Stephen had made so much money in his investments that that shouldn’t have been an issue. Did she know that, too?
Stephen had been a terrible husband to Sarah. But she was also now in dire financial straits, with no more skills to make a living than she’d had in high school and with a lot more responsibilities. That didn’t mean she hadn’t killed Stephen, but it meant I didn’t believe she had planned it. But she was the wife with the strongest motive, and she certainly had the personality to kill someone in the heat of the moment. I felt I had to ask her again.
“Sarah, did you take that knife out of the kitchen? Did you use it to kill Stephen?”
Sarah put down her paintings then. Ignoring my question, she turned away and began to clean the bristles of some brushes that were soaking in a bucket. The smell of turpentine was strong.
“Sarah, did you kill Stephen with that kitchen knife?” I asked again, insistent.
She whirled at me. “Did I kill him? I wish to God I had,” she said. She was on the verge of tears. “If I had, I might have some self-respect left. But no, I didn’t do it.” Her voice cracked.
And still I pressed, God forgive me. I gripped her hands and forced her to look me in the eye. “Are you sure? Would you remember it if you had? Would you admit it?” Could she have had some kind of mental break after she’d found her paintings ruined?
“Are you joking? If I’d killed Stephen, I’d trumpet it from the rooftops,” she said. “I wouldn’t care if I went to prison, either. Better that than here.”
I let out a breath and found I believed her. Which meant I could let her go. Though it left me with more work to do, I was relieved that she wasn’t the culprit, since she had been so much a victim. At least she might find peace once she was gone from here.
I asked her one more question before I left her alone. “Do you know who did kill him?”
She shook her head. “If it wasn’t God Himself, giving us all justice at last, you mean?”
In my experience, God’s justice was not so swift or clear as that.
Chapter 25
I left her in the shed, continuing to clean brushes, and walked back to the house. At last, I headed up to bed myself and wondered what I had accomplished today.
I’d found Stephen’s will and a letter saying he’d planned to change it. I’d learned that Joanna thought Jennifer had the best motive for murder. I’d met Dr. Benallie, Stephen’s business partner and former fiancée, who hated him, but claimed innocence of the murder. I’d talked to Joseph and Aaron, who told me about Stephen’s interest in Maria Perez. From Hector Perez, I’d found out that Stephen had been planning to be polygamous long before he told Rebecca about it. And from Sarah, I’d found out that Stephen had been a controlling and manipulative husband whom I wished I had never met.
As I stared up at the bunk bed above me, I thought about my own husband, whose sins had shrunk in comparison to Stephen’s. Was he still angry at me? He hadn’t sent a text or tried to call me since he left. It was hard to believe it had only been about thirty hours since then. It felt like weeks had gone by in my life without him. This was my second night away from home and I had no idea what he must be thinking of me. I missed the physicality of his presence in the bed next to me, his smell, and the pattern of his breathing.
Just as I was drifting off, Rebecca cracked the bedroom door open and poked her head in, her expression cautious. “I’m so sorry to bother you when you’re trying to sleep, but I’m wondering if I can talk to you for a moment? It’s important.”
“All right,” I said, wishing she hadn’t asked. I’d been so sympathetic to her at first, but that feeling had changed, especially after my conversation with Sarah. There were too many problems here for her to ignore them and still talk about the holiness of the Principle.
I sat up too quickly, knocking my head on the upper bunk pretty hard. I rubbed at it and tried not to let the tears of pain well up.
“Are you all right? Should I get you some ice?” Rebecca asked.
“Just give me a minute,” I said, holding a finger up as I put my head to my knees. I counted to ten, like I told my boys to do when they were in pain. My head was still throbbing, but I didn’t feel quite the same need to curse.
“We always tried to get the boys out of these bunk beds by the time they were tall enough to start doing that,” said Rebecca with a gentle smile of memory. She sat down on the only chair in the room as I rose, ducking to avoid bumping my head again. It was uncomfortable leaning against the bunk, but there was nowhere else to sit. Well, it would keep me awake, anyway.
“I have a confession to make.” Rebecca looked around the room nervously, as if expecting someone to rush in on us.