Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Can you rebuild Hell? That was the true question.
My father finally made his way over to us and stood next to me. “Don’t worry, son. I just spoke with the rest of the Elders. Your membership to the Order will be expedited because of the circumstances. You won’t be put on hold. But all things considered, I’ll also retain my membership.”
I did everything I could not to punch him in the face or say something I’d regret. I needed time to process. To plan. To strategize. One does not simply go to war without a well-executed set of tactics.
Jasmine, however, did not hold back. She looked my father straight in the eye and said, “We know.”
Her words had Montgomery, Beau, Rafe, and Emmett turning their heads to see her confrontation.
“We know where the bodies are buried,” she added.
My father looked at me, the rest of my friends, and then back at me. “What is she talking about?”
“We saw Mrs. H crying over Cindy’s grave. She confessed to everything, Dad. We know about all the dead belles.”
He took a steadying breath, no doubt shaken from the unexpected information being thrown his way on top of the Oleander burning to the ground. “Yes, well. Bodies and graves have a way of disappearing. And if you all know what’s good for you,” he looked to all my friends, “and your belles, you will all stay quiet.” He turned to face the manor. “All those secrets are burning to ash.”
He was right about the fact that all the proof of the secrets really were going down in flames. And every single Elder and member of the Order could make anything disappear—even graves—if need be. It wouldn’t be as simple as walking up to the Sheriff and telling him what we knew and expecting results. Hell… the Sheriff himself was a member of the Order. My father truly did know how to cover all his bases.
“You all can’t get away with this,” Jasmine said, though I could hear some of the fight leave her.
“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust,” my father said as he smirked and walked back to join the other Elders.
EPILOGUE
JASMINE
“Marianne,” Mr. St. Claire said with a bright fool-toothed smile as he stood on my mother’s porch two months later. “So good to see you.”
I stood behind my mother, breathing deeply as I prepared myself while my mother fawned over Darlington’s favorite esteemed politician.
“Oh, Jack. Darla.” My mother fawned over Walker’s parents, embracing and giving each of them air-kisses in turn. “We’re just so delighted to have you over.”
It wasn’t every day she got to welcome the family of the man who was courting her daughter, after all.
Walker stood behind his parents, eyes only for me. I could tell by the expression on his face he was wondering if I was okay with this. I was, but only barely. My hand inside the pocket of my dress skirt was clenched in a fist as my mother invited the St. Claires around the side of our porch where she had dinner prepared.
The porch was large and spacious, with a wooden floor and white columns supporting the roof. Hanging ferns and potted flowers added a touch of Southern charm, and had been brought in just for the occasion, along with the catered meal that sat sumptuously on the long wooden table in the center of the porch.
We didn’t have money to fix up the interior of the house enough for guests of the caliber of the St. Claires (my mother’s words, not mine), but she had just enough left in the bank to give this side of the porch a power wash and to pay the caterer’s fee, which included decorating.
The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the distant sound of crickets. It was a setting any Southern mama could only dream of for her daughter’s courting. The table was set with fine china and crystal glasses, and candles provided a warm ambiance.
We all took our seats with bright smiles, me and my mother on one side, Walker and his mother on the other, and his father taking the position at the head of the table. The catering staff came and set appetizers in front of us, fancy deviled eggs and shrimp.
Meanwhile, Mr. St. Claire spread his arms magnanimously and smiled charmingly at my mother as he regaled her with stories of the capitol and the important bills he’d been passing lately in the state senate.
I narrowly curbed my impulse to pick up the sharp knife in front of him and stab him through the eye with it.
Eye for an eye, right? I might not have known any of the women who died at this man’s hands, but I knew he thought of all of us as disposable playthings. He was a dangerous sociopath, and Walker had told me about how he and his cronies were already planning to rebuild the Oleander.