Life. Death. Full circle in one week.
“You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Bailey paused. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Raine, just now … she was saying some things, awful things, about the family. She said he killed her because she loved him. What did she mean?”
“It wasn’t about Logan, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Then who, Steph?”
“It’s not my story to tell—”
“Is it his dad?”
The look on her face was her answer. Bailey leaned forward, caught her hands. “Tell me.”
“Like I said, it’s not my story to—”
“There are no pictures of him and Logan, nor anyone else, and he never talks about him.”
Steph looked upset, indecisive. Bailey squeezed her hands. “Please.”
“Okay.” She drew a quick breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll leave it to Logan to tell you everything. But the short version is that Logan’s dad killed his mother.”
Bailey went cold. “But she drowned— Wait, are you saying … he pushed her overboard?”
She was, but refused to say more. Within minutes, Bailey was walking her out to her truck. Stephanie climbed in, then looked back at Bailey. “Talk to Logan.”
It will.
No wonder he didn’t tell me. But in a way I’m relieved. Things make sense now, some things anyway. And certainly, Raine’s behavior.”
“Bailey, can I run something by you?”
“Sure.”
“It may sound crazy but I … I wondered if Billy Ray could’ve shot Henry himself.”
Bailey’s mouth dropped.
“I told you it was out there.”
“Why would he do that?”
“A death on Abbott property would bring renewed focus on Logan. An investigation. And a reason for Billy Ray to have access to the farm.”
“Abbott Farm, that’s where all the bodies are buried.”
“Do you think I’m totally nuts?”
She met her gaze. “No. As weird as it might sound, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Monday, April 21
6:10 P.M.
Bailey glanced at the kitchen clock. Logan had gone to check on Raine four or five hours ago. She wondered what was happening, if Paul was still with him. If he needed her.
It didn’t make sense that he had been gone so long.
Anxious, she started to pace. Again. Over the past hours she had alternated between constant movement and no movement at all. Blank-stare time. Tony sensed her agitation and watched, growling deep in his throat.
“I wondered if Billy Ray could’ve shot Henry himself.”
The thought made her feel sick. The realization that she actually thought it a possibility. He’d said he’d do anything to gain access to Abbott Farm, murder definitely fell into that category.
Bailey stopped pacing. She’d spoken to Stephanie the day of the accident. She’d been on her way to a doctor’s appointment. In Covington. Logan hadn’t mentioned her being ill, other than her injury and pregnancy—
Of course that’s where she must have been going. She must have missed a period and gone to the doctor for a pregnancy test. Or to confirm the results of a drugstore test she’d given herself at home.
She grabbed her cell phone and called up the calendar. Sure enough, there it was: Dr. Ann Saunders. Wednesday, April sixteenth, at 10:30 A.M. She did an Internet search of the doctor’s name, which confirmed her suspicion. Dr. Ann Saunders was an OB/GYN.
She’d known she was pregnant before the accident.
But Logan hadn’t.
Even as an uneasy why wormed its way into her thoughts, Bailey assured herself she must have meant to tell him after the doctor’s confirmation. She had wanted to be absolutely certain before she said anything. To protect Logan. From the loss of it not being true.
She gazed down at that electronic calendar. Clues to the events of the day leading up to her accident. Right in front of her.
Of course. Her phone and handbag. Her car. The clothes she’d been wearing.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before? Bailey scrolled forward and back in her smartphone calendar. A follow-up appointment with Dr. Saunders.
Not much else. Her friend Marilyn’s birthday. A dinner party she and Logan had now missed. Finding nothing else on the calendar, she moved on to the recent images on the camera. Shot after shot of Tony, flowers, the countryside. Why had she taken so many?
Bailey shoved it back into her pocket and went for her purse, dumped the contents out on the kitchen table. She’d never been an organized type. Receipts, notes, grocery lists, all stuffed into a pocket, flap or just tossed into her bag.
With trembling fingers, she started to go through them.
Tony announced Logan’s arrival home, and Bailey ran to meet him, excited to share what she’d remembered and what Stephanie had told her. When she saw his face, the words died on her lips. Exhaustion. Despair. As if the weight of the world—and everyone in it—rested squarely on his shoulders. No, she thought, not the world, not everyone. This family. His sister.
Bailey took him in her arms and held him. She couldn’t help thinking about his father, what Stephanie had said he’d done. She held him tighter. He rested his head against hers, the tension seeming to seep out of him as the seconds ticked past.
“I got her quieted down,” he said finally, softly. “I convinced her to let me take her home.” He let out a long, weary-sounding breath. “I gave her a sedative. Waited until she was asleep. Still—”
“What?”
“I was … afraid to go. To leave her alone.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, brought out the vials of sedatives. “Put these someplace. I didn’t want to leave them there.”
Afraid Raine would deliberately overdose. She took the vials, slipped them into her own pocket, then tipped her face up to his. “She’ll be okay, Logan. Her grief will lessen and she’ll work through it.”