“Go ahead.” I had been so sure at first that Rebecca wasn’t guilty. But maybe I’d been wrong again. It was strange that I felt so unthreatened, despite the fact that the door was closed and Rebecca had me here alone, in a quiet house after dark.
“I don’t want you to think worse of me than you already do. I’ve made mistakes in my life, but I’ve tried so hard to do what is right. But there are times when my weaker side just takes over.” She was digging her fingernails into her palms as if in punishment for her crimes.
“I believe you’ve tried to do right,” I said, offering her the kindest interpretation of her actions that I could think of.
Rebecca gave a sad laugh. “Tried being the operative word there, I suppose.”
I didn’t know if she was about to confess to murder—I certainly hoped not—but whatever it was she wanted to say, I was sure it would help my investigation and bring me some much-needed clarity. “Sometimes life is complicated,” I offered, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.
She pushed her hair back and toyed with one of the knickknacks on the dresser. Finally, she said, “I love Sarah so much. Sometimes it frightens me how much. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to make me so angry with her foolish choices if I didn’t love her as I did. And wish more for her.” She leaned back against the chair, pensive.
The sisters’ relationship was still a mystery to me. Rebecca said she loved Sarah, but I knew now she had also betrayed her in terrible ways—at least, from Sarah’s perspective. Was Stephen’s mistreatment of Sarah enough of a reason for Rebecca to kill him? My mind was struggling to make sense of everything I had discovered so far—all the hints and half-truths. What if the sisters had plotted together? Sarah had convinced me of her innocence back in the shed, and I’d been so sure of Rebecca’s innocence this whole time. But maybe they had both tricked me. Cautiously, I said, “I think the more we love someone, the more difficult it can be to do what is best for them.”
Rebecca twitched briefly. Then she said, “Yes.”
There was a long silence. I felt like screaming my frustration. Last night had ended with Kurt and me fighting and him driving off and leaving me here. Then I’d woken up to a dead body, and I’d been going nonstop since then. I was exhausted physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Why wouldn’t she just tell me what had really happened? Then I could go home and clean my hands of this whole thing.
When Rebecca finally spoke, her voice was so low it was almost inaudible and I spent a moment putting the sounds all together.
“I was the one who ruined Sarah’s paintings,” Rebecca said.
“What? Why?” This was not the confession I had expected. I stood up and paced. I was so sick of all the secrets that were hidden here, coming out one by one, each one darker than the last. Did everyone have secrets like this that came out eventually, even if there wasn’t a murder in their midst?
Rebecca looked at the floor. “She woke me up that night, the night before Stephen was—killed. She was in a rage because she said that she was being wasted here, that it was all my fault. The same things she always says, but it was the last straw for me, I guess. She demanded that I get her money so she could take real lessons and buy more canvases. She said she wasn’t going to end up like me, a dried-up old woman who had nothing in her life but memories of her children, who had left her.”
I stopped, silent, sure this was the moment that the rest of the confession I’d been expecting would finally come out. If Rebecca could have taken a kitchen knife and been that vicious to those paintings, how much more would it have taken for her to use the knife on Stephen? Maybe she had been in the kind of rage that knows no bounds.
Rebecca continued, “I waited until she went to bed and then I rummaged in Stephen’s drawers until I found the shed key. I let myself in, and used one of the knives that was already in there. It felt so good, tearing and ripping at those things she had made that I never would.”
I was stunned. This didn’t sound like the Rebecca I thought I knew, the loving mother who cared for everyone on the compound. “But why? Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. She just loves her paintings so much. More than anyone—anything, I mean—and . . . ” Rebecca hesitated and looked at me, her eyes pleading. I wondered what my expression must be. It couldn’t have been particularly sympathetic. I’d seen Sarah’s talent and how much those paintings meant to her. Destroying them was truly cruel and it shocked me that Rebecca was capable of that. “Maybe I always thought it was unfair that she was so gifted and I wasn’t,” Rebecca finished quickly.
I didn’t know what to say. Why was she telling me about this at all? Did Rebecca want me to offer her some kind of absolution? It wasn’t really a Mormon theological concept. Besides, I wasn’t the one she needed to confess to, but I could see why she wasn’t eager to tell Sarah.
Then Rebecca said, “I should let you go to sleep now,” and waved me back to bed.
“Wait!” I said, and called her back.