The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(22)

“He’s angry and he feels betrayed,” said Kurt. “He might act like that even if everything he says about Carrie’s disappearance is true.”

“Hmm. I hope that if I disappeared you would be out there with the searchers, looking for me in fields and mountains, not telling people that I must have left you and my children because I was crazy.”

Kurt smiled at that. “Luckily, I am not afraid of that happening.”

“Because you think I’m too much in love with you to ever leave?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because you would make sure everyone heard about all my faults if you decided to leave me,” said Kurt. He paused. “And if you were kidnapped, you would do a ‘Ransom of Red Chief’ on them. They’d regret it and bring you back as soon as they could.”

I let out a laugh. “I hope so. But you may be the only one who knows what a pain I can be. Lucky you.”

“And the boys,” said Kurt. “And some of the teachers at the school that you’ve wrangled with on the boys’ behalf. But just because your strength isn’t always visible doesn’t mean it isn’t powerful. In fact, I have often thought the reverse is true.”

“Bonus husband points,” I told him, leaning closer.

“Ooh. You know how much I try to earn those,” he said with a smile. He kissed me and then nuzzled my neck. For a moment, I thought it was going to turn into more than that. Kurt was good in bed, even if he didn’t have time for it very often anymore. That was one of the things that the stake president didn’t talk about when he asked you about supporting your husband in being the bishop. Long hours was one thing, but when it was compounded by lack of sleep and the distraction of other people’s problems, it did not make for a high libido. When Kurt was released in four years, I wondered how long it would take him to recover. I was looking forward to finding out.

But the doorbell rang, rupturing the moment. “Who could that be?” I said, barely restraining myself from cursing.

“Oh, I know who it is,” said Kurt.

“On a Sunday night? Don’t they know you’ve spent all day at church already?”

Kurt shrugged. “It was the only time that fit into their schedule and it was important. Really important. They are struggling, Linda. I know you’d want me to help a young couple struggling.” He kissed me again, less passionately this time. What had he been thinking, to kiss me like that before, when he knew we would be interrupted?

Kurt opened the door. To my surprise, Gwen Ferris and her husband, Brad, were standing there waiting. They were holding hands, but Gwen seemed nervous. She glanced past Kurt at me, and then looked away again.

“Come into my office,” said Kurt, and he closed the front door and gestured them in.

Gwen moved awkwardly and nearly fell into a houseplant that was on the floor by the office door. Brad grabbed her and steadied her.

“Did I hurt it?” she asked, patting at the leaves.

The plant had survived five teenage boys careening by it every day, so it was unlikely that one grown woman was going to bother it. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, still curiously watching Gwen. The fact that she was here with her husband seemed to indicate they were coming for marital counseling. I knew there was trouble having children, but was there more? Gwen’s eyes were puffy and red. Her whole demeanor suggested shame and discomfort. She moved into the office with her shoulders hunched, as if trying to make herself smaller.

Gwen’s husband had always seemed such a nice man to me. He had one of those baby faces that made you think he would always look young. Could he possibly have abused her? An extreme conclusion to jump to, but I suppose after everything we’d heard about Jared and Carrie Helm, I was anticipating abuse everywhere.

“Go on in,” said Kurt in a cheerful voice. He waited until they were inside to turn back to me.

Samuel was already in bed, but I went into the kitchen and made some more fresh cinnamon rolls. There was a batch waiting in a take-away tin for the Ferrises when they came out of Kurt’s office at about one o’clock. I read in the front room, waiting for my husband. Once I had offered the rolls and the Ferrises were gone, I climbed the stairs slowly at Kurt’s side.

“You too tired?” asked Kurt, massaging my back.

“Definitely not,” I said.





CHAPTER 8




Monday morning, I couldn’t sleep in, despite how tired I felt. I went into the kitchen and worked on some homemade wheat bread in the empty house. For some reason, the only recipe I knew how to make was for eight loaves. I had an oven large enough to fit them all at once, but after I’d pulled them out, I still had to wait until one of them was cool enough to wrap in plastic. Then I looked around for a bow that didn’t look too holiday-specific. A plain gold one would do, yes.

And because I couldn’t help myself, I cut into one of the loaves fresh out of the oven, burned my tongue on the first bite, and then blew out while taking the next three bites. The wonderful thing about hot bread is that you can’t tell how much butter is melting into the dense, moist crust. I always put on as much as the bread can hold.

I cleaned myself up, put on a coat and walked over to Jared Helm’s house. The news vans were still there; a head peeked out of one of the windows as I passed.