Dent agreed, he just didn’t know what to do with the information. He rested his forehead in his hand, weakened by the thought of what could have happened to Gall if that pickup had been parked facing north instead of south. “Sorry I yelled at you when I answered.”
“I’m used to it.”
“I’m still sorry.”
There was an extended moment of silence, which was full of understanding but no unnecessary sloppiness. Finally Gall asked about their meeting with Moody, and Dent gave him a rundown. “He and I had no kind words for each other.”
“You didn’t shoot him?”
“No, but I hit him.”
“Overdue. Got to give him some credit, though.”
“For what? Plotting to frame me for murder?”
“For admitting it.”
Dent didn’t say anything.
“What are you going to do now, Ace?”
“Hold on.” He covered the receiver and said to Bellamy, “Are you speaking to me this morning?”
“You kept your word.”
“Yeah, I’m a regular choirboy. One who’s desperate for coffee. The help-yourself bar in the lobby opens at six. I noticed the sign. Would you fetch me a cup?”
“What don’t you want me to hear?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not that much of a choirboy. You couldn’t look innocent if you tried, especially when you’re lying. But”—she stood up and got her bag—“I’m desperate for coffee, too. Besides, I need to check in with Olivia.”
Dent stared at the door for several seconds after it closed behind her, then raised the phone to his ear again. “Gall?”
He snorted. “No more separate rooms?”
“Shut up and listen. I sent her on an errand, but she’ll be back soon. I didn’t want her to hear this. I won’t go into the details now, but Moody told us yesterday that it’s almost certain Bellamy witnessed her sister’s death.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“It shook her up. I don’t know all the psychological whys and wherefores, but that would be traumatic enough to cause a memory shutdown, wouldn’t you say?”
“Damn straight.”
“This guy, Ray Strickland, has reason—and a solid one—to want vengeance for his brother. But I’m afraid he’s not the only one who’s stalking Bellamy.” He told Gall about her fan Jerry. “She dismissed him as a harmless, bookish type, an admirer who’s gone a little overboard.”
“She’s probably right.”
“Probably. Maybe. But in the park, he pretended not to notice us. At the Austin airport he was near enough to touch her. Close enough to address her, at least. If he’s gushy over his favorite writer, why didn’t he gush?”
“Maybe he was intimidated. She’s got big bad you at her side now.”
“Yeah, okay, maybe. But factor Jerry into everything else, and his unlikely presence in Texas doesn’t seem quite so innocent or coincidental.”
“But you said this Jerry is a fan.”
“
“Say he is. He’s been close to her on several occasions, right? Even while she was still in New York. Why hasn’t he struck?”
Dent had no answer to that. And when Gall asked him what so-called Jerry’s connection to Susan’s death could be, Dent didn’t have an answer to that, either.
He threw a glance toward the door. “She’s back. I’m going to pretend that we’ve been talking about something else.” He grabbed the pen and small tablet on the nightstand. “Give me that license plate number for the pickup.”
He was jotting it down when she came through the door carrying a cardboard tray with two tall paper cups of coffee. When he saw the doughnuts she had also brought, he blew her a kiss.
“Don’t go back to the hangar, Gall. Until you know we’re on our way back, stay in bed with your lady. You’ll be safer there.”
He laughed. “You don’t know my lady.”
“Soon as the weather clears and we can take off, I’ll call you with our ETA.”
“You’ll have to call this number.”
“Where’s your phone?”
The old man wheezed a sound of disgust aimed at himself. “In the pocket of my coveralls. The ones Strickland took with him when he hightailed it out of here.”
Chapter 21
Bellamy could tell that Dent was worried and preoccupied as he bit into the glazed doughnut and took a sip of coffee.
“I heard most of it,” she said. “He meant to kill him.”
“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.
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
