“What did you do? Did you call for help?”
“No,” she says. “I panicked. If I called for help, everything would have come out. I had already come this far. I needed to keep going. The sheet was still warm from the laundry. They must have just washed it before putting it in the delivery truck. I wrapped her in it and put her in the trunk of my car. My father had a fundraiser that night, just as I told you. I had to make an appearance.”
“You went to a fundraiser with the body of the woman your father loved stuffed in your trunk?" I ask.
Rachel runs her hand down the front of her throat as if she's holding back bile.
"After I greeted a few people and saw my father, I had to take care of her. The only place I could think of was the cornfield."
"Why?" I ask. "Was your father in The Order of Prometheus?"
"Yes," she says. "He became close with some members of the chapter in Harlan. He let me ride with him once when he came to meet with them in the cornfield. He told me they had business to handle."
"A body to get rid of," I remark.
She nods again. She must think if she doesn't say it out loud, it's not true.
"He didn't know that I knew. He thought I didn't see anything. He didn't know I followed him back three more times."
"You knew your father helped dispose of people, and you still thought he was a good man?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "He was. He was a good man. And I was going to make sure he stayed that way. I got rid of Lindsey so he could be a good husband, even if I can't stand Lilith. I devoted my life to building him up and creating his career. I atoned for what I did. I fixed it."
"And Lydia Walsh?" I ask.
She shakes her head, closing her eyes and resting her fingertips over them for a moment.
"She just wouldn't stop. Neither of you would. She kept digging and digging. She was getting far too close to figuring it out. She might have already. So, I invited her to come to the hotel and get an exclusive with me. From spending so much time in the hotel when I was younger, I know more about it than the people who work there now, including where to find the circuit breaker. A fling with a maintenance man gave me that information."
She giggles, and I stare at her incredulously. "It's good enough for you, but not for your father?"
Her smile drops. "A fling. Three months and that was it. He could never be anything more, and both of us knew it. But he proved useful, didn't he?"
"I'm sure he would be thrilled to know he helped you freeze someone to death."
"Don't worry about her too much," Rachel says. "The drugs would have made her pass out well before the cold got her. It was a comfortable, easy death."
"Why did you drug her?" I ask.
"To make her more cooperative and easier to control. I needed to get her to follow my instructions and be caught on the security camera looking impaired. Then I led her out of the hotel and onto the loading dock. From there, I showed her the door to the kitchen and slipped her into the freezer. At that point, she was barely able to stand. She likely fell asleep in seconds."
"Don't try to sound compassionate. You built a life around lies and murder. Did you create the sightings of Lindsey Granger, too?"
"Yes," she says. "I couldn't let my father get hurt. Lindsey was an accident. Then when Lydia came, I couldn't let his legacy be ruined. It was just one more. And if you had just left well enough alone, that would have been it. But you couldn't. I won't let you hurt my father. "
"He was a wife-beater and a philanderer," I say. “And if not a murderer himself, an accomplice to murder.”
"Don't say that," she growls, her eyes wide.
"They know who Lindsey is now," I say. "They'll find her family and do a DNA test."
She shakes her head. "No. You. You caused this. If you're gone, it will all be gone. I won't let you hurt him."
She dives at me, her hands stretching for my neck. I try to reach behind me to grab my gun, but she is too fast, and I abandon that idea. Our arms tangle, and she pushes me into the wall, where we crash, pictures falling and shattering glass around us.
I feel my head pulled back as she yanks on my hair. As I slam my hip into her stomach, the wind escapes her lips, and she loosens her grip. I grasp her shoulders and sweep her leg, forcing her down. As we land, her head bounces up, and I slip, smashing down into it. Her forehead catches me on the bridge of the nose, and an explosion of pain rifles through my face. Blood flows like a faucet, and I know it is broken.
The momentary distraction gives her a moment to scoot away from me. She kicks, her heel digging hard into my hip. She kicks rapid-fire into my side with both feet, and I curl up to block them. The broken nose makes my eyes water, and I rub my forearm across them to wipe them. When I look back at her, the kicking stops, and she scrambles to her knees, moving away from me.
I get to my feet quickly and grab her around the waist from behind. Popping my hips forward, I lift her and bring her flying backward, landing on her shoulders. The crunch of her body couples with the destruction of the room. A chair gets knocked over, and more things fall off the wall. Glass cuts into my cheek as I roll over onto my stomach. It digs into my hands, and it feels as if it’s
