The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(30)

“No,” I assured her. “They’re just looking for your mother.”

“Why are they looking for her there?” said Kelly.

“They don’t know where else to look for her,” I said.

“But she’s not there,” said Kelly insistently. “She’s gone away.”

“Yes, sweetheart. But she didn’t say goodbye to anyone, so they’re worried about her. They want to talk to her and make sure she’s all right.”

“She said goodbye to me,” said Kelly.

My heart nearly stopped at that. I pushed the door open and pulled Kelly inside. “Come on inside to the kitchen,” I said. What did Kelly know about all of this? No one had ever thought to ask her this particular question before, it seemed. Or Kelly hadn’t felt comfortable enough to answer.

“Why don’t you tell me about your mommy?” I said, trying to move to the larger questions cautiously.

“Mommy used to make brownies with me when she was feeling sad,” said Kelly.

“Oh? What else did she do when she was sad?” I asked. I set her on the bar to watch me.

Then I got out all the ingredients to make brownies, hoping it would make Kelly feel more comfortable, and possibly jostle loose some memories. I felt like I was no better than the policemen who were even now poking into her underwear drawer, and her mother’s, as well. Prying out secrets from a child—how low did that make me? But I wanted to know the truth.

“She loved me,” said Kelly.

“Of course she did.” I hugged the little girl hard and set the butter I’d softened in the microwave in front of her, along with the sugar and cocoa, and asked her to stir it. I figured I would have a mess to clean up afterward, but Kelly had been trained well. She dug in with the wooden spoon and stood on the chair I pulled up for her, using the full weight of her body to cream the ingredients.

“Mommy likes chocolate best. It makes her feel happy again. And she likes the kissing movies.”

I smiled at that. “What kissing movies are her favorites?”

“The one with the movie star and the man who lives in the blue door. The one with the floppy hair,” said Kelly.

“Notting Hill?” I asked. It was also one of my favorites. “What else? You said she said goodbye to you before she left?” I was treading on dangerous ground here. I casually cracked eggs into the brownie batter, but felt as if my own house was as fragile as the eggshells. What if Jared realized what Kelly might say and came rushing over to take her back with him?

“She came into my bedroom and kissed me goodnight. She said to be a good girl for Daddy,” said Kelly.

But that could mean anything. “Well, I’m sure you are a good girl,” I said, hoping for more.

Kelly looked down at the brownie batter. “Can I have a taste? Mommy always lets me have a taste,” she said.

“With the eggs in it? That’s not safe,” I said. “Raw eggs can have bad bacteria in them.”

“Is that what made Mommy go away? The bad bacteria? Because she ate brownies before they were cooked?” said Kelly, looking up at me, her messy, curly hair now also dusted in flour and cocoa.

“No, I don’t think so,” I assured her.

“I’m not going to run away like Mommy. Daddy says I have to promise not to run away.”

“Your daddy is right about that, Kelly. You shouldn’t run away. Did you see your mom packing anything before she left? Are you sure she ran away?”

“Daddy said she ran away,” said Kelly. “But I only saw when she got out of the car.”

“She got out of the car?” I echoed.

“Daddy thought I was asleep. He told me to go back to sleep in the car, but when it stopped, I woked up,” said Kelly.

“And what happened then?” I said, stirring the brownie batter far past what it needed. This was not what Jared Helm had told me and Kurt that morning weeks ago, but I couldn’t react angrily. I didn’t want to lose the sense of ease that Kelly felt in this familiar rhythm.

“Mommy got out of the car. I heard her thump on the ground.”

I went cold at the childish description. “Then what?” I asked.

“Then Daddy said goodbye to her, too, and he got back in the car,” she said simply.

I felt terrible pumping information from a five-year-old child, especially this very vulnerable one. If the police had done it, someone would have cried foul. But I wasn’t hurting her, was I? And I needed to know what she had heard exactly. “Where were you? Do you remember anything about the place where she got out of the car?”

“It was dark,” said Kelly helpfully. “And cold.”

“But were there any lights outside?”

“I don’t think so,” said Kelly.

“And your mother didn’t kiss you goodbye in the car?” I asked.

Kelly shook her head. “I was trying to be asleep. Daddy said to sleep.”

“Did you hear her say anything to your dad?”

“She was mad at him. She didn’t talk to him when she was mad.”

Yes, that would be a useful survival strategy for a woman who had been abused by her husband.

Or maybe Carrie didn’t say anything to Kelly because she couldn’t. I wondered if Carrie Helm had been alive during this car ride Jared hadn’t mentioned to the police.