The First Wife (20 page)

“For God’s sake, Billy Ray—”

“I need you to talk to her, Steph. Get the truth. She claims to have amnesia. But
what if it’s a ruse? Because she’s scared. You can talk to her. She trusts you—”

“That’s right, she does trust me. That’s why I won’t do it, Billy Ray.”

“Henry’s blood was all over her, Steph. What do you think that means?”

He was manipulating her. The way he always had. Pulling her strings. Pressing her
buttons.

If he had something real, he wouldn’t be here.

“It’s time for you to go.”

“If you’d just listen.”

She opened her screen door, stepped through it, then looked back at him. “I’ve done
all the listening to you that I’m ever going to do.”

She shut the door, twisted the lock. Billy Ray hesitated on the porch a moment, then
walked off. When she heard the crunching of his wheels on the gravel drive, she sank
to the floor.

And fell apart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Monday, April 21

8:30
A.M.

Billy Ray had officially started his day five minutes before the hour of eight. Unofficially,
he had been at it most of the night. In his war room, reviewing every report, every
piece of evidence from Wholesome’s three most notorious mysteries. The way he did
anytime he couldn’t sleep.

Last night he had added two new photos to his timeline: Dixie Jenkins’s and Henry
Rodriquez’s.

As tragic as both cases were, he was grateful for them. Fresh blood meant new evidence
and witnesses. It offered a real opportunity to move his agenda forward.

But as much as it pained him to admit it, he needed help. The sheriff’s office had
both the resources and clout to make things happen. Abbott wouldn’t dare pull his
high-and-mighty act with them. All he had to do was get them onboard.

Located in Slidell, forty miles south and east of Wholesome, the sheriff’s complex
was state-of-the-art, down to the new on-site crime lab due to open later this year.

Billy Ray had to fight the envy that surged up in him every time he entered the building.
The feeling that maybe he’d sold himself short by sticking with the Wholesome P.D.
But he’d had his reasons and made his choices; the way he figured, it was way too
late to go back now.

He caught Rumsfeld and Carlson, the two detectives working Rodriquez, in the lobby.
He called their names, stopping them from stepping into the elevator.

“Glad I caught you,” Billy Ray said when he reached them.

They looked tired. And anything but happy to see him. “What can we do for you, Williams?”

“I was hoping we could chat a minute.”

Rumsfeld looked at his watch. “A minute.”

The attitude pissed Billy Ray off, but he held it back. “Rodriquez autopsy was yesterday.
It turn up anything?”

“No surprises. Confirmed what we suspected.”

“That a hunter mistook Rodriquez for a deer or hog and killed him?”

“It all fits. The location of the body. The bullet’s trajectory. One shot. Shooter
used a rifle, the Remington 700. Bullet made a small entrance and a huge exit, consistent
with the .308.”

Billy Ray pursed his lips in thought. A .308 entered the target, then mushroomed,
causing massive destruction upon exit. “The 700’s also known as a sniper rifle, correct?”

Rumsfeld’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you suggesting someone took a hit out on simple,
old Henry Rodriguez?”

“Just thinking out loud.”

“We’re releasing the body to the family this morning. And now, Williams, if you’ll
excuse us, we’ve got a half-dozen other cases with our names on them.”

“Rodriquez is still a homicide.”

“Pardon?”

“Whether the homicide was accidental or not, it’s still murder.”

“We get that, Williams. And we have no intention of closing this case. But right now,
we’ve taken it as far as it can go.”

The elevator door swished open; the two stepped on. Billy Ray stopped the doors from
closing. “Are you aware that three days ago Abbott’s wife was found unconscious and
covered in blood?”

He had their attention and went on. “That’s right, Bailey Abbott, Logan Abbott’s wife,
was found the same day, in the very woods where Rodriguez was shot, unconscious and
covered in blood.”

“Why didn’t we hear anything about this?”

“My jurisdiction, no reason to. Until now.”

“Why now?”

“The story is, she was out riding, took a low-hanging branch to the head and went
down. Horse returns to the stable without a rider; a search ensues. Abbott finds her
unconscious, gets her to the hospital. Meanwhile other members of the search party
came across Rodriguez and called you.”

Rumsfeld let out a long breath. He glanced at his partner, then back at Billy Ray.
“Who called you?”

“That doesn’t matter. The point is, we both have pieces of the puzzle.”

“You’ve interviewed her?”

“Tried. Supposedly she has TML.”

“In English.”

“Traumatic memory loss. Amnesia.”

“You said ‘supposedly’? Why?”

“Awfully convenient, don’t you think?”

“She was hospitalized?”

“Yes.”

“And a doctor confirmed the amnesia?”

He was losing them.
“Yes.”

“Then keep us posted. The amnesia will pass and if she knows something—”

“Oh, she does.”

Carlson snorted. “Something pertinent, Williams.”

“I think she may have a reason not to remember.”

Rumsfeld narrowed his eyes. “And what would that be?”

“Protect someone she loves.”

“Go on.”

“Mrs. Abbott had a lot of blood on her. I sent samples from her clothes to the lab.
Got the preliminary results back. Two different blood types. Hers. And Henry Rodriguez’s.
Now, I know that doesn’t prove it was his blood, but as coincidences go, it’s a doozy.

“At least,” he went on, “pay her a visit. Maybe she saw the shooter. Maybe her amnesia
was caused by the trauma of witnessing the event, not the blow to her head.”

It sounded like he was begging, and he despised himself for it.

But he’d do it for True. Anything for True.

“When’s the last time you spoke with her?” Carlson asked.

“Tried to talk to her yesterday afternoon. Abbott threw me out.”

“Interesting.” Rumsfeld rubbed his jaw. “They ever find his first wife?”

“Nope. Disappeared without a trace.”

“I sat in one of his interviews back then. His story never quite added up for me.”

Billy Ray hid his glee. “Hit a lot of folks around Wholesome that way. They’re still
talkin’ about it.”

The two sheriff’s detectives exchanged glances. Rumsfeld nodded. “Thanks for the lead,
Williams. We’ll pay her a visit.”

“One more heads-up. Abbott hovers over her like a hawk. I get the sense she only says
what he wants to hear.”

The detective cocked an eyebrow and Billy Ray hoped he hadn’t pushed too hard. “Just
want you to have everything.”

“We appreciate that, Williams. We’ll be sure to return the favor.”

He’d done good, Billy Ray thought, relief flooding him. He smiled at the two detectives.
“I’ll count on it.”

He started off; they called after him. He stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”

“Heard you had another woman go missing.”

Bad news traveled fast. “It’s not official. We’re still hoping she’s holed up somewhere
with someone. I’m moving forward with the investigation anyway. Video surveillance
turned up squat, so we’re questioning everyone who set foot in the bar that night.”

“We’re here, Williams. Call us if you need us.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Monday, April 21

9:45
A.M.

Bailey stood under the hot spray, letting the water course over her. Logan had gotten
up hours ago. She had stirred, tried to will herself to arise with him, but had fallen
back to sleep.

She wanted to apologize to him this morning. For her outburst, for charging up the
stairs and locking herself in their bedroom. She didn’t understand what had come over
her. Her head had hurt so much; Logan and Billy Ray’s back-and-forth, the thought
of Henry, his blood on her hands … She just hadn’t been able to take it. But to storm
from the room that way, slam the door behind her? It was all so … junior high.

Maybe her hormones were messing with her? She’d heard other women talk about seesawing
emotions during pregnancy, and last night’s behavior had surely been that.

Bailey cut off the shower, grabbed a towel and stepped out. As she dried off, she
caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped. Did she look different? she wondered,
turning sideways. It was too early to be showing, but it felt as if she were. She
suddenly felt … pregnant.

She laid a hand on her still-flat stomach. A baby. She was going to be a mother. A
fierce protectiveness rose up in her. It wasn’t just about her and Logan anymore.
Not just their lives, their love story to protect.

“I couldn’t protect any of the others. Not even True.”

Logan had said that to her, that night they’d fought and he’d gotten drunk. What had
he meant about not being able to protect True? She’d left him. He’d said so. But that
statement suggested, maybe, he thought she was dead.

Red. Everywhere. On her hands and jeans.

A chill rolled over her, and Bailey wrapped herself in the towel. No. He didn’t think
that. If he did, he would have moved heaven and earth to find her killer.

She finished dressing, then carefully arranged her hair over her bandages. That done,
she headed downstairs to find Logan.

She found him in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go. “You’re leaving?” she said,
crestfallen.

“I’ll stay with you while you eat, then I have to run out.”

Bailey couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Where?”

He hesitated. “The sheriff’s office.”

She felt as if he’d doused her with cold water. “Why?”

“About Henry, they said.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Absolutely not. In fact, they asked about you and I told them you were still recovering
from your accident.”

“They wanted to talk to me?”

“It’s nothing. I explained about your amnesia and directed them to speak with Dr.
Bauer about it.”

Obviously, he didn’t want her talking to them. Was he protecting her? Or someone else?

Maybe he was protecting himself?

She shook her head slightly, wondering where that had come from, chasing it away.
“Thank you. Have you eaten?”

“I have. Can I get you something?”

“I can do it. I’m thinking a big bowl of oatmeal.”

She was aware of him watching as she busied herself making it. Like he was counting
every step, measuring every move. It made her feel oddly uncomfortable. She thought
of asking him why or to stop, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

She turned toward him. They said each other’s names simultaneously.

“Logan—”

“Bailey—”

They stopped, laughed, then said in unison. “I’m so sorry about—”

They stopped again. “You first,” he said.

“No, you.”

He crossed to her and took her hands. “I’m sorry I acted like an ass with Billy Ray
last night.”

“I’m sorry I acted like a petulant teenager. Stomping upstairs that way.”

“It’s my fault. Besides, you have a legitimate excuse.” He tenderly touched her bandages.
“How’s your head this morning?”

“Better. A rubber mallet’s replaced yesterday’s hammer.”

He bent and kissed her. “Did you take something for it?”

Before she could answer, his cell pinged the arrival of a text. “Hold on, I need to
check this.” He did, then stepped away. “I’ve got to go. My attorney’s on his way.”

“Your attorney? On his way where?”

“To meet me at the sheriff’s office.”

She blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.… You’re just going in to answer a few
questions about Henry. Why do you need a lawyer?”

“Because there are people who think I have something to hide.”

Like Billy Ray.

And his own wife.

Why had she thought that? She had seen and heard Billy Ray’s arguments, they added
up to nothing more than wishful thinking.

He lightly touched her brow. “Why the frown?”

She hadn’t realized she was frowning and tried to relax it. “I wish you didn’t have
to go.”

“I know. Me, too.” He kissed her again, lingering, then groaned and stepped away.
“I better go.”

“Yes.”

He started for the door, then stopped and looked back. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“What?”

“That I want my lawyer with me.”

But it did. To her. It felt wrong.

She clasped her hands together. “Call me when you’re finished.”

He said he would and she watched him leave, then reheated her oatmeal. Although she
had lost a taste for it, she forced herself to eat every bite.

Something nagged at her, like a sliver or a bug bite. Irritating, festering.

What happened the day of her accident? The two days before? Why couldn’t she remember?

The bump on her head, Dr. Bauer said. She had no reason not to believe him, yet she
had this terrible feeling … this sensation of something terrible and dark hanging
over her.

Bailey stood, carried her empty bowl to the sink. She told herself to shake it off.
It was the memory loss making her feel this way. The big blank spot where those three
days were supposed to be. She rinsed her bowl and set it in the dishwasher. Maybe
she’d give Dr. Bauer a call? Ask him about it, ask if most of his patients felt this
way.

The doorbell pealed. She dried her hands, then went to answer it. Two men, both in
sport coats and ties, one young and the other middle-aged, stood on her front step.

She didn’t open the door and the older of the two held up a shield. “Mrs. Abbott?
Detectives Rumsfeld and Carlson, Saint Tammany Sheriff’s Office.”