The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(83)

“This is about Carrie, isn’t it?” asked Aaron.

“Yes, yes it is,” I said.

I left a note for Samuel atop a plate of fruit suggesting that any of these would be an excellent choice for an after school snack. Then I got into the car.

As I drove by the Helm home, I could see Alex Helm through the front living room window. I cringed at the sight of him. Jared and Alex seemed to be sharing childcare responsibilities for Kelly now that the press had disappeared. I didn’t think Kelly had gone back to school, and I hadn’t seen her at all since the argument Alex and I had had back in March on his front lawn. How much of what her mother had done would Kelly ever understand? I didn’t know. But for now, I had to deal with her grandparents, and the reality of her mother’s death.

The drive did not take long enough. I tried to make myself appreciate the beautiful mountains on either side and the outline of the Great Salt Lake in the distance. Whenever friends from other parts of the country come to Utah, the first thing they mention is the feeling they get from the mountains. Some people feel oppressed by them. Others feel safe, like they are wrapped in a cocoon. But I am so used to them I take them for granted. If I go elsewhere, somewhere without mountains, that’s when I realize how much I miss them. I don’t know how anyone can tell what direction they’re headed without mountains around to help.

I was dreading the conversation I would have to have with the Westons, who had already been forced by the law to virtually walk away from their granddaughter. Their lawyer claimed that even demanding a monthly visitation would be impossible unless they could prove that they had had frequent contact with their granddaughter before Carrie’s death—which they hadn’t. I arrived at the large house in a tract of large houses, and turned off the engine. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and stared out at the immaculate lawn. The flowers weren’t as spectacular as Tobias Torstensen’s, but it was clear that the lawn was treated with chemicals often and never allowed to go brown.

The three-car garage was dwarfed by the rest of the house. It was grey stucco and the columns in front rose to the third story. Inside, there were marble floors in the foyer, stained-glass windows in the dining room, and the kind of carpet so thick you can feel it even through your shoes.

With hardly a word, Aaron Weston led me to a small office that seemed completely unused, despite the huge oak desk in the center and the leather chairs. Judy was waiting for me there, as well.

I kept thinking about Carrie Helm. She’d come from this. How did any of her subsequent choices make sense, knowing that? Why would a woman who realized her marriage had failed run away to Las Vegas with a lover, and then feel forced to sell her body online, when she could have come home to this? Why hadn’t she made frequent visits with Kelly to her parents? I knew she was afraid of her husband and likely her father-in-law, but to go from this to that—there was something I was missing.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my mind whirling.

“Oh, dear,” said Judy. “That doesn’t sound like a good beginning.”

Aaron held her hand. “She’s gone now. There’s nothing more that can hurt us,” he said, but there was a catch in his voice.

“It’s going to be on the news tonight or tomorrow, but Kurt learned from the police that she was found naked and that she had had sex—most likely consensual—within an hour of her death.” Putting it so baldly made me want to cringe. I wished I had thought of a better way, but really, what was going to make it sound better? I wanted to get the facts out quickly, so that I could get on to comforting them.

Kurt would really be better at this than I would. He would be able to tell them with far more confidence that they would see their daughter again, that she would rise again in the resurrection to her perfect form. All I knew was that these parents must be feeling the same way I had felt after my daughter died, and there was a part of me that was cowardly enough that I wanted to shrink away from them.

Judy let out a long breath, and I stared at her. For that one moment, I thought that she was faking her sadness. I don’t know what it was about her, but something seemed false to me. Too many tears. Too much ultra-feminine hand-wringing and weakness.

But what right had I to judge other women for their unique responses to their own situations? I shook myself. Judy Weston had the right to act as over-the-top as she needed to. A mother wasn’t supposed to outlive her children. She was supposed to lay herself down and take the blow instead. But we didn’t always get that choice.

“Is it this man Will?” asked Aaron. “Do they think he did it? Are you telling us there will be an arrest soon?” There was a fierce look in his eyes.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t Will. He was far away at the time.” I took a breath and steeled myself for the rest. “There’s more, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” said Judy, gripping her husband’s arm more tightly.

“She apparently met a stranger near to where she was found, to trade sex for payment.”

There was no sound from either parent.

“She had put photos of herself online. Asking for men who wanted to meet her,” I said. “For money.”

“Oh, my poor Carrie,” said Judy. She put a hand to her heart.

There it was again. My sense that she wasn’t really feeling the emotions she was putting on. What was going on here?