The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(66)

“We need clean sheets.” It made no sense to wash them at this time of night, but it had to be done.

“Linda, think carefully about this,” said Kurt. He still didn’t touch me, but he helped me extricate the sheets from the quilt. He folded the quilt methodically and put it to the side, which made me angrier still with him. He could stay calm about all this while I wept because he didn’t care.

“You’ve gotten too caught up in this,” Kurt went on. “You’re not thinking clearly about it.”

Of course he was thinking clearly. He always thought clearly. And that was supposed to be the right thing to do. Not feel emotion. Not thrash around in anger. Be rational. Be a man. Well, I wasn’t a man.

“Linda, we have to let people make their own choices. We can’t help until we’re asked to help. It’s one of the frustrating things I’ve learned about being a bishop, but it’s true. If I try to intervene before people are ready to listen, I inevitably ruin their ability to see the problem themselves and set them back months, possibly years.”

How could he say this to me? He was playing the authority card. He was the bishop. He had the experience. He had the mantle of being God’s voice in my ears.

Well, I didn’t care what God had to say about this. God was a man, too, and as far as I was concerned, until I heard Heavenly Mother tell me how to deal with a little girl in shock and fear, I wasn’t going to listen.

I threw the sheets into the machine, pulled out the drawer for soap, shoved it back in full, then jammed the START button. I didn’t even look at the water temperature or the cycle. I didn’t care. I couldn’t see the Helm house from the laundry room window, but I heard a car driving away as I stood there, waiting for the washing machine to fill.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I said. I was glad I hadn’t changed into pajamas yet. I thundered down the stairs and could hear Kurt chasing me.

“Linda, you should at least wait until the cameras aren’t on. He’s going to be grandstanding about his son being taken away.” He got around me and stood at the door like a guard.

I could have pushed past him, or slapped him. Instead, I took a breath and tried my best to find the rational words that would make Kurt listen to me, whether I felt rational or not. My whole body seemed to have turned to lead, my brain most of all. “And that is exactly why I need to be there for Kelly. He isn’t paying any attention to her. And she has just lost her mother and her father in the same day.”

“Her mother has been missing for some time,” Kurt reminded me. He seemed relieved that I was finally looking him in the eye.

“You know what I mean,” I said.

“Linda.” He put a hand on my shoulder and I didn’t shrug him off. I could feel the warmth of his body spread to mine. “You need to think about how you’re going to approach him.” I noticed he had stopped trying to convince me not to go. “He’s a proud, stubborn man. You’ve got to appeal to that. Don’t tell him he can’t take care of his granddaughter. Make him feel like you are on his side.”

“How do I do that?” I asked, staring past Kurt at the doorknob.

“I don’t know. If I knew that, I’d do it myself. I’m just telling you that you need to think this through before you head over or you’ll make it worse.”

I thought it through. For about two more minutes. Then I slipped around Kurt and flung the door open. Kurt didn’t come after me, and I didn’t know if that meant he trusted me or that he didn’t want to witness his wife on a rampage. Either one was fine with me.

When I walked up the driveway, Alex Helm was so busy talking to the cameras that he hardly noticed me. They didn’t seem to notice me, either, though I had been prepared to say “friend of the family” if anyone asked.

I stepped up to the porch and caught Kelly under one arm, pulling her inside the house.

“Let me get you warm, sweetie,” I said as I put her down. I reached for a hand to guide her up the stairs. Her hands were like icicles. “Would you like to take a bath?” I asked. That would warm her up and make her sleepy, I hoped.

She nodded. “Can I have bubbles?” she asked, her voice high-pitched and shaky.

Damn Alex Helm, I thought, for leaving her out there while he basked in the limelight.

“Of course, sweetie.” I ran a bath for her, listening to Alex Helm’s bombastic voice outside, reporters asking questions whenever he paused. I was relieved to find that there were numerous bottles of bath bubbles under the sink, color-organized from clear to purple. I let Kelly choose one. She played until the water started to get tepid. Then I found the thickest towel I could and wrapped Kelly up in it completely. I carried her into her bedroom and tucked her under the covers for a few minutes to dry before I tried to get her dressed.

“Is Daddy going to come back?” asked Kelly as she pulled on a warm pair of flannel pajamas more appropriate to the weather than the nightgown that lay on the floor.

“Of course he is,” I said. I was saying that too much. And my voice was too bright, an attempt to cover the real anger I felt. I wasn’t sure who I was angriest at right now. Kurt? The police? The reporters on the lawn? Jared Helm? Carrie Helm? Or Alex Helm? Maybe I was most angry at myself.

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.” I couldn’t tell her I hoped it was soon. I didn’t. I hoped that Jared Helm would be in jail for the rest of his life. I’d hope for eternity, but I knew that God had mercy that I couldn’t feel at the moment, even for murderers.