The Last Housewife (28)

“Did you know any of them?” Jamie was excited. “The missing women?”

She stiffened. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“We’re just looking for a friend,” I said.

She met my eyes. “If she’s a friend…then, yes. I knew some girls who came through here, then disappeared. Months, sometimes years later, I’d see their faces on posters. But never on the news.”

Jamie opened his mouth to ask another question, but she cut him off. “There’ve been a few girls like yours. The masochists. There might have been one who matched your description, a few years back. I only remember because there aren’t many women who are regulars here—plenty of men, but not us. And she was here every goddamn night. Blond, pale, looked fresh as a bunny, like she’d just come out of boarding school, somewhere the students wear those plaid skirts and knee socks, you know? A perfect little girl. The daddies loved her. Every night, she was looking for someone to hurt her better than the night before.”

My heart was in my throat. “Did she find someone?”

The woman’s eyes were sad. “She stopped coming, didn’t she?”

***

I flew across the gravel, wet hair plastered to my face. Jamie rushed after me. “Shay, slow down.” He eyed the valet and lowered his voice. “We don’t know if that woman was even talking about Laurel. It could’ve been anyone.”

The valet rushed off to find my rental. I looked back at the Mansion, dimly lit, sprawling and opulent and stone-faced. No hint of what was happening underground, the sex and drugs and missing women. And Laurel—ghostly Laurel and her search for pain.

I felt too hot, like I was burning from the inside out. It had to be the pill.

The car pulled up and Jamie took the wheel. We drove in silence until I remembered it had been hours since I checked my phone. I clicked the screen: two missed calls, both from an Indiana number. It was Laurel’s mom.

“Pull over,” I said.

Obediently, Jamie pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine, casting us into velvety darkness. I rolled the window down, needing air on my face, and dialed.

Please pick up.

“Hello?” The voice was ragged.

“Mrs. Hargrove?” I took a deep breath. “It’s Shay Evans, Laurel’s friend from college, returning your call.”

“Laurel’s friend.” Mrs. Hargrove’s words were slurred. I could tell immediately she was drunk.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, eighteen again. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I wanted to talk to you because I loved Laurel, and I’m worried the police aren’t investigating her death properly. I was hoping—”

There was a crashing noise, and a sharp crack across the line.

“Mrs. Hargrove? Are you all right? Did you fall?”

“You want to hash out all the gory details.” Laurel’s mom sounded breathless. “Did you know I hadn’t talked to her in years?”

I looked through the window at the night sky. The stars were so vivid that I thought, for a second, they’d crept closer. Maybe Laurel had done it, like a sign.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hargrove.”

Jamie caught my eye and mouthed Speaker? I pressed the button, and Mrs. Hargrove’s voice filled the car. “I was worried about her. That’s why she stopped talking to me, because she said I was nagging. I was either too distant or too close. I could never win, no matter what I did. She told you her daddy died in high school?”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“Then you probably know I went off the deep end and left Laurel to fend for herself. I’m sure that’s why you’re calling. It’s okay. I deserve whatever you’ve got.”

“I’m not calling to blame you for anything, Mrs. Hargrove.”

“I’m the reason Laurel started down this path. It’s my fault.”

She wasn’t making any sense. “What path?”

“I should’ve stopped her.”

“From what?”

“That thing she used to do…cutting herself up. She blamed herself.”

Jamie’s eyebrows shot up.

Laurel had never said anything about hurting herself. I’d thought we told each other everything.

“I didn’t do a good job when she was a teenager, so I tried to be better when she was in college. But she cut me off for a whole damn year, no contact, and then her friend died, and she reached out, and I tried to be there for her, I really did.” Mrs. Hargrove paused. “The stories Laurel used to tell about her, always Clem this, Clem that, like she was a superhero. Used to make me laugh. I tried to make sure Laurel was okay after she passed.”

I found I couldn’t speak.

Mrs. Hargrove’s voice lost its brightness. “I could tell she was getting depressed again. The signs were there. Did you see it, too?”

I cleared my throat. “Laurel and I hadn’t really talked in a while.”

“Well, then you know how she was. Instead of letting me help her, she cut me off again, and that was the last time I heard from her.” Mrs. Hargrove’s voice grew raspy. “I should’ve flown out there, made her see me in person.”

“What if Laurel didn’t kill herself? What if someone hurt her? I really think—”