Low Pressure (50 page)

But she was searching for one in particular, and her search was so frantic she flipped through all the photographs twice before she located it. It had been captioned:
Prominent family searches for loved ones among the rubble
.

A Lyston Electronics employee who’d had his camera at the barbecue had taken the picture within minutes of the tornado. In the background, the devastation looked surreal. The snapshot had captured people in tears, in tatters, still in the throes of panic.

In the forefront were Howard, Olivia, and Steven.

Howard was clutching Olivia’s hand, his face streaked with tears. Steven’s arm was raised, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. Olivia’s expression was stark, vastly different from the smile she’d been wearing in the photograph taken that morning on the front steps of her home.

Bellamy held the photographs side by side.

Yes, the contrast between Olivia’s facial expressions was pronounced.

However, not so noticeable was the difference in her blouse. In the photograph taken earlier, it had a bow at the neck. In the second photo . . .

Bellamy dropped the photographs and covered her face with her hands as the memory jolted her. As though she’d been propelled supersonically through a time warp, she was suddenly back there picking her way through the woods, looking for Susan, who’d left the pavilion with Allen Strickland.

Bellamy wanted to find them together so she could embarrass Susan the way Susan had embarrassed her by saying what she had about her and Dent.

But when she came upon her sister, she was lying facedown on the ground, the skirt of her sundress flipped up, showing her bottom. Clutched in her hand was her small purse. She wasn’t moving. Bellamy knew she was dead.

As shocking as that, Olivia was standing over her, looking down. In her hand was the tie that belonged around the neck of her blouse. The end of it was trailing on the ground.

Bellamy wanted to cry out, but she was frozen with fear and shock. She remained perfectly still and held her breath. It would have been hard to breathe anyway, because the air had turned so thick. The woods had become preternaturally silent and motionless. Nothing moved. No birds or insects, no squirrels, not a single leaf. It was as though everything in nature had stopped to watch Olivia choke her stepdaughter to death.

Then suddenly the stillness was interrupted by a strong whoosh of wind, and the silence was split by a roar that knocked Bellamy to the ground. The change galvanized Olivia, who turned and thrashed her way through the trees and underbrush at a run, moving in the direction of the pavilion.

Bellamy clambered to her feet and stumbled blindly through the woods as the wind beat at her and stole her breath, as the charged atmosphere caused her hair to stand on end. The noise was unlike anything she’d ever heard. It was like the roar of a dragon bearing down on her.

But she hadn’t been running from the terrifying elements of the storm. She’d been running from what she’d seen. She was blindly seeking not shelter from the wind and natural debris that was whipping around her, but rather refuge from the unthinkable.

When she finally reached the boathouse, lungs bursting and heart racing, she stumbled inside and instinctually sought a corner in which to cower, even as a section of the metal roof was ripped away and another sliced through the cavernous building like the blade of a guillotine, cleaving a boat in two. Weeping uncontrollably, she covered her head with her arms and made herself as small and invisible as possible.

Rain was lashing at the study window now. A jagged fork of lightning struck close. Following a loud explosive pop, the lamp on the desk flickered, then went out.

She wanted to seek cover and hide, as she had that day in the boathouse, but she was no longer a child, and if she gave in to her fear now, she might never learn what even her unlocked memory couldn’t tell her.

Reaching up from her place on the floor, she grabbed a corner of the desk and used it as leverage to pull herself to her feet. She closed her eyes against the lashing fury of the storm, took several deep breaths, then let go of the desk and walked from the room.

All the lights in the house had gone out, but she found her way to the main staircase. Gripping the newel post, she paused. Its curving length seemed rife with menace. It was so dark she couldn’t even see where it ended at the top, but she forced herself to plant her foot on the bottom tread and start up.

She was blinded by periodic flashes of lightning, causing her to grab the banister and wait until her vision returned. When she reached the second-story landing, she looked down the long hallway. It was dark. But a faint light shone beneath the door of the bedroom Olivia and Howard had shared. Bellamy walked toward it and didn’t even pause to knock before turning the doorknob and going in.

A candle votive flickered on the nightstand. Olivia was lying on the bed, the covers pulled up to her chest. “Olivia?”

She raised her head from the pillow. “Bellamy.” Then, more weakly, “Steven left.”

Bellamy crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed. Olivia glanced down at her hand, in which she clutched the two telling photographs. When her gaze moved back to Bellamy’s face, she looked deeply into her eyes for ponderous moments. Finally, she said, “You know.”

Bellamy nodded and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. For a time they just looked at each other, saying nothing. Olivia broke the taut silence. “How did you piece it together?”

“I didn’t. With the help of these photographs, I finally remembered.”

Olivia looked at her quizzically.

Bellamy explained her memory loss. “Even when I was focused on that day and writing the book, I couldn’t remember snatches of time. Not until just now did it all come back.”

“You saw me do it?” Olivia asked quietly.

“I saw you standing over her body with the tie to your blouse in your hand.”

“It was detachable. After the tornado, no one noticed that it was missing. People had had their clothing blown off. One child was found completely naked. The funnel had literally sucked her clothes off her.”

“You just dropped the tie amid the rubble. The murder weapon vanished when the storm debris was cleared.”

“All this time it’s been assumed that she was strangled with her underpants.”

“So the pair of panties that was found in Strickland’s house today—”

“Oh, I’m certain they’re hers. Allen could have given them to his brother before his arrest, so he wouldn’t be caught with them.”

“You knew he had them?”

“Oh, yes. Of course I couldn’t tell, because I couldn’t say how I knew. I was sure the police would find them, which would have clenched his guilt. But they didn’t. I can’t explain why Ray kept them all these years.”

Bellamy couldn’t believe the calm and detached manner in which Olivia was relating all this. “Olivia, what happened out there in the woods?”

Her chest rose and fell on a deep sigh. “I saw her leave the pavilion with that boy following her like she was in heat. She was, you know. Constantly. She gave off an animalistic . . . scent. Something. I don’t know. But it was unmistakable to men. Anyway, I followed them. I didn’t want her shenanigans to spoil our big day.

“I heard them before I saw them. Disgusting noises. Like animals in rut. His heavy breathing, her moans. Susan’s back was against a tree. The top of her sundress was pulled down. He was at her breasts. His hands. Mouth. He seemed totally absorbed, but Susan looked bored. She was staring up at the sky.

“She remarked that it looked funny, that it looked like a storm was coming. But either he didn’t hear her, or he ignored her. She said his name and gave him a slight push away from her. ‘I don’t want to get rained on,’ she said.

“He laughed and said, ‘Then we’d better hurry.’ He undid his pants and jerked them down over his hips. She looked down at him and giggled. ‘Put that thing back.’ And he said, ‘
Back
isn’t where I’m gonna put it.’”

Olivia gave a shudder. “I was disgusted to the point that I thought about turning around and leaving. I didn’t want to watch them. But then Susan slapped at his groping hand. ‘I mean it. I’m not going to stay out here and have my dress ruined.’

“He tried to cajole her, playfully at first, and then more angrily. Finally, he called her names, yanked up his pants, and started walking away. Laughing, she told him not to go away mad.

“Then I watched her take off her panties and shoot them at him, like they were a rubber band. She told him to use them while he pleasured himself, and to think of her while he was doing it.” Olivia closed her eyes for a moment. “Of course she used much cruder terminology.”

She paused for a moment and drew a deep breath. “She straightened her clothing and fluffed her hair. As beautiful as she was, I was sickened by the sight of her. My expression must have conveyed it because when she saw me, she said, ‘What do
you
want?’ You know the inflection I’m talking about. She wasn’t embarrassed, or even curious to know how long I’d been there and what I’d seen. She just asked the question in that hateful tone.

“I told her precisely what I was thinking, that she was a disgrace, that she was unspeakably vile and amoral. She sighed theatrically, pushed herself away from the tree, and said, ‘Spare me.’ When she sauntered past me, she pulled her skirt aside so it wouldn’t come into contact with me. That was the last straw.

“Before I knew it, my hand had shot out, and I’d taken a tight grip on her arm. She told me to let go, but I only moved in closer. And that’s when . . . when . . . when I told her to leave Steven alone.”

Bellamy gasped. “You knew about her and Steven?”

“So did you, it seems.”

“Not until this week. He told me when I went to Atlanta. You knew back then, when it was happening?”

She turned her head away so that her cheek was resting on the pillow. “God help me.”

Bellamy was more astounded by this than Olivia’s confession to killing Susan. “Why didn’t you do something to stop it?”

“Susan knew why,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I told her that if she came near Steven again I was going to tell Howard. She laughed in my face. ‘Who do you think you’re kidding, Olivia?’ She knew I wouldn’t tell him because it would have shattered him, and our family.

“She was Howard’s daughter. He would have felt an obligation to support her. My loyalty would have been with Steven. It would have torn us apart. Our marriage. Everything. I wouldn’t let that little tramp destroy us.”

“But—”

“I know, Bellamy. I know. She destroyed the family anyway. But on that day, I tried to make my threat believable. I told her again to leave Steven alone. She got right in my face and said, ‘Not as long as that broody little faggot can get it up.’”

Olivia stared blankly at the opposite wall for a long, silent moment, then slowly brought her head back around to look at Bellamy. “She walked—sashayed—away, swinging the skirt of her sundress.

“I didn’t plan it. I just reacted with rage. I bent down and grabbed a broken tree limb that was lying on the ground, and hit her in the back of the head with all my might. She fell facedown. I untied the bow at my neck and took it off.” She raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. “It was like watching someone else. It was remarkably easy. When I realized that she was dead, I insulted her by flipping up her skirt.”

Neither said anything for a while. Bellamy stared at Olivia’s composed face. Olivia stared at the ceiling.

Bellamy stirred. “I must ask. Did Daddy know? Or have so much as an inkling?”

Olivia’s face crumpled. “No, no.” Then in a mournful tone, she added, “Sometimes I would catch him watching me. Thoughtfully. Frowning. And it caused me to wonder . . .”

“He never asked?”

“No.”

Bellamy wondered if perhaps he hadn’t asked because he didn’t want to know. Maybe he had commissioned her to get to the truth in order to vindicate not Allen Strickland, but Olivia. He hadn’t wanted to die with even a smidgen of suspicion that his beloved wife had taken his daughter’s life.

They would never know his mind, and Bellamy was actually relieved that they wouldn’t.

“Does Steven know?” she asked quietly. “He told me himself that he was glad Susan was dead.”

“No. But I let it slip today that I knew what she was doing to him. That’s why he left.”

Bellamy’s heart sank as Olivia described the scene. “I begged his forgiveness, but he refused to listen. He locked me out of their room and when he opened the door, their bags were packed, and a taxi was waiting to take them to the airport. I pleaded with him to stay and talk it out, but he wouldn’t even look at me. Which is the worst possible punishment for what I did.”

She took a moment as though collecting her thoughts, then said, “I deceived myself into thinking that Allen Strickland’s conviction was a sign from God that he was granting me a second chance.

“Steven suffered, and so did you to some extent, but Howard and I had almost two decades of happiness. I made myself believe that killing Susan was justified, and that’s why I’d gotten away with it.” She sighed. “But things don’t work that way, do they?”

“No they don’t,” Bellamy said softly. “Because you have to tell the authorities, Olivia. Allen Strickland deserves to be exonerated. So does Dent, Steven, anyone who came under suspicion. You must clear them.”

Olivia nodded. “I’m not afraid anymore. I’ve lost Howard. Now Steven. Nothing worse can happen to me.”

Bellamy suddenly realized that, except for her head, Olivia hadn’t moved. Her face was wet with tears, yet she hadn’t pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table.

“Olivia?”

Her eyes had closed, and she didn’t respond.

“Olivia!”

Bellamy whipped back the covers, and, although she’d never been a screamer, she screamed now. Olivia was drenched in blood. Both wrists had been slashed.

Bellamy frantically slapped her cheeks, but her only responses were faint murmurs of protest.

Bellamy snatched the cordless phone from its charger on the nightstand, punched in 911, and began babbling as soon as the operator answered. She shouted the address. “She’s bleeding to death! Send an ambulance. Hurry, hurry!”