The First Wife (40 page)

As they took the final curve that would bring them to Henry’s, a sharp crack broke
the quiet. She didn’t have time to wonder what it was before a second reverberated
through the forest.

Tea Biscuit whinnied and reared up. For a split second, Bailey was fifteen again,
hanging on to the stallion’s mane, crying out in terror as her boyfriend and his buddies
had a good laugh at her expense.

But she wasn’t a teenager anymore, she reminded herself. Bailey fought the panic,
concentrating on every instruction August had ever shouted at her.

Within moments, she had the mare quieted and back under her control. Even though her
hands were shaking, a feeling of power surged through her. Bailey laughed, momentarily
forgetting Henry, the box with Logan’s initials on it, the items inside, the hay barn
and what she might find there. She had faced the very thing she had feared all these
years—and beaten it.

“Good girl,” she said, and dug her heels into the horse’s side, increasing her pace
to a trot.

The back of Henry’s place came into view. His paddock. His old gelding, saddled and
ready.

She trotted Tea Biscuit over to the other horse. There, she swiveled in the saddle,
scanning the area. “Henry!” she called.

A thrashing came from the woods just beyond the property line. “Henry! Is that you?”

He didn’t respond and she swung off Tea Biscuit, then led her into the paddock.

“Henry! Where are you?”

She stopped to listen. Instead of Henry’s response, she heard the rumble of an engine,
the sound of tires on the drive, kicking up gravel.

Fear sent her scrambling toward the thicket, shouting Henry’s name. She found him
on the ground, faceup, a gaping, bloody wound in his chest. His eyes were open. Unblinking.

“No!” The one word ripped from her lips and she ran blindly forward. She tripped on
some exposed roots, landed on her knees and crawled the rest of the way to his body.
She pressed her fingers to his neck, didn’t pick up a pulse and bent close to his
mouth. He wasn’t breathing.

CPR. She had taken a course. She went to press her hands against his chest and stimulate
his heart; they sank into the wound.

She yanked them back. Looked down at them. Blood. Everywhere. On her hands. Her shirt.
Sobbing, she wiped her dripping hands on her jeans.

Bailey whimpered. She had to get help … Logan. Paul. Someone. She stumbled to her
feet and raced back to the paddock, the waiting mare. In moments, she was on the trail,
fear pounding in her veins, pushing the horse faster, harder.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. The sounds she’d heard earlier, gunshots, she realized.
One. Then another. The sound of a vehicle in the drive. Spitting up gravel.

Who … why … sweet Henry. He’d never hurt a—

The box. A killer’s trophies.

Not an accident.

The thought popped into her head. She looked over her shoulder, back toward the cabin.
What if—

Pain ricocheted through her skull. Bailey felt herself flying through the air. In
the next moment, she felt nothing at all.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Friday, April 25

9:45
A.M.

A buzzing jolted her back to the moment. Her phone, vibrating. She checked the display.

Raine.

She started to answer it, then stopped. She stared at the display, the name, heart
thundering. Remembering. Raine passing her on the road, going toward Henry’s.

“I should kill you.
…
I’m an excellent shot.”

Raine had grown up on a farm. Hunting with her brothers. She’d said so.

Bailey brought a hand to her mouth. Henry had found Raine’s box of trophies. She’d
stopped to see him; he’d shown it to her. Told Raine about their talk. That they were
going out to the hay barn.

Tears flooded her eyes. For Henry. Sweet, trusting Henry, who’d loved Raine, the daughter
he had never been able to claim. She wouldn’t have wanted to kill him, but must have
felt she didn’t have a choice.

Bailey thought back. She would have had time, traveling by car. To get her rifle,
go back, kill Henry and take the box.

Bailey dialed Logan, then hung up when he didn’t answer. Of course he hadn’t, she
thought. Besides, what did she think she was going to tell him? “And by the way, your
sister’s a serial killer”?

Her hands were shaking. Her head light. She sat on the front step and dropped her
head into her hands.

Breathe, Bailey. In and out. Deep, and even.

She did, her heart slowed, but not her thoughts. Raine had killed Henry because he’d
found her trophies and she’d had to keep him quiet. She’d probably planted the rifle
at August’s—and helped him overdose as well.

And what of True? Had she killed her? Out of jealousy? In a rage? Had all those things
she told her about a pregnancy and a crazy mother been a lie?

No. Raine loved True. She loved her brother. She wouldn’t, couldn’t have done that.

“Bailey! Are you all right?”

She lifted her head. Paul hurrying toward her. Face puckered in concern.

“I saw the detectives leave, with Logan. What’s going on?”

She jumped to her feet and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and held him
tightly.

“My God, you’re shaking like a leaf—”

“I’ve remembered what happened that day! I know who killed Henry, who killed those
other women. I know!”

“Okay, slow down. I can hardly understand what you’re—”

“She’ll kill us, too, if she has to!”

“She? Who—”

“Raine. I saw her, on the road to Henry’s … heard her leaving after. And the box was
gone.”

“Box? What box?”

“Her souvenirs, from each of the women. From killing them. Henry found it at the hay
barn—”

“Bailey, do you realize what you’re saying? It’s crazy. How could Raine do all that?”

“I don’t know how she did it … how she convinced the women to go with her or how she
killed them, but—”

“Get ahold of yourself!” He gripped her shoulders, shook her. “Raine wouldn’t hurt
anyone, least of all Henry.”

“But she did. You’ve got to believe me.” She searched his gaze. “To protect her secret
she did. Why do you think she was curled up in his bed, sobbing? It took hours and
a sedative to get her calmed down. Not grief at having lost him. Guilt at having killed
him!”

“Where were the police taking Logan? Was he arrested again?”

“No. Not yet. They were taking him in for more questioning. That’s where we need to
go.”

He nodded. “I agree. I may think all this sounds far-fetched, but I’m a little biased.
Maybe you want to change? Don’t want to sound crazy and look crazy.”

She looked down. She was still in her drawstring pajama bottoms, T-shirt and robe,
but didn’t laugh at his attempt at humor. She wondered if she would ever laugh again.

“Where’s Tony?” he asked.

“Locked up. In the study. The detectives threatened to shoot him.”

“To shoot Tony?” He shook his head. “I’ll get him.”

Once upstairs, she rinsed her face, then went to her closet. She grabbed the first
pair of trousers her gaze landed on. She yanked them off the hanger and pulled them
on. They wouldn’t zip.

The fact startled her still. Bailey looked at the button closure. A good half inch
between the button and loop.

The baby. Growing so fast, she thought. Thriving despite all the chaos in her life.
She’d just worn these—

She thought back. Recalled the day. At Billy Ray’s. Looking at his “proof.”

The three women from outside Wholesome.

She had scribbled their names on a scrap of paper. Tucked it into her pants’ pocket.

She slipped her hand into the right trouser pocket. A slip of paper. The one from
that day, at Billy Ray’s.

She closed her fingers around it, drew it out.

Three names. The first on the list, Margaret Cassandra Martin.

Bailey shifted her gaze to her bedside table, her iPad on it. She hurried over, snatched
it up. Googled Margaret Cassandra Martin. Her picture came up. The same picture that
had been posted on Billy Ray’s board. Along with a news story about her going missing.
She skimmed the piece, finding what she had been looking for almost immediately.

Everyone called her Cassie.

“The girl Paul dated, what was her name?”

“Cassie, I think.”

Fear settled on her chest like a sack of bricks. Paul. Not Raine. Paul, who had lived
in Wholesome all his life, who was part of the very fabric of this family and life
on the farm. No one would notice his truck coming or going, or his being in the barn
or woods late at night.

What was she going to do?

Her phone. Where was— On the entryway table, she realized. She’d set it there after
trying Logan.

She looked around for a way out. Jumping from the balcony would leave her incapacitated;
screaming for help would reach no one’s ears but Paul’s.

Paul
. He would be up any moment, wondering what was taking her so long. She tossed the
tablet on the bed, then stopped. Looked at it.

Her iPad. An e-mail. Logan had set it all up for her, though she’d yet to use it.
She snatched it back up, fumbling, fingers tripping over themselves as she accessed
the program.

“Bailey?” Paul, from the bottom of the stairs. “You almost ready?”

“Almost!” she called back. “Just a minute!”

She found Logan’s address, clicked on it. He wouldn’t get the e-mail in time. Not
to save her or the baby. She fought back a sob. But Paul wouldn’t get away with this.
Never again.

Quickly, she typed “
Paul’s the—”

“What are you doing?”

“—one.”

Before she could hit send, he was across the room, wrenching the tablet out of her
hands. “No!” she cried, and lunged for it.

He swatted her aside, easily, as if she were no more than an insect. She fell against
the dresser, the photos of her and her mother tumbled.

He turned on her. “Bitch! You couldn’t mind your own business? You couldn’t just leave
everything the fuck alone? Now what am I going to do?”

“Just leave. Go away. I won’t tell anyone about you.”

He shook his head, lips curling in disgust. “Fat chance, sweetheart. Besides, this
is
my
home.”

Her vision blurred with tears. She took another small step backward. “Don’t hurt my
baby. Please. For Logan’s sake.”

“Don’t you call his name to me. This is your fault.” He all but spit the last at her.
Gone was any resemblance to the charming boy-next-door she’d thought him to be. “You
brought this all on yourself.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.

“You’re right about that.”

Bailey spun around and darted for the door. “Tony!” she screamed. “Come, boy! Come!”

Paul caught her, dragged her back, one arm at her middle, the other at her throat.
She clawed at the latter, struggling to breathe.

“Tony’s taking a little nap right now,” he whispered against her ear. “But don’t worry,
he’ll be fine.”

She fought bursting into tears. She had figured Tony was her only chance. Now she
had nothing.

Paul half dragged, half carried her to the walk-in closet. “This is my family, Bailey.
Mine. I protect them.”

He suddenly released her and she nearly fell, stumbling into the hanging clothes,
grabbing at them for support, gasping for air.

No sooner was it filling her lungs than he had her on her knees, wrenching her arms
behind her back. Securing her wrists with one of Logan’s ties. A basic blue, one Logan
wouldn’t notice was missing. Especially when all he’d be able to think about was where
she might be. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked against them.

No. She had to concentrate on the moment and finding a way out of this.

With another tie, he secured her ankles, cinching it so tightly her feet immediately
began to tingle.

“How does killing innocent women help this family?” she asked, voice shaking.

“That’s me. It doesn’t have anything to do with this family.” He laughed softly, the
sound affecting her like nails on a chalkboard. “Plus, you presume those women were
innocent. I can assure you they were not.”

“Nothing to do with them? Then why’s Logan being questioned in connection to those
murders right now?”

“They’ve got nothing.”

“Your box of trophies.”

“I’d wondered if Henry showed it to you.” He straightened, looked down at her, his
hands on his hips. “Police don’t have it. I do.”

His words rocked her. “But how? Henry—”

“Idiot told me he’d been out there, to the hay barn. I immediately went to check on
them and found they were gone. They were mine, Bailey. He had no right to take them.”

“He was just a sweet, simple old man. Why’d you kill him? He didn’t know what it was.”

“I couldn’t take the chance he’d tell anyone. But apparently, the damage had already
been done.” He looked at his watch, then back down at her.

“The police know about the box. They’ll keep looking—”

He cut her off. “They do know. Stephanie told them all about it.” He laughed at her
expression. “I have a friend in the sheriff’s office. Anything even remotely associated
with Abbott Farm, she passes along.

“I should have planted them at August’s when I killed him, but I didn’t want to give
them up. I earned them.”

She felt sick. She fought the wave of nausea back. “You killed August, too. Why?”

“He saw the rifle in the back of my truck and was stupid enough to ask me about it.
I made something up, but I couldn’t take the chance he’d mention it to the wrong person.”

“But now that the sheriff’s office knows about the box they’ll be looking for it.
They’ll—”

“They’ll nothing. Stephanie repeated what you told her. And you’ll be long gone. Big
deal. You lied. Women lie.”