The First Wife (30 page)

“No, not for the reason you’re thinking. They were attracted to each other because
of the darkness.”

Raine swore and grabbed a Kleenex. Pressed it to her eyes. When she looked up, Bailey
saw that her eyes were red. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.”

“I’ve been promising myself that a lot. You see how well it works.”

Raine grimaced. “True and I became friends. Best friends. Her mother was crazy. A
total schizo. Heard voices, the whole bit. In and out of hospitals.”

“August told me she was bipolar.”

“That was the story True told everyone. You know, one mental illness is so much more
acceptable than another.”

Bailey heard the sarcasm in her voice, but didn’t comment.

Raine shredded the tissue. “True was terrified of passing the crazy on.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She was pregnant, Bailey.”

“Oh, my God.”

“She’d lied to Logan. When they met. Told him she couldn’t have children.”

“But she didn’t use protection?”

“An IUD.”

Bailey digested that information. “She wasn’t cheating on him.”

“No.”

“And the credit card charges to that hotel?”

“A doctor over there. Where no one knew her.”

“And the money she withdrew?”

“To have the abortion.”

Bailey laid a hand protectively on her own belly. “But ten thousand? That’s a lot
of money.”

“I don’t know, I can only guess. She had to pay cash for it. And afterward, she meant
to have her tubes tied. And Logan would never know.”

“But she must have known he’d see the withdrawal.”

“No. It was her account. And if he somehow did, she was going to tell him she sent
it to her mother.”

So many lies. Bailey thought of her own; they turned her stomach. “What happened?”

“I drove her to have it done. The hotel room in Metairie is where she spent the night.
She was bleeding. And despondent.”

“When she left, why didn’t you tell the police the truth? Why didn’t you tell Logan?”

“Think about it. It would have made him look more guilty, not less.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A husband finds out his wife aborted their baby, flies into a rage and—”

“Kills her.” Bailey released a broken breath. “But to allow him to believe his wife
was cheating hurt him so much.”

“More than knowing she killed his baby?”

“You were afraid,” Bailey said, suddenly understanding more of Raine’s motivation.
“That you’d lose Logan. That he would hate you for helping her.”

Tears welled in Raine’s eyes. “I’ve hated myself ever since, what would make him any
different?”

“Didn’t you try to talk to her? Convince her not to do it?”

“Of course I did!” She looked away, then back. “I begged her. Logan loved her. He
would be so happy about the baby, he’d forgive her lie about being unable to conceive.
Anything but … that.”

“An abortion.”

“Yes.”

True hadn’t been having an affair.

She’d had an abortion. But why leave?

Bailey asked Raine that question and her sister-in-law looked down at her lap, pieces
of shredded tissue across it. “I always thought she was so scared he’d find out somehow,
that she chickened out and ran away.”

Bailey leaned forward. “That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Maybe she felt so guilty, she couldn’t face him?”

Bailey shook her head. “None of this makes sense. Run off, like that? Like she’d become
a victim, like the other women? Was she that mean?”

“True wasn’t mean. She was fragile. Maybe she staged it that way so Logan wouldn’t
come looking for her? Or she didn’t even make the connection, you know. Just left.”

“Plus, she would’ve had to have help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her vehicle. They found it out by the old Miller place. The abandoned barn, middle
of nowhere. She couldn’t have just walked away.”

“I’m thinking she called a friend from her past, arranged for them to pick her up.
I know it’s weird, but I knew her. Her state of mind was so fragile and she seemed
lost and … scared.”

A headache began at the base of Bailey’s skull. She absently massaged the spot. “I
think True’s dead. Somebody killed her. You know it, too. In your heart.”

“Not Logan,” Raine whispered, voice cracking.

“No, not Logan. Someone else.”

Henry. In a box.

A box.

“Then who?”

A small wooden box. Henry beaming at her. A gift. For her.

“Bailey? What’s wrong?”

“At the funeral today, before I got sick…” She stopped, the image flooded her mind.

Henry lifting the lid, proudly showing her—

“Oh, my God.” She looked at Raine but saw Henry instead.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Wednesday, April 23

3:00
P.M.

The memory rushed over her, like the wind that had been whipping through her open
SUV windows. Carrie Underwood on the radio, Bailey singing along. Dr. Saunders had
confirmed what she had suspected—she and Logan were having a baby!

She couldn’t wait to tell Logan. He would be as overjoyed as she was. This made all
the worries and concerns of the past days seem small and insignificant.

Everything Logan had told her was the truth. The red shoe had ended up out at the
pond for exactly the reason he said. Tony had gone back and retrieved his prize, of
course he had. That’s what dogs did. Dig up bones, then bury them again.

She couldn’t wait to see his joy about the baby, to share hers. They were going to
be parents.

Her fairy tale would have a happy ending.

Bailey turned onto Henry’s gravel drive, then moments later drew to a stop in front
of the cabin. She stepped out, slamming the car door behind her and lifting her face
to the sun. It didn’t get better than this.

Tony heard her and charged out of the brush, ears flapping, his giant grin giving
him the look of a cartoon character. Or one of the creatures in a Dr. Seuss story.
He threw himself against her legs, nearly knocking her over. After she’d caught her
balance, she bent and petted him. “Happy boy,” she said, scratching him behind the
ears. “You look how I feel.”

He panted and wagged, then turned and charged up the porch steps, barking excitedly
to announce her arrival. Shaking her head at his antics, she followed at a more moderate
pace, reaching the door just as Henry opened it. He broke into his strange, twisted
smile. “Ms. True, you’ve come to see me.”

He always said it in a way that expressed complete surprise and deep gratitude, as
if it would never cross his mind that he deserved a friend.

“I have,” she said. “And look what I brought you.”

She retrieved the Baby Ruth bar from her purse and his eyes lit up. He took the candy
bar and ripped away the wrapper. “Have something for you.”

He said it around the chocolate and she smiled. “That’s so sweet.”

“Wait here.”

He turned and hurried back inside, then returned a minute later with a wooden box.
Beaming proudly, he held it out.

She took it. It was about the size of a man’s shoe box, substantial and obviously
handmade. The wood was handsome, though nicked up. A hasp held the hinged top closed.

“What is this?”

“For you.” He smiled again.

She took a seat in one of the rockers, he sat in the other. “Did you make the box?”

He shook his head, reached across and tapped its bottom. She tipped it up. Initials
burned into the bottom. And a date.

L.W.A. MAY 2, 1988

Logan’s initials. She did the mental math and realized he would have been ten. She
ran her fingers over the letters, imagining Logan as a boy, proudly “signing” his
creation.

A perfect treasure chest for a ten-year-old boy.

Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you, Henry. I love it.”

“Open it,” he said with childlike eagerness.

Bailey lifted the lid. And caught her breath. The red shoe. Clean and dry and nestled
in a kitchen towel.

After he’d walked her home, Henry must have gone back for it. A lump formed in her
throat as she recalled the terrible things she had thought about Logan. Awful things.

“I got it for you.”

“I see that.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Henry.”

He reached into the box. “Want to try it?”

She didn’t, but he looked so hopeful, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. She slipped
off her mule and into the pump. It fit as if it had been made for her and gooseflesh
ran up her leg.

The shoe of a dead woman.

She yanked her foot out, doing her best to hide her shudder.

“True’s shoe,” he said.

She looked at him. “What did you say?”

But he had already moved on. He reached into the box. “Look.”

She frowned. He held up a silver bangle bracelet. Costume jewelry, one of those wide,
shiny ones.

She lowered her gaze to the rest of the box’s contents. A collection of trinkets.
Not new, they looked as if Henry had found them on the ground. She reached in and
sifted through them: A sparkly hair clip. An initial necklace, the fancy N hanging
from a cheap, dollar-store chain. The bracelet. A tube of lipstick, the color a bold
pink. An LSU key fob.

And finally, a girl’s class ring. Covington High, class of 2010.

She stared at the ring, the weirdest sensation coming over her. Like that moment when
the last of a combination lock’s tumblers clicks into place, or when that one puzzle
piece fits and you have it. The whole picture.

Bailey closed her fingers around the ring, struggling for calm. She knew what this
box was, what the items represented. Even as she tried to talk herself out of it,
horror ran over her in an icy wave.

A killer’s souvenirs. His box of trophies.

“Bailey!”

Her vision cleared. Raine was staring at her, wide-eyed and worried. “Are you all
right?” she asked.

Bailey blinked. “Yes.”

“You completely went off grid. Just zoned out.”

A killer’s souvenirs.

L.W.A. May 2, 1988.

“You’re doing it again.”

“I remembered—” Bailey stopped. She had no clue how Raine would react if she told
her. It could be ugly. The other woman could totally lose it, become violent even.

She needed to think. Take a moment to digest … figure it out.

How many objects had there been in that box?

Six. Plus the shoe.

“Talk to me, Bailey. What did you remember?”

True’s shoe,
he’d called it.

Was it? Could Henry have somehow known that? What had he seen and heard living out
there, alone in the woods?

But he thought
she
was True; had found her digging the shoe out of the mud. Then retrieved it for her.

In his damaged mind, it had been
her
shoe.

“Bailey? You’re scaring me.”

What did she really know about the shoe or the box and its contents? Nothing. In that
instant, Bailey decided. “I remembered I saw Henry the day he died. I visited with
him.”

“My God. He was fine? Nothing wrong or—”

“No, he was fine. He was … Henry. Sweet and happy to see—” Her throat closed over
the words. “I miss him.”

“And that’s it?”

Bailey brought a hand to her head. “I don’t feel so well.”

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No. But I think … I need to lie down.”

“I’ll sit with you.”

“No.” The word came out more sharply than she intended, and Bailey softened her tone.
“I want to be alone, Raine.”

“Okay, but I’m not leaving. Tony and I will hang out down here.”

Tough, sophisticated Raine suddenly looked like a scared little girl. Bailey squeezed
her hand and started for the front of the house. She stopped in the kitchen doorway
and looked back: Raine sat on the couch, Tony beside her, her arms around his neck.

In that moment, she realized that her sister-in-law had needed her company in a way
Bailey didn’t—and never would. Because she was strong. Stronger than she had ever
given herself credit for.

Bailey armed herself with her newfound strength as she shut—and locked—the bedroom
door behind her. She hurried to her nightstand where she kept a journal.

She uncapped the pen and flipped it open to the first clean page. She jotted:

Six items. All having belonged to a female.

Seven, if she counted the shoe.

No, Bailey decided. Not the shoe. Henry had included it, not the killer.

The killer.
It could be anyone. Even Henry. He’d been in possession of the box. The shoe and
other items. Wouldn’t the police find that suspicious?

She knew better. Sweet, simple Henry was no killer.

Neither was Logan.

She drew in a deep calming breath and carefully noted the six items in the journal.

Hair clip.

Bracelet.

N insignia necklace.

Key fob.

High school ring.
She closed her eyes on the last, working to recall every detail of the ring.
Covington High
. Covington, a big city compared to Wholesome, about twenty minutes due south.
Class of 2010.

What about a name? Or initials? She searched her memory, then made a sound of frustration.
If she had looked to see if the band had been engraved, she didn’t remember. Yet,
anyway.

She wrote:
“Engraved?”

Bailey then turned her thoughts to the key fob. LSU. The state’s flagship university.
Boasted a top-ten SEC football team, the Tigers. Bailey hadn’t lived in the area long,
but it hadn’t taken long to understand folks around here were pretty much Tiger-obsessed.
Which meant that owning one of these fobs didn’t necessarily mean the woman had been
a student.

Although it could. Which left her pretty much nowhere.