Did she really not know about it? “All it says is to go ahead with the changes, as they’d discussed. But it doesn’t say what they are. You didn’t talk to Stephen about it?”
She seemed stunned. “No. He never told me. Years ago, he promised me that I would get everything in the will, that he would never change that. I was supposed to help the other wives stay here, so the children could grow up together. Not that we ever thought something like this would happen.”
I wanted to believe her. “It can’t be a coincidence that he was murdered just before changing his will.”
“Probably not,” said Rebecca. “But he didn’t talk to me about it.” She stared at me for a long moment. “Naomi told me that you’ve investigated murders before, that you’ve solved crimes the police couldn’t.”
I put up my hands. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I said.
“I want you to help us here. We need to know the truth about what happened. The police would ruin everything, but if I know who it is, I can act swiftly to provide closure.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She’d throw the killer and her children out of the compound? Or let her stay and blackmail her into good behavior?
This was a dangerous suggestion, and I knew it. But I went along with it anyway because this was a mother talking, who didn’t think about anything but her children’s well-being. As a mother, I understood Rebecca. I thought she was right, and we would understand the nuances better than anyone outside the compound could.
But I had to make one caveat. “Rebecca, you should know that if I find out it was you, I have to call the police.” Even if that meant I had to face legal consequences myself.
She looked at me squarely, as if she’d prepared for this moment. Her face was blank, no love nor hate in it, just earnestness. “I didn’t kill my husband. I loved him dearly.”
I believed her. “Then I will do my best to find out who did it.”
She gave me a tremulous half-smile, and reached to hold my hand between both of hers. “Thank you. I will never forget this. I know that you had misgivings when you came here. I know that Kenneth must have warned you about us.”
“Kenneth loves Naomi,” I said diplomatically.
“Yes,” she said. “I know he does. And I know you love him. A mother’s love for her child never ends, no matter what difficulty it leads to.”
On that rather mysterious note, we were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Rebecca stood and walked across the room to open it. I followed her and she introduced me to Dr. Allyson Benallie, who had a wide, flat face, long gray hair pulled back into a bun, and light brown skin. It took me a moment to realize that she was Native American. The name Benallie was vaguely familiar—Navajo? The Mormon church had done some extensive school-year fostering with Navajo children to white families in Utah during the 1970s, though it had stopped now. Dr. Benallie was the right age to have been part of the Indian Placement Program.
“So, the man has died,” was the first thing Dr. Benallie said.
“Good to see you, Allyson,” Rebecca said coolly. Her tone made me wonder what in the world their relationship was like.
“And you, Rebecca,” said Dr. Benallie, as Rebecca directed us up the stairs to Stephen’s body.
On the third floor, Rebecca led us down the hallway to the locked bedroom and opened the door. She glanced around, probably to make sure there were no children nearby, then quickly ushered the two of us inside and closed the door behind her.
The rank smell of death was stronger now, and the body looked grayer, though it still seemed quite large. Dr. Benallie leaned over the body and without any squeamishness, simply pulled out the knife that had been stuck in his chest. The sucking sound as she did so was something I would prefer never to hear again. A little more blood leaked out of the chest wound, but not much.
I felt again the sense of loss and the confusion of emotions. Was I genuinely grieved he was dead, or was there a little relief in there? Was that why I was helping Rebecca move forward with this strange plan of trying to cover up the murder, because I was glad Stephen Carter was gone?
Dr. Benallie handed the knife to Rebecca. “Best clean that and return it to where it belongs. I assume it’s yours.”
Rebecca stared at the bloodied knife and nodded after a moment.
“Will you ever be able to use it again?” asked Dr. Benallie, which seemed a strange question to me while standing over a corpse.
“It would be a waste not to,” Rebecca said, which was perhaps just as strange. She moved into the bathroom and I could hear the water in the sink turn on.
I thought of all the evidence she was destroying. But at this point it seemed likely the police would never know.
“Who are you?” asked Dr. Benallie abruptly, staring at me. She had closed Stephen’s eyes and stood up. “You said your name was Linda? You’re too old to be one of his new wives.”