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.