I considered saying, I’m scared. Or I think I made a terrible mistake. But one confession would lead to another, and what would Blanche say then? Serves you right?
“Any girl who gets married has to make adjustments,” I said, stoic. “I do have one thing to look forward to. Matthew has promised we’ll go to Africa for a delayed honeymoon.”
“What a hoot! Imagine you, a big-game hunter!”
“Hardly. I’ll be admiring the lions and elephants from a safe distance, I promise.”
“When are you going?”
“April. Hopefully.”
“You can’t wait that long to have some fun! Why don’t you two come to the club? I’ll make sure you get a prime table. Champagne, if you want it. The real deal, from France. The ma?tre d’ has connections.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Matthew’s always so tired.”
“It’s only . . .” Blanche turned away and back, the very picture of indecision. “My boss, Mr. Pitz, moved me up from coat-check girl to hostess because of you. He wants to class up the place, get the word out that Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Lemont have been coming to Pharaoh’s. It would really help me out if you stopped in. Just once.”
I was grateful she’d trusted me with the truth and immensely sad that she’d had to do it. How unfair for Blanche to be put in that position, when she was the only person in Chicago who couldn’t care less that my last name was Lemont.
“Of course we’ll come,” I said. “It’s been forever since Matthew took me dancing.”
“Thanks for being so nice. I feel awful, having to ask.”
“I’m happy to do it.”
“I don’t know how I can possibly return the favor, but if there’s anything you ever need, don’t forget that I’m on your side. If that mother-in-law makes you miserable, call me up and complain, and I’ll listen for hours. All right?”
I never would have said I loved Blanche before that moment, but I did, just then.
“Let’s make this a weekly date,” I said. “You and me, for lunch. What do you say?”
Blanche nodded happily.
“And I insist on paying. I’ve got the money, so why not?”
“I’ve always wondered how that works. Does Matthew give you an allowance?”
“I can buy whatever I want on credit, and the bill’s sent to the Lemonts. I never have to carry a penny. Matthew’s bank even sends a monthly payment to my mother. He’s hoping she’ll visit, when she’s up to it.” The story of my mother’s lingering illness couldn’t be dragged out much longer, and I wondered if Blanche knew it was a lie.
“Can’t blame him for being curious.” Blanche said. “Isn’t it strange to think that your husband has never met your mother?”
“The thought of her in the same room as Hannah is enough to give me nightmares!”
We laughed, and I felt such a rush of warmth toward my cousin that I reached out and squeezed her hand.
“I’m so lucky to have you,” I said. “Someone to trust with all my secrets.”
Most of them, anyway.
“We’re family,” Blanche said. “That counts for something.”
“That counts for everything.”
I had recently discovered the novels of Agatha Christie, and I expected Mr. Haveleck to fit the Hercule Poirot model: a stickler for details with a precise but soothing manner. The man who greeted me after I tapped on his glass office door looked so disheveled that I doubted he could find his own cuff links, let alone Cecily Lemont. Uneven streaks of pomade cut across his black curly hair, and his shirt was creased, the collar askew. Had he slept in his clothes?
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, ushering me in. He pushed a stack of papers off a chair so I could sit down. The one window in the room overlooked an alley, but I was grateful for the gloominess. It hid the full extent of the mess.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this, without an appointment,” I said. “My name is Kate—that is, Mrs. Matthew Lemont.”
He made a good show of hiding his surprise, nodding and forcing his smile wider. But I’m good at reading people. I saw his eyes widen. The slight shift of his body as he sat up straighter.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Lemont family,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t start groveling. “I’ve come on a matter concerning my husband. Can I count on your discretion?”
“I wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I couldn’t keep a secret,” he said smoothly.
“My husband’s aunt, Cecily Lemont, disappeared from the family’s estate in 1912. No one has heard from her since, and everyone assumes she’s dead.”
Mr. Haveleck sat stone-faced; none of this was news to him.
“I thought you might be able to find out what happened.”
“It was a long time ago.” Mr. Haveleck eyed me doubtfully.
“I’ve been in touch with one of Cecily’s friends, and she’s helping me track down other women who knew her. But I can’t start questioning the servants or the neighbors. My mother-in-law would not approve.”
“I’ll bet. Well, Mrs. Lemont, with the greatest respect, I don’t think I can help.”
I was so surprised by the rejection that it took me a minute to recover.
“I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes,” I said, indignant. “I’m sure there are other detectives who’d be only too happy to take my money.”
“So if I say no, you’ll go to my competition instead?”
“If I have to.”
A slow smile. “I can’t make any promises.”
“Then I won’t expect any,” I said. “Now, I believe it’s standard procedure to make a deposit in advance. Will this do?”
I pulled five twenty-dollar bills from my pocketbook. They fluttered between us for a few seconds before he reached out and took them.
“Here’s how it works,” he said, sliding the money into a desk drawer. “I have a team of guys who do the legwork, but it takes time. Especially this kind of job. There may be some travel involved.”
“I understand. If it’s a matter of money, I can pay whatever you need to hurry things along. My husband . . .”
My husband is a very sick man.
My husband sees Cecily, bleeding, in his dreams.
“My husband and I would be grateful for anything you find out. Would it help if I told you what I know about Cecily?”
“Sure.”
It took a half hour to tell my story: Cecily’s mysterious change from bright, creative artist to sickly recluse; her abruptness with Matthew on the night she disappeared; the last sighting of her heading toward the Labyrinth. Mr. Haveleck jotted notes without ever seeming to look at the paper in front of him. He listened with intense, unwavering attention, and I began to understand why businessmen like Mabel’s husband trusted him.
“This is a good start,” he said at last, putting down his pen. “Plenty of possibilities to explore.”
“Do you have any theories based on what I’ve told you?”