The First Wife (33 page)

The third had been illuminating. The lawyer shared that the detectives had grilled
Logan about True and the other missing women. About where he had been and what he
had been doing, all those years ago when they’d disappeared. If he had known them.
Surprisingly, Billy Ray had not been one of the interrogating officers.

Bailey got what they were up to. They figured they had an ironclad connection to Dixie
Jenkins, now they were going for a link to the other women.

Terry King hadn’t been impressed with their “evidence.” It wouldn’t hold up, he’d
promised her. If they had nothing else, her husband might even be coming home.

If they had nothing else.
She had the feeling they did. And she knew what it was.

The box of trophies.

Bailey finished her soup and carried the bowl to the sink. She hadn’t mentioned the
box or its contents to the lawyer. Not yet. She wanted to make certain of something
first.

She pictured the cabin, the crime tape stretched across its front. The police would
have searched the place. If they had, they would have found the box.

With Logan’s initials burned into it. Damning him.

Bailey wiped her palms on her thighs. Worthless items Henry had found in his travels.
Treasures to him. That he’d offered to her.

She closed her eyes.
Please, God, let it be so.

“I can’t believe you’re so calm.”

Raine. Standing in the doorway. After the second call, Raine had opened a bottle of
wine and retreated with it and a glass up to her old bedroom.

From what Bailey could see, there was still wine in the bottle. A good sign.

“Me either,” she said.

Raine walked into the kitchen “I heard the phone ring.”

“Terry King. Again.”

“And?”

“Not good. They grilled him about True and the other women.”

“What other women?”

“The ones who went missing.”

“What the hell for?”

Bailey looked at her. “What do you think?”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna—” She bit back what she was about to say. “This is Billy
Ray’s doing.”

“I agree. I think we should do something.”

“What?”

“I need to go out to Henry’s.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“You’re looking for something.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes.”

Raine swept her gaze suspiciously over her. “What?”

“I’ll tell you if I find it.”

“That makes no sense.” She narrowed her eyes. “This has to do with what you remembered
earlier. When you said you talked to Henry the day he died.”

“It does.”

“And whatever it is could help my brother.”

“Or hurt him.” She paused. “Or mean nothing at all.”

She thought a moment, then nodded. “Totally ambiguous and clearly messed up, just
the way I like it. But you’re driving.”

Bailey agreed but drove slowly, carefully navigating the unfamiliar roads. She’d never
driven to the cabin at night, and the winding gravel drive could be particularly tricky.

Raine grew more and more quiet as they neared the cabin. Once inside, she fell apart.
She wandered from room to room, touching things, and ended up in Henry’s armchair,
knees to chest and staring blankly ahead.

Bailey didn’t have time to console or coddle her. She, too, went from room to room,
but meticulously searching. Under the bed and through the closets. Not a perfunctory
glance, but thoroughly checking every corner or crawl space.

Forty-five minutes later, Bailey gave up. She walked out to the porch and sank onto
one of the rockers. The box wasn’t here. She had checked everywhere, even the toolshed
out back. She dropped her head into her hands. The law had it, whether Billy Ray or
the sheriff’s office didn’t matter. They had it and would use it against Logan.

He was innocent. After all the back-and-forth and agonizing doubt, she knew—to the
very core of her being—that her husband was as much a victim in this as anyone.

All it had taken was his being arrested for her to realize this. It didn’t get more
ironic than that.

Raine came out and sat beside her. “I take it you didn’t find what you were looking
for.”

Bailey dropped her hands and looked at the other woman. “No, I didn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think the sheriff’s office has it. And are going to use it against Logan.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” Her cell phone went off. “August,” she muttered, and silenced the
phone.

“You’re not going to take it?”

“I’m sure he’s calling to check on me and find out what I’ve heard and frankly, I
don’t have the energy right now.”

Raine sighed. “There was a time I thought he would save me.”

“From what?”

“Myself. My life.”

Her phone pinged the arrival of a voice mail. “You’ve got to fix you first, Raine,”
she said gently. “Nobody can do that for you.”

“Spoken like somebody who has their act together. Sickening.”

Bailey thought of the intellectual and emotional acrobatics she’d been performing
the past week. “Not so much. It’s just a lot easier to tell other people how to get
their acts together than to do it yourself.”

“You gonna listen to that message?”

“Do I have to?”

She’d only been half kidding. Raine knew it and pressed her. “What if he heard something?
In this little burg, August knows pretty much everybody and their everything. You
never know.”

Bailey sighed and accessed the message. For a moment, she thought he hadn’t left one,
then she heard his voice.

“Need … talk … you. Something import … Sorry, so…” His words drifted off into a silence
broken by slow, labored breathing. “Henr … I saw—”

The message ended.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, August sounded— You listen.”

Raine did, expression growing alarmed. “He’s totally out of it,” she said.

“Drunk?”

“Maybe, but … maybe something else. He’s a recovering addict and has been to some
pretty dark places. Which is why we got along so well. Kindred spirits.”

The blood began to thrum in her head. “Dial him back.”

Raine did; Bailey could faintly hear the signal. “He’s not answering!”

“Maybe we should call 9-1-1?”

“No! It’s probably nothing and this is such a small town—”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Of course.”

Bailey stood. “Call Paul. Make certain August’s not at the farm, then tell him what’s
going on and that we’re on our way to check on him. Then try August again.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Wednesday, April 23

11:25
P.M.

August rented the guesthouse of a neighboring horse farm. Raine directed Bailey to
the property’s delivery entrance, which curled around a pond and led to the tiny glass
and cypress structure.

Even with the wall of windows, he would have complete privacy, Bailey thought as she
braked behind his SUV. And a beautiful view of the pond and rolling pastures.

She and Raine leaped out and ran for the door. It was open and they burst inside.

“August!” they called simultaneously. “It’s Bailey!”

“And Raine!”

He didn’t reply and Raine ran through the living area to the circular stairs that
led to the loft. “August, I’m coming up!”

The metal stairs creaked as she raced up them. “He’s not up here!”

The back porch. That faced the pond. What looked like a figure in a chair.

“He’s outside, Raine. I see him!” She ran to the sliding glass door and slid it open.
At the same moment she cleared the door, the back light snapped on.

“August, you scared the life out—”

She stopped. He sat slumped in a chair, head cocked back at an unnatural angle, eyes
rolled back in his head. The color had drained from his face, leaving it pasty white,
his lips blue. A thin line of drying blood ran from his nose to his upper lip.

Bailey took a step back. She’d seen her mother dead. Had held her hand as she’d taken
her last breath, refused to leave her side until her hand had grown cold and stiff.

It had been heartbreaking. But this was different. Unnatural and horrifying.

She shifted her gaze. A vial and syringe lay on the patio at his feet. A belt, half
across his lap, hanging over the side of the chair.

At a sound behind her, she spun around.

Raine. A shotgun in her hands.

A gunshot, exploding in the quiet.

Blood. On her hands. Her jeans.

Bailey blinked and her vision cleared. “What are you doing with that, Raine?”

She looked down at her hands, then back up at Bailey. “I think he meant to—” She frowned,
took a step forward, then stopped, blood draining from her face.

Bailey held a hand out. “I’m so sorry, Raine.”

For a long moment, Raine simply stared at him, then she turned expressionless eyes
on Bailey. “Maybe I should join him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Raine—”

“Maybe it’s all my fault. Like a curse. So if I die, everyone else lives.”

“Put down the gun.” Bailey held out a hand. “Please.”

“I know how to use this. I’m a pretty good shot. Better than Logan. Or Roane.”

Her voice shook. “I don’t think I want to live. Not with all this death.”

“Don’t say that, Raine. Logan needs—”

Bailey caught a movement inside the house. In the next instant Paul appeared at the
sliding glass door behind Raine. He held a finger to his lips and slipped through
the door.

“He needs you. So do I.”

In the next instant, Paul plucked the gun from Raine’s hands and drew her into his
arms. She began to weep.

“Take this,” he said, indicating the weapon. “And call 9-1-1.”

The ambulance arrived first, followed by Billy Ray. Bailey couldn’t bring herself
to look at him. She was so angry, she shook.

He had won. He had Logan in custody and even more tragedy had befallen this family.

The paramedics left as quickly as they had come. Once they cleared the scene, Billy
Ray went straight to Paul. “What happened?”

“August called Bailey. He sounded strange, so they called me. We came to check on
him. Obviously, we were too late.” The sound of Raine’s sobs increased. “Excuse me,
I’m going to take her inside.”

Billy Ray turned to her. This time, Bailey stiffened her spine and met his gaze. “I’m
not talking to you.”

“Don’t be angry at me. I’m just doing my job.”

She laughed, the sound low and furious. “No you’re not. This is your personal vendetta.
This whole family is.”

“You’re upset, I get that. But—”

“There’s no ‘but’ to this situation, Billy Ray. There never will be.”

For a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. “Tell me what happened.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“You have to, I’m the law.”

“You’re not the law. You’re a bully, Billy Ray. A bully with a badge.”

She expected him to threaten her, to do what he did best—throw his weight around,
intimidate.

Instead, he seemed to freeze. He stood for long moments, his gaze on hers, then nodded.
“Fine. Make yourself comfortable inside with Paul and Raine.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Thursday, April 24

1:10
A.M.

Billy Ray waited in the guesthouse doorway, Bailey Abbott’s voice resounding in his
head.

“You’re nothing but a bully, Billy Ray. A bully with a badge.”

He shook his head, trying to force it out. No. His father had been a bully. Abbott
was a bully. Not him. He had spent his life making certain that he didn’t become what
he most loathed.

Billy Ray started to sweat. He felt it on his upper lip and he wiped it away, then
tugged on his collar. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think clearly. He opened the door
and stepped outside. The cool, early morning air struck his damp skin and he shuddered.
It rippled over him and he sucked in a shaky breath. Better. Cooler. In control of
himself and his thoughts.

Rumsfeld and Carlson rolled up. Another STPSO cruiser behind them. He forced an easy
smile and put one foot in front of the other to meet them at their vehicle.

“Sorry about the timing,” he said. “Considering the circumstances, I figured you two
should be the ones to do this.”

“Timing’s a bitch, but good call. What do we have?”

“O.D. August Perez, one of Abbott’s trainers.”

“Interesting. In terms of timing.”

“That’s what I thought. Abbott’s wife, sister and his stable manager found him.”

Rumsfeld frowned and looked at Carlson. “A curious assortment. How’d that come about?”

“Apparently, Perez left Abbott’s wife a weird-sounding message. They came to check
on him. That’s all I know. Vic’s on the back deck.”

Rumsfeld nodded and looked at the assisting deputy. “Babysit the witnesses while we
check out the vic. Nobody leaves until we’ve questioned all three.”

The deputy headed into the house and they circled around back. They reached the deck
and the safety light snapped on. Rumsfeld crossed to stand in front of the victim.

“Yup. He’s dead.”

“No wonder,” Carlson said, squatting down to get a look at the vial. “Ketamine.”

Billy Ray whistled. “We’ve had some recent break-ins at vet clinics. Drugs stolen,
including ket. I wouldn’t have taken Perez for being that dumb.”

“We’re gonna need the techs.”

“I got it,” Carlson said, dialing.

While he called, Rumsfeld turned in a slow circle. Billy Ray had the sense that he
missed nothing, not even a speck. It made him feel small town.

“Private back here,” he murmured.

Rumsfeld grunted.

“What’re you thinking? Accidental or—”

“What the hell?”

Billy Ray turned to Rumsfeld striding toward the windows. And then he saw it. A rifle.
Propped against the window. He’d missed that, first go-around. Rookie move. The worst.