her stepmother was looking toward the main entrance of the church, where people were filing out and making their way down the steps.

He would be a standout in any crowd, but he looked particularly attractive in a dark suit and cream-colored shirt. Of course he would never bend to convention entirely, and he hadn’t. His necktie was loosely knotted beneath his open collar, and his hair had been left to do what it did naturally, which was to be as unruly as he. He sported a day’s scruff.

The sight of him caused Bellamy’s heart to flutter.

His mouth was set in a grim line as he descended the church steps. When he reached the bottom one, he stopped and just stood there, staring hard at the back window of the limo, although she knew he couldn’t possibly see her through the darkly tinted windows.

She turned away and looked out the opposite window. But several minutes later when the limo finally pulled away from the curb, she couldn’t resist glancing back. Dent was still there staring after them.

Upward of five hundred people came to the reception at the country club that followed the graveside service. Howard had stipulated that anyone who wanted to come was welcome, because he didn’t want to risk someone being overlooked when a guest list was compiled.

None of his surviving family members was happy about it, but they formed a stoic receiving line in the club’s foyer and welcomed people as they arrived. Steven and William withdrew to the bar as soon as etiquette permitted. Bellamy remained at Olivia’s side a while longer, but when she was drawn away by members of her bridge club, Bellamy gave up her post as well.

She made her way to the bar, where she joined Steven and William at a corner table. William stood as she approached and held a chair for her.

“We couldn’t stand the banalities any longer,” Steven said. “If I hear one more, ‘Darlin’, I’m so sorry, bless your heart,’ I’m going to hang myself.”

“They mean well, Steven.”

“What will you have to drink?” William asked her.

“White wine.”

“Not nearly strong enough for this occasion.” Steven raised his glass of vodka.

“You’re probably right, but I’ll stick to white wine.”

“I’ll get it,” William said, and left them to order the drink at the bar.

“I like him,” she said as she watched William walk away. “He’s very attentive and kind. Attuned to everyone’s needs. He’s been fantastic to Olivia.”

“I tried to talk him out of coming. He insisted.”

“He’s your family, and I’m glad he’s here for you. I know it was very difficult for you to come back.” Steven had been nervously toying with his plastic stir stick. She reached across the table and covered his hand to still it. “If you can hold out for just a little while longer, you—” She broke off when she saw his expression change dramatically. Whipping her head around, she saw the cause of his alarm.

Dale Moody had just entered the bar from an outside terrace. They made eye contact. He acknowledged her by raising his chin.

Steven, noticing the gesture, looked at her with dismay. “You two are friendly now?”

“Not friendly. But I’ve met with him since I saw you in Atlanta.”

“Jesus, Bellamy,” he said under his breath. “What the hell for?”

“Answers.” She couldn’t address her stepbrother’s disapproval now. Moody had stepped back though the doorway and out of sight. “Excuse me.”

She rushed across the room and out onto the terrace. Moody was standing in the shade of a post that was wrapped in leafy wisteria, lighting a cigarette in defiance of the restrictions against smoking.