by Sandra Brown
So she didn’t address the body. Instead she spoke to the spirit she knew still to be alive. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t meet your deadline. And if… if… if I killed Susan, forgive me. Please. Forgive me.”
She whispered that plea over and over, turning it into a chant accompanied by harsh sobs that wracked her entire body. They grew so loud that they summoned Olivia back into the room.
“Sweetheart, don’t.” She wrapped her arms tightly around Bellamy. “He wouldn’t want you crying over him. That’s the last thing he’d want. He’s out of pain now and at peace.”
Bellamy knew that not to be true, but she allowed Olivia to guide her out of the room and to comfort her until they were forced to deal with the practical issues associated with transporting his remains to Austin.
Bellamy dealt with the paperwork, welcoming the distraction. She was simply too emotionally shredded to contemplate that the culprit she’d been seeking, that the individual who had caused her family so much turmoil and unhappiness, that the person her father had hoped to identify positively before he died, was herself.
Olivia had reserved a room for her in the hotel attached to the hospital. It was four a.m. before she got to bed. Surprisingly, she fell instantly asleep and slept dreamlessly. She was too exhausted to do otherwise.
Olivia woke her at ten. “Steven and William are coming straight here from the airport, and we’ll leave for Austin immediately after they arrive. I’ve ordered some coffee and breakfast to be sent up for you. Can you be ready by eleven?”
The water in the shower was wonderfully hot. She used the toiletries provided by the hotel and had enough cosmetics in her bag to make herself look presentable. The stop at her parents’ house yesterday had been fortuitous. She dressed in a pantsuit she’d packed in the suitcase. When she greeted her stepbrother and William in the first-floor lobby, she looked appropriately turned out.
“Do you have sunglasses?” Steven asked as he ushered her through the automatic glass doors and toward the limousine parked behind the hearse.
“Is that a kind way of telling me that my eyes are dark and puffy and that no amount of concealer will help?”
“What are brothers for?”
His gentle tease warmed her, and she smiled at him as she slipped on her sunglasses. However, she drew up short and her smile dissolved when she saw the man leaning indolently against a support column of the porte cochere.
Following her gaze, Steven asked, “Who’s that?”
“Don’t you recognize him from his byline photo? Meet Rocky Van Durbin.”
“Good Lord,” Olivia said.
“Jesus,” William hissed. “Doesn’t he have an ounce of sensitivity?”
“Not a drop,” Bellamy said.
“This is too much. Steven, call Security.”
“No, Olivia,” Bellamy said. “That’ll only give him the circus he wants.” Steeling herself, she said, “I’ll take care of it.”
Before they could stop her, she walked toward Van Durbin, who pushed himself away from the column and came forward to meet her halfway.
She looked pointedly at the photographer, who was already snapping pictures. “Would you please stop that?”
He waited until Van Durbin gave him a sign, then lowered his camera and ambled off. When he was out of earshot, Van Durbin said, “Ms. Price, allow me to extend my condolences.”
“Spare me the sentiment. The only thing my father’s death represents to you is another provocative article based on rumor, speculation, and your own vivid imagination.”
“Wasn’t my imagination that I saw you and your former enemy coming out of his apartment. In dishabille,” he added with a leer.
“Denton Carter was never my enemy.”
“Aw, please,” he scoffed. “He never had a kind word for your family. Your parents hated the sight of him even before your sister got killed. You gotta admit it’s kinda kinky that you and he are all smoochy-smoochy.”
“Hardly.”
“Pictures don’t lie. I’m partial to one taken at the airport, where he’s got his hand in your hair. Very sweet. Very intimate.”
Suddenly she realized that Van Durbin might actually be of help. From the bottom of her shoulder bag, she pulled out the envelope of photos he’d left on her doorstep. She took the one in which Jerry was in the background and pointed to him. “Do you know this man?”
Van Durbin looked closely and shrugged. “Just some guy.”
“You don’t recognize him?”
“No, should I? Who is he?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Steven called out to her and when she looked around, she saw that Olivia was already inside the limo. William was standing in the open door, and Steven was wearing an expression of consternation. He tapped the face of his wristwatch.
“Your stepbrother got here quick,” Van Durbin said. “Having to come all the way from Atlanta. Who’s that with him?”
“His business partner.”
“Business partner?” He formed a lewd grin. “If you say so.”
She stuffed the envelope back into her bag, removed her sunglasses, and looked at the columnist with censure and disgust. “If you have a grain of decency, you’ll keep your distance from me and my family. At least until my father is laid to rest.”
He mulled it over. “I could do that. In exchange for—”
“Bellamy. Olivia’s getting anxious.”
She glanced back at Steven and held up her index finger, asking him to grant her one more moment. To Van Durbin, she said, “In exchange for what?”
“Leveling with me.”
“About what, specifically?”
“Dale Moody.”
She kept her expression impassive. “What about him?”
“Have you seen him lately?”
“I wanted to interview him when I was researching my book, but had no luck locating him.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t answer his question, and his grin told her he’d noticed. “The reason I’m asking, a little birdy told me that Moody might have bent some rules during his investigation.”
“There were subtle suggestions of that in my book.”
“Yeah, but my little birdy wasn’t so subtle. My little birdy practically accused Moody of knowing that he was sending the wrong guy to the pen.”
“Does this little birdy have a name?”
He frowned comically. “You know better than to ask me to identify a source, Ms. Price.”
Her money was on Rupe Collier, which seemed likely and in character.
“Bellamy.” This time Steven called to her with even more irritation.
To Van Durbin she said, “I swear to you, on my father’s casket, that I don’t know where Dale Moody is. If I did, I would be interviewing him myself. Now, I’ve leveled with you. Stay away from me and my family and let us mourn my father in peace. If you don’t, I’ll file a restraining order against you, then sue you and your cheesy newspaper.”
Chapter 26
Howard had specified that the visitation at the funeral home be kept private, limited to his company’s executives and close personal friends.
His funeral was more public. Bellamy didn’t realize just how public until the family limousine approached the church, where motorcycle policemen were needed to funnel the traffic into surrounding parking lots that were already overflowing. While the turnout was a moving and well-deserved tribute to her father, Bellamy dreaded having to endure the rite and all that it entailed.
She, Olivia, Steven, and William were ushered into the church through a side entrance and escorted into a parlor, where they waited until the church bell chimed two o’clock, then they filed into the sanctuary and took their seats in the front pew.
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.
“My condolences,” he said as he clicked off his lighter. He used it to motion toward the bar. “Looks like your stepbrother’s done okay for himself. He has that air of prosperity about him.”
“He has a strong aversion to you.”
“Oh, that breaks my heart.”
“When you were interrogating him, did you know he was gay?”
He shrugged. “Figured.”
“Did you harass him about it?”
He flicked an ash off the end of his cigarette. “I was only doing my job.”
“No you weren’t. You were tormenting an underage boy.”
His eyes narrowed angrily. “Don’t make me sorry I came here to see you. Are you still looking for answers or not?”
She tamped down her resentment. “Most definitely.”
“Then listen up. I left the case file with Haymaker. Go see him. He’ll enlighten you.”
He tried to turn away, but she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. “That’s it?”
“That’s all you need. Everything’s in there, including a statement from me, owning up to my machinations, as well as Rupe’s.”
“A signed confession?”
“Yep. And to eliminate any doubt or dispute that it’s legit, I put my thumbprint on it. You won’t have any trouble with Haymaker. I told him you’d be coming.” He tried to pull away, but again she detained him.
“Two things,” she said. “Please.”
“Make it snappy.”
“Dent and I went back to your cabin to warn you of Ray Strickland.” She described the attack on Gall inside his hangar. “Strickland meant to kill him.”
“Looks like he’s going for broke.”
“So it would seem.”
“Warning noted,” Moody said. “What’s the second thing?”
She wet her lips. “Since I last talked to you, I’ve remembered something else about that day.”
His attention sharpened. “Well?”
“I overheard Susan say something about me. Something nasty.” She swallowed with difficulty, and her heart was beating so hard it filled her ears with its pounding. “During your investigation, did you find anything to indicate that possibly I had killed her?”
“No.”
“But you would have dismissed me because of my age, my size. Did I ever cross your mind as a possible suspect? You know now that I saw her lying dead before the storm.”
Moody studied her for a second or two, then pitched her his lighter. Reflexively she caught it against her chest. “What are you doing?”
“You’re a lefty.” He motioned down to the hand clutching his lighter. “After you described the crime scene the other day, I checked, just to make sure. You might have seen your sister dead, but you didn’t kill her. Whoever struck the blow to the back of her head was right-handed.”
The tension inside her chest began to lessen. She was virtually breathless with relief. “You’re positive?”
He dropped his cigarette to the terrace and ground it out. “I still don’t know who killed your sister, but I know who didn’t.”
He took his lighter from her, abruptly turned, and walked away. Bellamy struck out after him, but had taken only a few steps when one of her father’s oldest friends stepped out of the bar and addressed her. She had no choice but to speak to him.
While the man was expressing his sympathy, Dale Moody once again disappeared.
Dent didn’t go through the receiving line. He entered the club through another door and then blended into the crowd as well as he could. He didn’t eat, didn’t drink, didn’t talk to anyone, and maintained his distance from the family, although he kept Bellamy within sight when at all possible. If she noticed him, she gave no indication of it.
She looked tired, beleaguered, bereaved. And gorgeous in a tragic heroine sort of way. Black suited her. Even the shadows beneath her eyes had a certain delicate appeal.
When the receiving line disbanded, he followed her as far as the double-door entrance into the bar. He didn’t go in, but saw her sitting at a table with Steven. He loitered in the hallway, and the next time he drifted past, he saw her leaving the bar by way of a terrace door.
Seeing his opportunity to talk to her alone, Dent ducked out the nearest exit, circled the swimming pool, and rounded the corner of the building, which brought him to a shaded terrace where she was in conversation with an elderly man, who was pressing her hand between his.
As soon as he left her, and before she could reenter the bar, Dent spoke her name. He feared she might hightail it when she saw him. She didn’t. She waited for him to come to her.
Up close, he could see that her eyes looked weepy. She could have stood a good meal or two. Always slender, she now looked fragile. After several moments of simply staring, he asked the question that had been torturing him for days.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Her father, the person she’d said she loved most in the world, had died. But she hadn’t even called to tell him. He was surprised by how much that had hurt. She hadn’t responded to his dozens of voice-mail messages, either. He would have thought… Hell, he didn’t know what he thought. Or what to think now, because she still hadn’t said anything.
“I had to hear it from Gall,” he said, “who’d caught it on the news. Why didn’t you call to tell me as soon as you got word?”
“We hadn’t parted on the best of terms.”
“But your dad died.” He stated it like the settling point of an argument, as if nothing else need be said.
“Why would I bother you with that?”
“Bother me?” He stared at her with bewilderment for several moments, then turned his head away and looked out across the panorama of the golf course. “Wow. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it? It says a lot about your opinion of me. Turns out you’re even more like the Lystons than they are.”
After a time, he turned his head back to her and looked into her eyes. Then he sniffed with disdain, brushed past her, and entered the bar through the terrace door. He shot a glance toward the table where Steven was sitting with William. They were absorbed in conversation.
