The First Wife (8 page)

Bailey flinched at the disdain in his voice. She followed him downstairs and out to
the courtyard. “Stay, Logan! Please, let’s talk this out.”

“We shouldn’t have to.”

“Logan!”

Helplessly, she watched as he crossed to the truck, climbed in and left her behind.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bailey awakened with a start. She had fallen asleep on the keeping room couch, waiting
for Logan to return. Her eyes were scratchy and swollen from crying. Her head hurt.

What time was it? She reached for her phone. The display glowed 12:46.

Where was Logan?

Bailey brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. Dammit. How could she have bungled
that so badly? He was her husband; they should be able to share everything. She should
trust that if she asked, he would answer. Instead, she had danced around her own questions
and he had gotten defensive.

“Do you think I’m a monster, too?”

“I’m your husband, you shouldn’t need to defend me.”

He was right. She should believe in him. Without question.

Bailey sat up. Did he really believe that? That she—or anyone else—thought he was
a monster?

Billy Ray Williams did. Death follows him, he had said. It follows his family. What
did that mean? His mother had died in an accident, who else? His father?

Where were all their family photographs?

“Why did you lie to the police, Logan?”

“I didn’t want our relationship to be on everyone’s lips, and it’s still all they’re
talking about. Even you.”

She dragged her hands through her hair. Wasn’t she the one who had agreed they had
their whole life to get to know each other? Bailey’s Big Adventure.

He had been defensive.

And she hadn’t been fair.

A sound came from the other room. A thud. Like something heavy hitting the floor.

Bailey straightened. “Logan?”

Silence answered. Frowning, she stood, called out again.

Again, nothing. She moved through the kitchen into the front hallway. Light peeked
out from the partially open study door.

She reached it. Pushed it the rest of the way open. Several books, on the floor by
the desk. The laptop open, a soft glow emanating from it. And Logan, his back to her
as he stood in front of his mother’s portrait.

She made a sound of relief. “Logan?”

He turned. He held a glass of amber-colored liquid. She caught her breath at his haunted
expression.

“You’re still here.” His words slurred slightly and she realized he must have had
quite a lot of whatever was in that glass.

“Where else would I be?”

“Thought you hated me, too.”

“God, no. I love you.” She crossed to him and took the glass from his hand and set
it on the desk. “I was upset. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, drawing her against him and burying his face in her hair. “I
shouldn’t have…” He straightened, looked her in the eyes. “I wanted to protect you.”

“From what, Logan?”

“All the sadness.”

She cupped his face in her hands. “You can’t. Sadness, loss, they’re a part of life.”

“Not this much.”

She knew he meant his life, his family. And she understood. “Come to bed.”

He didn’t move, just stood gazing at her, as if memorizing her image. “How do I keep
you safe?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s all I want.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t protect any of the others. None
of them, not even True.”

“But she left you.”

“What if … told myself no … but now—”

“Sweetheart, you’re not making any sense.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “They were fighting.”

“Who?”

“Mom ’n’ Dad. That night. I should have done something.”

Her pulse quickened. “What night?”

“But I didn’t,” he went on. “I was—”

“When, Logan? When should you have done something?”

“My responsibility … to stop—”

He assumed she knew what night he was referring to, or maybe he was simply too drunk
for awareness of any of that.

He didn’t finish, instead turned away, reached for his glass.

She stopped him. Covered his hand, brought it to her heart. “Don’t. It won’t help.
This will.” She searched his gaze. “Talk to me. Turn to me.”

“Gone. Without a word. All of … blames me.”

“Who blames you, Logan? For what?”

“I didn’t stop him. I could have. I did … nothing. Nothing.”

He started to cry. She held him, not knowing what else she could do. She wanted to
ask what he could have done, but knew she wouldn’t get a real answer.

He rested his forehead against hers. “Got to keep you safe.”

“You will. Come to bed. You need sleep.”

“No … afraid to … if I sleep who will watch over you?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You have to sleep. How can you protect me if you’re exhausted?
Come to bed,” she said again, coaxing.

He let her lead him upstairs. There, she helped him out of his clothes, then stripped
out of hers and slipped into bed beside him, curling up against him.

“Need to tell you.”

“What?”

“About True. Should have … told you…”

“What, babe? What should you have told me?”

His eyes had drifted shut.

“Babe? What about True?” She shook him gently. “Tell me about True.”

His lids fluttered up, he looked at her, though she thought he was already asleep.
“How … do I … keep…”

The words trailed off and he was asleep. Snoring softly.

Bailey gazed at him, thoughts whirling. What had he been about to tell her? About
True or his parents? They’d been fighting. He felt to blame, but for what?

She frowned. What had he been doing there in the study, other than getting inebriated?
She pictured the desk, the open laptop. He’d been on the computer. The books on the
floor, he must have knocked them over when he stood up. That was the sound she’d heard.

How long had he been there? With that thought came another. They’d fought, and yet
when he returned to the house it hadn’t been to her. He’d gone to his study and gotten
on the computer. What could have been so important?

Something for work, she told herself. That had to be ready for today. She rolled carefully
onto her back. Maybe he had come and checked on her, found her sleeping and decided
to leave well enough alone. That’s what he would tell her in the morning.

But what if he didn’t? What if he didn’t tell her anything? Could she live with that?

Bailey closed her eyes, breathed deeply. Yes. He was her husband. She trusted him.
With her heart and her life.

Even as she repeated that promise in her head, an ugly fear gnawed at her. That something
had changed between them today. And in her. Because of Billy Ray. The things he’d
said about Logan. And because of those other two women. Something that would make
believing for them both more difficult than she could have thought possible.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bailey carefully closed the bedroom door on her way out. It was early and Logan still
slept. She had awakened to the same questions that had kept her awake until the wee
hours.

And sometime during those hours she had decided what she would do. Just take a look.
Prove to herself her imagination was running away with her. She would feel foolish
after. Guilty for not having trusted him.

Then she would let it go.

She quickly descended the stairs. At the bottom, she took one last glance back up,
then headed to the study.

She stopped in the doorway, took it in. The desk, the big chair behind it turned toward
the door. The books on the floor.

She crossed to the desk, slid into the chair, tapped the return key. The computer
came to life.

Photos
. Of the two of them. From Grand Cayman. Their wedding. She studied them, emotion
choking her. Her smile. The joy shining from his eyes. The way they had lingered over
their kiss. Dancing on the beach after their “I do.” Their laughter.

Tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t seen the pictures yet, had been waiting for the
photographer to e-mail them.

When had Logan gotten them? She checked the date on the file:
Yesterday
. Yesterday, when she had been breaking his heart with her doubts. When her suspicions
had kept her awake and sent him to the bottle for comfort.

“Do you think I’m a monster, too?”

“Bailey? What are you doing?”

She turned. He stood in the doorway, looking hollow-eyed and hungover. Her tears spilled,
rolled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

He crossed to the desk, closed the computer and drew her up. He cupped her face in
his palms. “Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. “The photographs.”

“You found me out.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and pressed her face into her shoulder.

“Hey. Look at me.” She did and he smiled. “What are you sorry about?”

The abbreviated truth, she thought. The whole truth would hurt him again. “Yesterday,”
she whispered. “Our fight.”

“We need to talk.”

“What about?”

“True.”

She nodded and he led her to the kitchen. There, she made coffee and he drank one
glass of water, then another.

“How do you feel?”

“Like hell. Splitting headache.”

“Did you take something for it?”

“Upstairs.”

“Want something to eat?”

“Not yet. Just coffee.”

He motioned to the table. “Let’s sit.”

She set the mugs on the table and took the chair across from his. Her heart was rapping
so hard against the wall of her chest, she wondered if he could hear it.

“I thought everything was perfect between me and True. I really had no clue that she
was unhappy.”

He took a sip of the coffee, then went on. “I left to go to look at a horse, up near
Jackson. When I got home she was gone.

“It wasn’t like her not to be here when I got back from out of town, but I thought
maybe she’d gone to New Orleans to shop. But as the hours passed, I started to panic.”

His voice thickened. “She hadn’t returned any of my calls,” he said after a moment.
“Nobody on the farm knew when she’d left or where she was.”

“Even Paul?”

He nodded. “Zephyr had taken ill and he was with him and the vet all day. So I went
to the police.”

“The Wholesome police? Billy Ray?”

“His uncle Nate was chief at the time. But Billy Ray was part of the investigation.”

He went silent. Bailey gave him time, though the moments seemed an eternity.

Finally, he began again. “I was certain something bad had happened to her. An accident
or something … then they found her car. Abandoned. Her phone and keys in it.”

“Like the others,” Bailey whispered. “The missing women.”

“I was frantic. Out of my head with worry. Desperate to find her. But then”—his voice
hardened—“things came to light.”

“What kind of things?”

“Charges on her credit card, ones made to a Metairie hotel while I was out of town.
And two days before she went missing, she withdrew ten thousand dollars from her own
account.”

Her heart went out to him. It seemed pretty obvious what had been going on.

“She left all her things. But took the cash.” He paused. “To start her new life with
whoever she had been seeing.”

Bailey curled her hands around the warm mug. “I’m so sorry.”

“You need to hear the rest before you decide what you believe. I don’t want to do
this again.”

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

It made her feel weird. As did the way he held her gaze, almost as if in challenge.
She cleared her throat. “Billy Ray, he said … that he and others think you—”

“Murdered my wife?”

He said the words with such bitterness, she flinched. “Why, Logan? What proof did
they have?”

“Proof?” He laughed, the sound hard. “I was questioned by the police. Several times.
And not just the Wholesome police. The sheriff’s office as well. They searched the
house and barn, and found nothing. I had an ironclad alibi. But tongues continue to
wag and the legend lives on. At least in Billy Ray Williams’s mind.”

“Last night, you said you lied to the police.”

His mouth thinned. “True and I fought before I left for that trip to Jackson. It was
about something stupid, but when they asked I said everything was perfect. I denied
arguing. I didn’t want it to get out. The Abbott family has been the source of so
much gossip, I didn’t want my and True’s private business to be the talk of the town.”

And it had made him look guilty.

“Of course at that point, I had no idea I’d … never see True again.”

“And they caught you in the lie.”

“Yes. And no. As soon as I realized how serious it was, I came clean. But it turned
out they already knew. A gardener had overheard us.

“And then there was Billy Ray, shouting from the rooftops that I was a controlling,
abusive husband. He contends that when she told me she was leaving me, I killed her.
And since his uncle retired in January and Billy Ray took over as chief, it’s become
an obsession.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She couldn’t shake the feeling there was more, something he wasn’t sharing. The suspicion
lurked there, at the edges of her consciousness, taunting her. Otherwise, why Billy
Ray’s vendetta? Why his obsession with proving True had been murdered?

And then she realized the truth. It was so obvious, she should have seen it a mile
off. Billy Ray Williams had been in love with True.

In some weird way, he still was.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“That Billy Ray was in love with True.”

He nodded. “I’ve wondered that for a long time, but didn’t know how that could be.
They saw each other maybe a handful of times. It doesn’t make sense.”