The First Wife (12 page)

“Now
my
heart is broken.”

Bailey ignored the subtle stress he put on the sentence. The only way to win a verbal
sparring with August was to not play.

They reached the barn. She tied up Tea Biscuit, then removed the bit. The horse responded
by stretching her jaw. “Poor baby,” she said, and stroked her. “I wouldn’t like that
thing in my mouth, either.”

She offered her a treat—her favorite, a Starlight mint. Watching the horse suck on
it always made her smile. She removed the saddle, but left the blanket on for now,
not wanting the horse to get chilled.

Once she cooled down, she would brush her out. Until then, Bailey busied herself with
the hoof pick, cleaning out dirt and debris. August stood by, watching her.

She usually loved grooming the animal, usually responded in an elemental way to it.
Tea Biscuit did as well, evident in the way she nickered or neighed when she saw her,
the way she picked up on Bailey’s mood.

“I know you went to see Raine.”

Bailey paused, looked up at August. “She called you.”

It wasn’t a question; he answered anyway. “Yes. Practically gleeful. Don’t let her
get to you, darling. She’s evil, you know that.”

“She’s not evil,” Bailey said softly. “She’s sad. Terribly sad.”

“Is that what’s wrong with you today?” August asked. “Raine’s malicious agenda?”

“No. And yes.” She paused. “I know about Roane. That he hung himself.”

“I’m impressed. I was here a year before I learned there’d been another Abbott sibling.
Of course, now I know where all the bodies are buried.”

“What did you say?”

“A figure of speech, darling.”

He was playing with her. A cat with a vulnerable mouse. The way they all did here.

No, she thought. Not Logan. Instead, he said nothing at all.

Bailey ran his hands over the horse, checking for bumps or wounds. Finding none, she
looked back up at August. “Will you help me?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I thought that’s what I was doing?”

She shook her head. “What was True like? Really?”

“Beautiful and kindhearted. Completely devoted to Logan. Madly in love.”

Bailey snorted. “Right.”

“She was.”

“Madly in love but having an affair? Completely devoted, yet she runs off when his
back is turned?”

He met her gaze. “Maybe she didn’t run off?”

She stiffened. “Not you, too?”

“Keeping it real, beautiful. That’s all.”

“What about the money she withdrew? What about those nights at a hotel, while Logan
was out of town?”

“Maybe there’s an explanation for those other than infidelity.”

Bailey narrowed her eyes on him. “If you know something, you should tell me. Or better
yet, Logan.”

He laughed, the sound hard. “I don’t know anything.” He leaned toward her. “I only
know what I believe.”

Her mouth went dry. “And what is that?”

“I think True’s dead. I think they’re all dead.”

The words, what they meant, affected her like a gut punch. For a moment she couldn’t
breathe. When she could, she managed to ask, “Why?”

“It’s just my opinion, darling.”

She realized she was shaking with anger. She must have transmitted the emotion to
Tea Biscuit, because the animal whinnied and pranced sideways.

“It’s okay,” Bailey murmured, drawing her back, stroking her neck. “Shh, everything’s
all right.”

Even as she crooned to the horse, Bailey wondered if it wasn’t herself she was hoping
to reassure. She saw by the gleam in August’s eyes that he was wondering the same
thing. She disliked him for it.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Bailey.”

“Just scare me?”

“I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“What a crock, August. You only care about yourself.”

“What if Logan thought he was going to lose her?”

“Stop it.”

“That she was going to leave him for another man? If it was you who was leaving, how
do you think he’d react?”

She didn’t know. But he wouldn’t hurt her. She told August so, then removed the saddle
blanket and began brushing the horse. “You’ve spent too much time listening to gossip.
Or Billy Ray Williams.”

“Billy Ray?” He snorted. “I don’t need that little man thinking for me. I’ve trained
some of the best riders in the world. I’ve worked with horses that belong to kings
and are worshipped like Gods. The way I was worshipped. Billy Ray Williams isn’t good
enough to be a fly on one of their asses. He’s not good enough to be a fly on mine.”

She’d never seen him angry. His dislike of the other man ran deep and personal. What
happened between them? And what had brought August here, so far from kings and the
horses they owned?

She stopped brushing the mare and looked up at him. “Why are you here, August?”

The fire of indignation died in his eyes. Replaced by something sad and slightly bitter.
“Because I’m just a man. Not a God.”

He squatted so he could look her in the eyes. “Why would True have left her car that
way? Like the others? She would have known what everyone would think. Would she want
that? For her husband … her friends to think … that?”

She wouldn’t.
Not the woman whom everyone had described to her.

But that woman wouldn’t have had an affair, then run out on her husband and family
without a word.

A clandestine grave.

“You knew her, you said you were friends. Was she going to leave him?”

“She never said anything that made me suspect that.” He paused. “Anyone could have
killed her. Not just Logan.”

Was that supposed to make her feel better?

“Even you?” she asked, then resumed grooming the horse, though her heart wasn’t in
it.

“Of course.” He straightened. “But I didn’t.”

“Which is what every killer says.”

“If it helps, I don’t think Logan killed her, either.”

She stopped again, surprised. “You don’t?”

“Logan’s my friend, Bailey. He took me on when I’d burned every bridge within a thousand
miles. I’d never betray him.”

Which wasn’t the same as believing in a man’s innocence.
She pushed the thought away. “Who killed True?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can figure that out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Bailey sat curled up on the keeping room sofa. She couldn’t stop thinking about her
conversation with August. He’d been toying with her. But no. He was nothing if not
a troublemaker, but he also had heart. And a sense of loyalty toward Logan.

“I’d never betray him.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, at the beginning of a headache lurking there. True
had been his friend. He believed she was dead. Murdered. Along with Amanda LaPier
and Trista Hook.

Bailey replayed the things he had said about True. The things others had said. About
the kind of person she had been. That she had been completely devoted to Logan. Madly
in love.

She hadn’t had an affair. There was another explanation for the hotel rooms and missing
cash. There had to be.

August didn’t believe Logan a killer.

And neither did she.

In the hours that had passed since that conversation Bailey had tried to put herself
in Logan’s head that night in the office. His mind-set after their argument. She’d
come to the conclusion, he’d seen the cloud hanging over their heads. Of suspicion
and accusation. The unanswered questions. He saw how it could kill their love.

Maybe he wondered, too? Maybe he had begun to doubt?

What really happened to True?

The truth took her breath. He had been searching for answers. Trying to figure things
out himself.

It had made him look guilty. But just as easily, by her thinking, made him look innocent.

They’d fought about True, her disappearance, the other women who had gone missing.
The things Billy Ray had said and believed.

Billy Ray Williams.

Logan’s number-one detractor. Who believed Logan a killer and had done everything
but shout it from the rooftops.

“Who killed True?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can figure that out.”

Billy Ray had given her his card, that day at Faye’s. She had been furious. Disgusted.
She had wanted it out of her sight and had tossed it into the console. Snapped the
console lid shut.

And hadn’t thought about it again until now.

She jumped to her feet and ran outside. To the garage. Her SUV.

Sure enough, the card was there. She snatched it up, found her phone and dialed.

Her voice shook when he answered. “It’s Bailey Abbott. You said you’d tell me everything
I wanted to know about my husband. I’m ready to listen.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Billy Ray lived in a small, brick home only a couple of blocks from the police station.
Bailey had felt a small measure of relief as she passed the station, though since
Billy Ray was the law, the proximity wouldn’t do her much good. If he meant her harm,
there would be no help coming.

Billy Ray would know how to make her disappear.

Bailey’s mouth went dry. A half-dozen times during the drive here, Bailey had nearly
changed her mind. But here she was, heading willingly into the enemy’s camp.

She parked on the street and climbed out of her vehicle. There, she stopped, drew
a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to know what “evidence” Billy Ray had against
Logan.

As she climbed his porch steps, Billy Ray opened the door. “Hello, Bailey.”

The familiarity felt wrong. It grated. This man was not her friend. “I prefer you
call me Mrs. Abbott.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “If that makes you more comfortable.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “It does.”

“Why’d you change your mind?”

“That’s not really any of your business.”

“Fine.”

“So, talk to me.”

“It’s not what I want to say. It’s what I’m going to show you.”

His secret room. The one Stephanie had told her about.
Diagrams. Pictures of True. A picture of Logan, at the center.

“But I need something from you first,” he said. “Your promise. To look at what I have
with an open mind.”

“The way I see it, you’re not in a position to make demands.”

He smiled slightly. “If you have any doubt, any doubt, about your husband’s guilt,
you’ll work with me.”

“Work with you?” She shook her head. “You mean help you prove my husband’s guilty
of murdering his first wife?”

“No.” He leaned closer. “You’ll be working to prove to yourself that he didn’t.”

He knew why she was here. Of course he did.

The screen door squeaked as he swung it open; the heavy wooden door followed, swinging
in like the invitation to a tomb.

She followed him inside. When Billy Ray moved to close the wooden door, she stopped
him. “Leave it.”

He looked surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “It’s your husband you have to fear, not me. But if that’s what
you want.”

He led her through the living room to a bedroom hallway. He stopped at the only closed
door, and from his ring he selected a key, then unlocked it. He stepped inside, flipped
on the light.

Bailey hung back. Peered into the room. Like something out of a cop show. Dry erase
board that ran the entire length of one wall. A diagram—part timeline, part spiderweb.
Places and dates. Photographs. Notes, clippings.

“Come in.”

Her being here was a betrayal of her husband. It put their relationship, their future
together, at risk.

But not one as great as the doubt that hung over them now.

She stepped into the room, looked him in the eyes. “You can go now.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m doing this alone. I want thirty minutes. From the moment you’re in your car.”

“My car?”

She nodded. “You take a ride. I’ll watch you go. Time starts then.”

She could tell he wanted to balk, but didn’t. Bailey waited until he had pulled out
of his driveway, then hurried back to his study. Thirty minutes. She planned to be
gone in twenty, before he got back. She set the timer on her cell phone and, sucking
a deep, resolute breath, entered the room.

And took it all in, though it felt like it took
her
in. Swallowed her up. A tsunami of dates and times, notes and photos.

And her husband’s photo occupied the very center.

Bailey couldn’t take her eyes off it. Like a spider in his web, all threads radiated
to and from him. Damning him.

Bailey fought to steady herself. Billy Ray had known she would react this way; he
had counted on it. The more emotional she was, the less objective she would be. He
had planned to be here with her, whispering in her ear, feeding her fear.

She was in control of herself and her life, she reminded herself, what she felt. What
she believed in. Who she believed in.

Start at the beginning, Bailey. The first girl, one she hadn’t heard of before.

2005. Her name had been Nicole Grace. Fifteen years old. Found dead. Strangled. Billy
Ray had noted that her mother had worked for the Abbotts. She had spent a good bit
of time at the farm when she was young.

Billy Ray had added in a different color:
“Nicole would have felt safe with Logan Abbott.”

The thought of it made Bailey’s stomach roll. She pressed on anyway, doing the math.
2005. Three years before he had married True. Logan would have been twenty-seven.

Bailey shifted her gaze to the next young woman. Trista Hook. 2010. Twenty-eight years
old. According to Billy Ray’s notes, Logan and Trista had dated briefly, he in college,
she still in high school. A summer romance, that ended abruptly. He had “broken” her
heart.

She skipped over True, fixing her attention on twenty-one-year-old Amanda LaPier.
Four years had passed between her and Trista.

Billy Ray’s note read:
“Two years previous, Logan Abbott picked LaPier up; gave her a ride. LaPier had bragged
to friends about riding in his Porsche.”