The Last Housewife (93)
“You and I both know Rachel never actually liked us. She must’ve been glad to see me so low. Because she smiled and said, ‘I was supposed to bring back a girl anyway.’
“We drove far north to this squalid little house in a run-down town, somewhere I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years. It was so unlike Don. It was heartbreaking to see him brought so low. I found out later he was still worried about what you and I had told people and was trying to stay invisible.
“But some things hadn’t changed. He was waiting for us in the living room, sitting and reading a book, a glass of wine in his hand. When he saw me, he jumped to his feet. The look on his face… I can’t describe it, Shay. It was worth everything. He didn’t doubt me for a second. He rushed to me, swept me into his arms. It was the best moment of my life. So romantic. A homecoming.
“So I left my small life behind, used Dominus to keep covering my expenses so no one would come looking for me, and we were a family again. The way it was before, except better, because—sorry—you and Clem were gone. I had him all to myself. He finally let me in all the way, told me his dreams, what he was planning. And over the years, we’ve built it together. We created the Pater Society, a place where he could teach people and change lives, the way he did for me. You won’t believe how it’s taken off, what we’re about to do. He’s been successful beyond our wildest dreams. And I’ve shone, too. I love it here. Sewing dresses for the girls and tending Don’s house. I’m his wife, in every way that matters.
“Stop looking at me like that. Don’t you understand? Don and I are in love. We always have been. You just never wanted to see it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
All of it, from the beginning. I thought it had been done to Laurel. But the truth was, she’d been a willing player. She’d pulled the strings with Dominus, conned the caterer, helped found the Paters. As she spoke, it all came together, the little hints of Laurel I should’ve recognized: the costumes, the masks, the games and performances, the laurel crowns—her love of theater, everywhere. The Pater Society was Don’s philosophy, brought to life by Laurel’s passion, her careful work behind the scenes. I’d assumed she hated him, was just as scared of him as I was. But those weeping fits, the catatonic depression her landlord remembered… That wasn’t poor, traumatized Laurel. It was Laurel grieving the possibility of never getting Don back.
What had I said to Jamie? I have agency, too. Yet I’d never seen Laurel’s.
“Being in love—” she started.
“You’re not in love.” My hands twisted futilely behind me, scraped by the tightly knotted rope. “You’re just the most brainwashed. The most in need of help.”
She shook her head, brown eyes pitying. “I’ve thought about you so many times over the years. Felt guilty for the empty life you must be leading. I’m sorry for you, Shay. But you can’t come back.”
I swallowed, pushing past the bitterness to concentrate on what my instincts were telling me: First, identify the threat. “Where’s Rachel?”
Laurel walked to the long, low table that held gardening equipment and picked up a trowel. “You know she was a sadist, right? A remorseless psychopath. She started killing girls who stepped out of line—without even talking to Don or me first. She just left us to deal with the mess.”
The missing women. My heart was in my throat. “How did you deal with it?”
Laurel stopped twirling the trowel and gave me a long, steady look. Then she pointed it at the door. “We put them in the garden. We had no other choice.”
The garden? Surely not—
Her voice grew softer. “Their bodies fertilize the flowers. It’s beautiful, Shay. I made it for Clem, with all her favorites. She’d love it here.”
Horror gripped me. It was true, then. Girls who went to the Hilltop never came back. It wasn’t a mecca. It was a graveyard.
“Rachel was going to get caught,” Laurel said. “Rumors started swirling. People on the outside started paying attention. Even the governor talked about it during some speech. It took all of our favors to keep things quiet.” She frowned. “She was always in the way, from the beginning. Don’s monstrous daughter.”
“His real one?”
Laurel’s eyes brightened. I’d hit on something she cared about. “No. Can you believe it? They weren’t even related. Don just found her and felt sorry for her ’cause she was some foster runaway. So he took her in and treated her like family. The only good she ever did was lead Don to us.”
Rachel and Don weren’t related. A thousand memories came back—the lack of emotion between them, Rachel’s nonchalance while we grew increasingly obsessed with her dad. Was she Don’s first victim, or were they grifters together—two people who’d realized their proclivities aligned? Was Rachel the one who scouted us for Don, told him all about our vulnerabilities? We’d seen her as a ticket into Rothschild; she’d seen three young women ripe for deliverance.
“It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t his real daughter,” Laurel said. “He treated her like one, and that was the problem. There couldn’t be two favorites. And she was going to ruin the Paters before we could ever reach our goal, get to Albany. So I confronted her.”