The First Wife (41 page)

He said it with such disdain, as if women were the lowest form of life.

He pursed his lips. “The question is,” he said, “what to do with you?” He looked around,
made a sound of exasperation. “I didn’t expect this to happen today. But when you
went off about your memory returning and all that nonsense about Raine being a killer,
you forced my hand.”

He sent her a look that communicated complete loathing.

“Why do you hate me, Paul?”

“I don’t. I liked you, Bailey. Until you got nosy. In the garage that day, I saw it.”

“It?”

“The red shoe. You tried to hide it from me, but you were acting so guilty.” As he
talked, his gaze moved over the room, as if it might provide him with an answer of
what to do with her. “You’re the worst liar ever.”

“And you’re the best.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Your mistake. One of many.”

While he talked, she worked to free her hands. Subtle movements, straining against
the silk fabric, twisting. She began to sweat. Her hands and wrists became slippery.

“I knew what you were thinking, that the shoe might have been True’s. You were wondering
if Logan killed her.” He made a sound of disgust. “Another faithless woman. I don’t
know why I’m always surprised. They’re all the same, whether they’re your mother or
lover—”

“Or best friend’s wife.”

“Stop talking. I need to think.”

Which meant that was the last thing she needed to do.

He wouldn’t kill her in the house.

But he didn’t know where to take her. Or how to do it.

“Whose shoe was it?”

“Trista’s. She liked to dress trashy. It was such a pretty night that night. The pond
seemed the perfect spot.”

The matter-of-fact way he relayed it, like a pleasant trip down memory lane, sent
a chill up her spine. “Let me go, Paul. I’ll disappear, you’ll never hear from me
again.”

He laughed. “I believe that. The moment you’re out of my sight, you’re squealing like
a stuck pig.”

“I only care about the baby,” she pleaded. “Me and the baby, we disappear. We—”

“Not happening. I won’t let you hurt Logan.”

“But this will hurt him!” Her wrists burned, each movement agony. “You love him, Paul.
So turn yourself in—”

“And be tried for murder one? Be executed? You’re out of your mind.”

“You plead guilty, tell them everything, give the girls’ families closure in exchange
for—”

“Life in prison? No, thank you.”

“This is over. You’ve got to see that.”

“Where are your suitcases?”

He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Your suitcases.”

“In the attic.”

“Which ones are yours? What color and brand? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Why do you want to know? Please,” she begged. “Just tell me that.”

“You’re going to disappear, Bailey. Just like you wanted.”

But not the way she had meant. She really wouldn’t see anyone ever again.

“But I’m going to do it right. Unlike Billy Ray. The idiot.”

“What do you mean, unlike Billy Ray?”

“He killed True.” At her obvious surprise, he laughed. “The boy who cried wolf. My
friend at the sheriff’s passed that one along as well. He confessed this morning.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Of course, Billy Ray swears it was an accident. I’m
sure it was, he was infatuated with her. It was pathetic.

“Tried to pin her death on my meticulous work. It was all staged—the car, her phone.”
He shook his head. “But he hadn’t known about the hotel room or money.”

Bailey struggled to come to grips with what he was telling her. He hadn’t killed True.
Her disappearance was linked to the others, but not in the way anyone would have guessed.
“All along, you really did think she’d left Logan?”

He nodded. “I was so angry at her. I feel kind of bad about that now. Anyway,
I’m
going to do it right. Nobody’s going to wonder what happened. You left Logan. Took
all your stuff. You suspected him of murder. His family was crazy. Guilty or innocent,
you’d had enough.”

“Nobody will believe it.”

He laughed. “Everyone will believe it. Suitcases, what color?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Whatever, it’s not going to matter.”

He started out of the closet, she stopped him. “Wait! How’d you do it? The missing
women?”

“Easy. Asked them if they wanted to party.”

And they said yes.

“Then I incapacitated them with my own little cocktail of horse tranqs. See, all that
schooling didn’t go to waste.”

“But you quit. Because you couldn’t hack it.”

Angry color flooded his face and she realized she had pushed a very dangerous button.
“Who told you that? Raine? Stephanie? That’s what Cassie said, too. Before she broke
up with me. But she paid. They all did.”

Women. He hated them. Starting with his mother. Bailey took a stab. “Even Logan’s
mother, right? How did she betray you, Paul?”

It was his turn to look surprised. “How do you know that?”

“You were on the boat that night. You pushed her off, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to comfort her, that’s all. I loved her, but she”—his voice hardened—“rejected
me. Told me to go away. Leave her alone. The same as mine always had. Another whore.”

The tie seemed to be loosening. Just a little more and she might be able to slip a
hand out.

Bailey worked to steady her voice. “That’s a big stretch, don’t you think? She was
a whore because she wanted to be alone after a fight with her husband?”

“She was having an affair! Cheating on Logan’s dad with Henry. A groom, for God’s
sake! I heard them. In the barn. Whispering together. Doing … things. It was vile.”

Henry and Elisabeth.

“I saw my opportunity. And I took it.”

“That night on the boat?”

“No, in the barn that day. The stallion. He was already agitated. I was so angry at
her, all it took was a well-aimed pebble.”

He’d orchestrated the accident that had disfigured Henry.

“You son of a bitch!”

They both looked toward the doorway. Raine stood in it, face pinched white with rage.

She held a gun, had pointed it at Paul’s head. “You killed my mother.”

The blood drained from his face. “Where did you come from?”

“Everything that’s happened since she died … Daddy and Roane, everything … it’s your
fault. You destroyed my family.”

“You need me, Raine. Logan needs me. I’m the glue that holds us together.”

“I’m going to kill you, Paul. For what you did.”

“C’mon, Raine. You know you can’t do this. You’re not strong enough.”

Bailey thought otherwise. The woman’s hands were steady as a rock.

“Logan was on to you,” she said. “After talking to Bailey last night, he came to the
conclusion that those trophies had belonged to someone very familiar with Abbott Farm.
Someone who had twenty-four-hour access. Someone who had been here all along. That
left two people. Me. And you.”

“You’re lying.”

“He told me he was going in to talk to Rumsfeld this morning and asked me to watch
out for Bailey. When she didn’t answer the phone, I came over. Prepared. Which is
more than I can say for you.”

With a howl of rage, he charged. Raine pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated through
the room.

Paul stopped, looking confused.

“That’s for my mom,” she said. She pulled the trigger again. “And that’s for my dad.
Both of them.”

Still he didn’t go down. Raine took a step toward him, pulled the trigger again. “And
that one’s for Roane, you son of a bitch.”

He went down. Bailey heard the scream of sirens. Raine must have, too, but she crossed
to stand directly over him. His eyes were open. Each shallow breath he took made a
gurgling sound.

“Stop, Raine,” Bailey said. “He can’t hurt us now. Please just put the gun down. Please.”

Raine shook her head, adjusted her aim. “He’s a monster. He deserves to die.”

“Raine—”

“And that’s for August,” she said, squeezing the trigger. “And these … are for me.”

She fired again and again, emptying the chamber, then let the gun slip from her fingers.
It hit the floor with a thud just as Rumsfeld, Carlson and a half-dozen other sheriff’s
deputies burst into the room.

EPILOGUE

Thursday, December 25

11:59
A.M.

Bailey came awake to a tiny, insistent whimpering. She cracked open her eyes. The
bright light stung them and she blinked, moving her gaze. Taking in the bed with its
stainless steel rails and scratchy sheets. The hospital, she remembered. She’d come
in last night.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Logan in the chair by the bed. A pink bundle in his arms.

“Merry Christmas.” She smiled. “How is she?”

“They just brought her in. Hungry, I think. Rooting around for something I can’t help
with.”

Bailey raised the bed and held out her arms. A moment later he carefully laid Lizzie
in her arms, then bent and kissed her. “Best Christmas present ever.”

She was. Pink and perfect. They’d named her Elisabeth after his mother; if she’d been
a boy, they’d have chosen his father’s name.

Bailey gazed at her as she nursed, only able to drag her gaze away to look at her
husband. To drink in his joy.

In the months since Paul’s death, there had been some dark days. Days so deep and
black Bailey had worried he might not emerge.

As the bodies had been unearthed. When they had realized most of their questions would
never be answered: Why those young women? How had Paul killed them? Had Paul strangled
them, the way he had Nicole Grace? Had they fought for their lives, or had the tranquilizers
he’d administered stolen their ability? Had Abbott Farm been the scene of the crimes
or simply a place for Paul to bury his dead?

The sheriff’s office had found traces of blood, revealed by Luminol, in the washtub
and dryer in the barn; and in the medicine closet every equine sedative available.
And ketamine. Bailey had wondered, that late night she went looking for Logan at the
barn, when Paul had acted so strange about that room, had Paul been disposing of evidence?

Another thing they would never know.

The darkest day had come with True’s remains being identified. Then, her funeral,
which all of Wholesome had turned out for. When Billy Ray had given his statement
in court, never apologizing, still blaming Logan in his own twisted mind.

Ironic that Billy Ray had been right about so much. Everything but the guilty party.
The victims, Logan’s mother’s death, the location of the bodies. Everything but the
guilty party. His hatred of Logan—and his own troubled past—had blinded him to the
real destroyer.

Then Logan had cried out to her, heart stripped bare, begging to know how to forgive,
how to move on and start over. Her reply had been simple: one day at a time.

So that’s what they all had concentrated on. Not on Paul, who had been a dark force
destroying their lives from within, but on the moment. The song of birds and rustle
of leaves, burgeoning baby bumps and the smell of cookies baking. Silly dog antics
and long, drugging kisses. Every so often the darkness still descended, though the
times between such episodes grew longer.

At the tap on the door they both looked up. Raine with a huge teddy bear and Stephanie
with flowers. Both beaming with happiness.

“Can we come in?”

In the next minute, the room was filled with exclamations of joy. While the two women
cooed over Lizzie, Bailey met Logan’s eyes. In them she no longer saw shadows of the
past. Instead, she saw the future. Their future, bright and beautiful.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times
bestselling author
ERICA SPINDLER
has written thirty novels, including
Justice for Sara, Watch Me Die, Blood Vines, Breakneck,
and
Last Known Victim.
She lives just outside New Orleans, Louisiana, with her husband and two sons. Sign
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