If You Tell: A True Story of Murder, Family Secrets, and the Unbreakable Bond of Sisterhood(5)

“No one was telling us anything,” Lara said later, looking down at photos of Shelly as a child, then a teenager. There was no denying Shelly’s beauty. Red hair framed a face with a freckled nose, and her blue eyes had thick lashes like the undulating fringe of a sea anemone. But to Lara, the kind of beauty Shelly possessed was like that of nightshade berries. They appear to be delicious but are actually dangerous.

Innocent. Sweet. A mask.

Lara was frantic.

“I even called the principal at home, but he wouldn’t say anything either. I’m thinking Shelly just stole something because she used to steal my things and take money out of my purse. I thought that maybe Shelly stole some kid’s purse or something like that. I had no idea what she’d done this time.”

It was frustrating. Painful. It had to be something very, very bad.

When the Watsons arrived at the juvenile detention center in Vancouver, they asked to see their daughter right away but were denied the request by the superintendent of the facility.

“Under investigation now,” he said.

“What investigation?” Les asked.

“Shelly has accused you of raping her,” said the grim-faced man.

Les’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets, and his face went completely red with anger. He immediately pushed back.

“Oh Jesus!” he exclaimed. “What in the world is Shelly saying that for?”

Lara stood there feeling sick. The accusation was the most disgusting thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. Shelly was a known liar, but this was too, too much. Even for her. As Shelly’s stepmother saw it, there were a lot of things people could call her husband, but “rapist” wasn’t on the list.

“She doesn’t probably know what it means,” Lara finally said, reaching over to calm her husband.

“We need to see her now,” Les insisted.

“Absolutely not,” the superintendent snapped. “You can’t. We’re investigating a crime here.”

Les threw his hands upward. “Fine. We’re calling our doctor. We’re going to demand he examine her. Now.”

Family doctor Paul Turner ordered Shelly to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Vancouver, and the Watsons returned to Battle Ground.

That night, Lara went into her stepdaughter’s bedroom. She really didn’t know what she was looking for. An answer, maybe? The truth. Something. As usual, Shelly’s room was a mess, with clothes and dirty dishes everywhere. Papers too. Scribblings in notebooks. Shelly fancied herself a poet and was always writing something, but nothing Lara saw as she picked through the mess provided a clue. After a while, she found herself poking around the bed to see what she could unearth there. Bending down, she reached between the mattress and the box springs. Her fingertips grazed the edges of a magazine and she pulled it out.

The air leaked from her lungs.

It was a dog-eared copy of a True Confessions magazine.

The cover screamed in bold type: “I WAS RAPED AT 15 BY MY DAD!”

Lara felt her blood pressure rise. It was unfathomable that Shelly could’ve made such an accusation, one that mirrored exactly the cover of a magazine.

“Look here,” she said, showing Les her discovery.

Les shook his head in disgust and disbelief. He’d been crushed by the accusation, but he was more troubled by his daughter’s behavior.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

Lara didn’t know. She’d never heard of anyone making up such a destructive story. It didn’t make sense.

The next morning, when Dr. Turner arrived at the hospital to conduct the exam, Lara brandished the magazine.

“She’s made it up,” Lara said.

In the Watsons’ view, the magazine was proof nothing had actually happened, that the lurid story had merely been Shelly’s inspiration. But this was more than just another beat in a drama that Shelly created with her destructive and outrageous behavior. Les and Lara had had it with her. They had their other kids to consider. Les’s career too. He was the president of the chamber of commerce. If even a whisper of Shelly’s lie got out, the scandal would ruin him.

“This is really bad, Lara,” Les said as they waited outside Shelly’s hospital room.

Lara let out a sigh. “It’s Shelly,” she said. “It’s what she does.”

A little while later, Dr. Turner emerged with the results of his exam.

“This girl’s completely intact,” he said. “No bruising. Nothing. She’s never even been touched.”

Shelly was released on one condition later that night.

“Your daughter needs serious counseling,” Lara said the juvenile hall superintendent told them. “She needs a psychologist.”



Unfortunately, rounds of family therapy and private sessions with a psychologist proved less than successful. Shelly wouldn’t entertain the idea that she might have problems that needed fixing. Even though she’d been confronted with the truth, Shelly remained adamant that nothing was her fault. Nothing had ever been. Lara and Les came to know something that few understood in the late sixties and seventies: no one can help a troubled person who doesn’t think they need it. Indeed, Shelly never even admitted to fabricating the story of her rape. She didn’t even seem to grasp the magnitude of what she’d done to her father.