The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(99)

“Was that all he cared about?” I said.

“No, of course not!” She shot me a sharp look. “He only wanted them to be happy.”

Staring her in the eye, I asked, “And are they happy?”

I could see her struggling to hold my gaze, but she didn’t look away. “When they first left, he had a good relationship with them. They would call him two or three times a week. Sometimes they would not talk to me at all. They wanted their daddy, and he spoiled them. He gave them money for clothes and to go out to dinner. When they were in college. It wasn’t right. I told him that they needed to grow up, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He said that they would always be his little girls.” She kept looking at me, as if waiting for me to give her some kind of approval.

I withheld it. It seemed the only piece I had to play in this game. I didn’t accuse her, just let her talk and try to get me to nod and smile at her, as everyone else seemed to.

“You said the relationship was good when they first left,” I said. “Does that mean it’s not so good anymore?”

“It wasn’t his fault they stopped calling for him. They didn’t ask him for money anymore, either. I thought it was a good thing. They needed their independence, and all children will go through stages, won’t they?”

“Will they?” I said.

“Yes, of course they will. But it was a trial for both of us. One of our daughters wouldn’t even let him come to her first baby’s blessing. We didn’t even know she was pregnant. She just sent us a card in the mail after it was done. Can you imagine how that hurt us both?”

Good for her, I thought, but all I said was, “Mmm.”

I felt sorry for Judy Weston. I felt sickened for what she had accepted, as a wife and mother. But I could not like her. And my desire to try to help her escape was gone.

Carrie’s choice in marriage had been dictated by her mother’s example of submission, blindness, utter loyalty no matter what her husband’s flaws, and she had only realized years later how limiting that kind of marriage was. Though perhaps she had still wanted to come back to it, for the comfort it offered her.

“What about that letter that Aaron had from her?” I asked finally. “The one you shared at the press conference? About Jared abusing her? Where did you get that?”

The red spots on her cheeks spread so that all but her lips seemed suffused in color. It was a strange thing to see, her lips pale against her darkened face, as if she had become a digital image with coloration reversed, not a human being.

“Aaron said that Carrie sent it to him,” she insisted.

As I stood staring at her, trying to suppress my disgust, she burst out defensively, “We were good parents to her! We gave her everything she needed. And we would have done anything for her. She should have known that.”

“Oh?” I said. Direct questions appeared to be less effective than nudging and letting her talk.

“Of course. We sent her Christmas gifts every year, and birthday gifts. We both wrote to her every month, and sent her scriptures to help her along in daily life. We were concerned about her, but we never pushed her. We only wanted the best for her. We wanted her to be happy, and she wasn’t happy with Jared. Anyone could see that.”

“But she was happy with you?” I said.

“Well, she was when she was younger. When she got older, she was confused. She started dressing provocatively. You must know what that’s like with a teenage daughter.” She made a dismissive hand gesture, completely unaware of the searing pain she had just caused me.

No, I did not know what that was like. And I never would.

“She started dating just about any boy she could. And Aaron would catch them together, practically naked, here at the house. But he never got angry with her. He disciplined her, but he didn’t shout and he didn’t hurt her. He loved her too much to do that.”

He loved her indeed.

“He was always looking out for her online. He found out how to see her Facebook posts, even though she wouldn’t friend us. He needed to know how she was doing.”

He had stalked her via the Internet. That did not surprise me. “Of course he did,” I murmured.

“And when Aaron saw that she had posted photographs of herself online—photographs like that—he had to go see her and talk to her. He had to stop her.”

I felt the world shimmering around me. “He saw the photographs she had posted online from Las Vegas?” I said. This was too obvious, wasn’t it? She couldn’t have just told me the last clue in the puzzle of her daughter’s murder.

“That wasn’t from Facebook,” said Judy. There was a strange pride in her demeanor now. “He watches certain sites. He does it to check on the girls in the ward, and the women. He wants to make sure that they are safe. Sometimes photos are posted as a cruel joke, or by a woman who is in a fury and changes her mind later. He is only looking for people he recognizes, so he can help them.”

“I have to go,” I said to Judy Weston. I needed to tell the police this. Then they could arrest Aaron Weston for the murder of his daughter at last. They could trace him on the Internet, surely. Then I could go home to my own family, where I was safe, and where the whole world wasn’t upside down and inside out.





CHAPTER 34