The First Wife (26 page)

“Where were you Friday night?”

“You know where I was.”

“When you left. Where did you go?”

“For a drive.” He must have read the horror in her expression, because he quickly
added, “I was nowhere near Wholesome or The Landing. I got into the truck, put the
windows down and just drove. To clear my head.”

“I can’t believe you let him treat you that way. Like you’re a criminal.”

“I’ve lived with this bullshit most of my life. Maybe now you get why I wanted my
lawyer present when they questioned me yesterday. It’s not because I’m guilty, it’s
because they want me to be.”

She had a choice, Bailey acknowledged. Believe him or not. Follow her head, or her
heart. He’d kept things from her. Deliberately. Important, incriminating things. He’d
rushed her into marriage. Into trusting him and coming here. Giving up everything
she had to be with him.

Now, she understood why. What he was up against. If there had been real evidence against
him, he would have been charged.

So she went to him, circled her arms around his middle and laid her head on his chest.
Beneath her cheek, she felt the steady beat of his heart.

Her heart knew him. She loved him. And he loved her.

He was her happily ever after.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice thick.

“We’ll figure this out, Logan. You and me. Together.”

Just then, Tony came tearing up the walk. Wet and muddy, something red in his mouth.
He dropped the object at their feet, obviously very pleased with himself.

Bailey moved her gaze from him to the thing at her feet. Not just anything. A red
shoe.

The
red shoe.

Her stomach turned over, and its contents rushed to her throat. Hand to her mouth,
she turned and ran for the powder room.

She reached it just in time, bent over the commode and heaved.

Logan hadn’t gone out to get the shoe, to keep her quiet or to keep it from the hands
of police.

“Baby, are you all right?”

He stood in the doorway, looking anxious.

“Yes,” she managed, straightening. She turned to the sink, rinsed her mouth and splashed
water on her face. “It’s the pregnancy.”

He came up behind her and eased her against his chest. He met her gaze in the mirror.
“See, just like I told you before. That silly dog came back for it. Buried it like
a bone.”

“You were right.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Logan. For doubting you.
For—”

“Shh.” He turned her in his arms. “It’s in the past. From now on we believe in each
other, no matter what. Right?”

“Right. No matter what.”

“I’ll call Billy Ray,” he said.

“Wait.” She turned in his arms. “I overreacted that day. You’re right, somebody was
out there necking, couldn’t find their shoe and left it behind. Just toss it.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Tuesday, April 22

12:45
P.M.

Bailey stood at the sink humming as she rinsed her and Logan’s lunch plates. The Carrie
Underwood song, she realized. The one she had recalled that day in the hospital. Why
had it popped back into her head now?

She hummed along, the words tumbling through her head.

Shatter every window ’til it’s all blown away …

As she did, she recalled the moment she’d realized she had skipped a period and wondered
if she was pregnant. The memory burst full bloom in her head, then unfurled like petals
of a flower. She had double-checked the calendar on her phone; she always noted “Day
One” when she started.

She’d scrolled through. December. January. February.

No March.

Late. Nearly five weeks.

“Bailey?”

The sandwich plate slipped from her fingers, hit the tile floor and shattered.

“Don’t move!” Logan ordered. “Your feet are bare, let me get it.”

He grabbed the broom and dustpan and, in no time at all, dumped the pieces into the
trash.

“All clear.”

But she didn’t move, thoughts tumbling back to that day. Conflicted, she remembered.
As if her every dream had come true—in the midst of a nightmare. She’d found an OB/GYN—Dr.
Saunders—and made an appointment for the next day.

“Bailey? You’ve remembered something, haven’t you?”

She blinked, looked at him. “Yes. Realizing that I’d missed a period and might be
pregnant. Making an appointment with Dr. Saunders. I wanted to know for sure before
I said anything to you. To surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished, babe.”

She laughed. “No joke. You ready to go?” she asked. He’d had to cancel his meeting
this morning because of the sheriff’s deputies, and had rescheduled it for this afternoon.

“Having second thoughts. Thinking I’ll let them meet without me.” He lowered his voice.
“I’m worried about you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“An hour ago you were puking your guts up.”

“And fifteen minutes ago I was wolfing down a chicken sandwich.” She crossed to him.
“I’m pregnant, not sick.”

“It’s not just that. Your memory—”

“Has started to return. Besides, you said it yourself, it’s all been pretty anticlimactic.”

“They won’t all be, Bailey. You know that.”

Blood. Everywhere. On her hands and jeans.

“I know. But we can’t just sit around waiting for them to drop, like a death sentence.
Take your meeting and come back. How long could it be?”

“A couple hours, tops.”

“Go. Meet with the developers and I’ll bake something.”

“Bake something?” He looked confused.

“I have a craving for brownies.”

“There’s a bakery up by Bridles and Britches, I could—”

“No. Home-baked. My mother’s recipe.”

A smile touched his mouth. “I do like brownies.” He started for the door, then stopped
again. “A couple hours. Meet with the developer, gather together some things—”

“Just go!” She pointed at the door.

“Do you have everything you need for the brownies?”

“If I don’t, I’ll run up to the market.”

“You probably shouldn’t be driving.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll ask Paul for a ride.”

He hesitated a moment, then agreed. “I’ll stop at the barn on the way out, let him
know. Just in case.”

She shook her head. “You worry more than an old woman.”

He laughed, then started through the door. “Whatever it takes.”

Between the refrigerator and the pantry, she had everything she needed for the brownies,
almost as if she had gotten a craving for them before, bought the items, then didn’t
make them. Maybe that would be her next ho-hum recollection.

Bailey measured, mixed and poured. Logan hadn’t lied to her. He hadn’t gone back to
the pond to get the shoe. How could she have even suspected him of it? Billy Ray’s
nonsense was getting to her. Bodies buried at Abbott Farm, indeed.

She shook her head, starting to hum again, the words tumbling through her head.

… Shatter every window …

Tony had gone back for his prize, reburied it, only to bring it to her today.

… ’til it’s all blown away …

Bailey poured the batter into the pan, then slid it into the oven and set the timer.
She’d need toothpicks, she thought. And oven mitts.

The mitts were easy to find, the drawer directly to the right of the oven. She took
the two red mitts from the drawer and tossed them on the counter. One slipped and
landed on the floor by her feet.

She bent to retrieve it, then froze.

Two mitts. One for each hand.

Shoes. One for each foot. A right. And a left.

She shook the thought off, snatched up the mitt and laid it on top of the other. So
what?

So, which one did Tony dig up? The right? The left?

Or both?

Stop it, she scolded herself. She was stealing her own happiness. It was masochistic.
Obsessive-compulsive. She trusted Logan.

Bailey let out her breath in a huff. Easy fix. Look at the photo she’d taken the day
Tony unearthed it.

She retrieved the phone, called up the photo. And swore.

She couldn’t tell. The light, the vegetation around it. She enlarged the image, turned
it this way and that. If anything, she became less certain.

One shoe, two shoe, red shoe, blue—

No, only red. Two red shoes. A pair.

… ’til it’s all blown away …

Bailey carried the device to the keeping room and sat. She studied the image, mentally
going back to that day. She pictured herself unearthing it. Seeing it come into focus
as she dug it free of the mud.

The smell of rain. And new growth.

A right shoe, she thought. Yes. A right shoe.

So, what did Tony bring them this morning? She pursed her lips in thought. She hadn’t
really looked at it. Not that way.

Go out to the garage and look in the trash.

She acted on the thought. In the garage, Bailey grabbed gardening gloves from the
workbench and some newspaper from the recycling bin. She laid the paper on the bench,
then crossed to the trash barrel.

Logan had tossed the shoe out here—at least she assumed he had. She flipped up the
lid. Her stomach lurched at the sour smell. She wrinkled her nose and prayed she didn’t
puke again.

Bingo
. There it was, lying right on top. Thankful for the gloves, she reached in, grabbed
it and carried it to the bench.

But it wasn’t a right shoe. It was a left.

She stared at it, light-headed. Her memory was wrong. She pictured that day in her
head once more. The shoe. Partially unearthing it, going for the stick, digging it
the rest of the way out.

A right shoe.

She could easily be wrong. She’d been wet, out of her element, not looking at it analytically.

Time to remedy that. High heel, maybe two, two and a half inches. Pump with a peekaboo
toe. Party shoes. The printing inside the shoe had worn—or eroded—off, but it looked
to be about her size, a six. She removed her slip-on and set it beside the red pump.
Close, she decided. Give or take a half size. Which meant its owner hadn’t been particularly
tall.

The leather was cracked and peeling in places, the brand name unreadable, but for
the most part it looked in pretty good shape for having been out in the elements,
buried in the muck.

For how long? Five years? Three?

Could this have belonged to True?

“Hey, Bailey, what’re you doing?”

She jumped and spun around. “Paul! You scared the life out of me!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re like a cat.” She brought a hand to her chest. “How do you do that?”

He smiled. “Years creeping around the barn, I guess. What do you have there?”

“Nothing.”

He cocked an eyebrow, amused. “Surely something.”

“Something I’m tossing.” She quickly rolled the paper around the shoe, then carried
it back to the trash bin and dropped it in. If Paul saw the shoe and mentioned it
to Logan, she would have to explain—something she wouldn’t be able to do without hurting
his feelings.

“Why the gloves?”

“I was thinking about cutting some roses.” Not a complete lie; she had been—earlier
in the day. “What are you doing up here? Logan’s not—”

“I know.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “He told me you might need some baking
supplies, so I thought I’d check before I ran into town.”

“That’s so— Oh, no! The brownies!” She’d forgotten all about them. She yanked off
the gloves, tossed them aside and hurried back to the kitchen. The steady
beep, beep
of the timer greeted her, but she didn’t smell burning. A very good sign.

She grabbed the oven mitts, removed the pan from the oven, then went searching for
a toothpick to test them. She felt his gaze on her as she moved clumsily about the
kitchen.

“You seem jumpy.”

She was, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. Or why. “I haven’t done that much
cooking in this kitchen yet, and I don’t know where anything—Here we go. Toothpicks.”

She inserted one; it came out clean and she smiled. “Saved in the nick of time.”

“They smell delicious.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Glad to have helped.”

“They’re my mom’s recipe, triple chocolate. You’ve got to try one.”

“Only if you insist.”

He had a disarming smile, she thought. Not sexy and mysterious like Logan’s. Paul’s
oozed charm and likability. He was the quintessential boy-next-door.

“I do insist. Scoop of vanilla ice cream?”

“Or two.”

She laughed. “Now you’re talking.”

She fixed them both the same thing—giant brownie and two scoops of ice cream.

“Logan told me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“That you’re eating for two.”

She tried to hide her dismay, but saw by his expression that she’d failed. “Don’t
be mad. I stopped by the hospital, he had just found out. He … was out of his mind
with worry. And had no one else to talk to.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you were there for him.”

“And you,” he said. “I’m here for you, too, you know.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked against them. “Damn hormones.”

He laughed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Except for the tears, puking and headaches, I’m great.”

“That’ll all pass, though. Right?”

“It better.” She spooned another big bite of brownie and ice cream into her mouth.
“At last,” she said around her mouthful, “I can eat like a man.”

He shook his head, that charming grin returning. “I’ve got a confession to make.”
He looked sheepish. “I knew you were baking brownies, that’s why I came up here. I
have a particular weakness for them.”

She laughed. “Were they worth the subterfuge?”

“Absolutely.” He spooned up another bite. “They’re amazing. The best I’ve ever had.”

“That would make my mom really happy.” She didn’t want to linger on that thought and
moved quickly on. “Can I ask you something?”