Page 29 of The Last Housewife

The woman pulled back and grinned. “I can tell you like that.” She winked. “Don’t worry, hon. Your kinks aren’t your values. It’s supposed to be liberating.”

My voice was hoarse. “How long have you been coming here?”

“You’re not asking my age, because that would be—”

“No. It’s just… We’re new. It would be nice to find someone with experience.”

“In that case, one more year and I get my service medal.”

She was joking, but I couldn’t help being sidetracked. There was no way this woman was older than midtwenties. When had she started?

No. Focus.I was here for a different girl. “Do you know other women who liked humiliation? Maybe one who started coming around five or six years ago?”

She blinked at my intensity.

“We know it’s a long shot,” Jamie said, faithfully following my lead. “But you said there aren’t many who do it all, like you. Do you remember another woman who maybe—” He shot me a look, asking a silent question, and I felt my cheeks flame in response. “Liked it kind of rough?”

“Five six, blond, pale, pretty,” I added. “Midtwenties.”

The grin faded from the woman’s face. “Are you saying you want someone else?”

“No,” I said. “We’re looking for her. Please. She would have wanted humiliation exclusively.” If Jamie could read between the lines, he’d know that was an admission. But I didn’t have the luxury of hiding because I was ashamed. Not if this woman could tell me something about Laurel.

Her eyes softened. “Don’t tell me it’s another missing girl.”

“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.”