“The Labyrinth?” Matthew asked. Bewildered. How could I possibly tell him the reason I’d gone inside?
“The storm,” I tried to explain. “Bricks were falling down all around me, and the Minotaur—the statue—it crashed over, and the entrance was blocked and I couldn’t get out . . .”
The words came faster and faster in a tumble of nervous release. Hannah’s face tightened with impatience, and I realized the room had become utterly still. All conversation had stopped, and every single face was watching me. Marjorie looked coolly amused—enjoying herself!—and I turned my head to the floor to avoid the others’ looks of sympathy and concern. They’d all heard me, rambling like a lunatic. Whatever hope I’d had of proving myself a worthy Lemont had been toppled as surely as the Minotaur itself.
I’d believed I could remake myself. But the Labyrinth had shattered that faith. It had shattered me.
“That’s quite enough,” Hannah muttered, pulling me from Matthew, smiling at her guests in a vain attempt to convince them this was only a minor disturbance. I followed obediently, a ragged puppet with no will of my own. She barked out orders, telling Alice to draw me a bath and the violinists in the front hall to play something lively. I staggered up the stairs, half dragged by the force of her grip. I was a naughty, disobedient girl being sent to bed without supper. And then, when I felt about as low as I’d ever been, I heard Matthew’s voice echoing against the marble of the entryway.
“Kate!”
A year ago, I’d made a spectacle of myself, instigating a fight on the beach to get Hannah’s attention and earn Matthew’s trust. Tonight, Matthew was the one making a grand gesture, putting his loyalty to me above his reputation and his mother.
“I’ll put an end to it, Kate!” he shouted. “That damn Labyrinth is coming down!”
I’m sure Hannah tried to stop him. Whatever she said to Matthew, it didn’t work, because the workmen arrived the following afternoon. I watched them march across the grounds, holding pickaxes and sledgehammers. The following day, a steam shovel rumbled along the lakefront path, spluttering smoke and pressing muddy grooves into the grass. It puttered around a bend, out of sight, and I tried to imagine the Labyrinth in ruins. I didn’t need to watch its destruction; I only wanted to know it was gone.
Matthew convinced me to join him on the terrace after lunch, luring me out with the promise of an ice cream sundae. I could hear the dull roar of the excavator in the distance, but Matthew seemed determined to ignore it. He talked cheerily about the weather (glorious) and the chances of taking the yacht out the next day (very good). Seagulls glided over our heads, and Lake Michigan glittered. At some point, the mechanical buzz of the excavator stopped.
I noticed a flash of movement in the distance. One of the workmen, running. Matthew stood up as the man drew closer. His face was flushed, and his chest strained against the buttons of his tight-fitting shirt as he fought for breath.
“Mr. Lemont!” he gasped. “We found something. Something in the maze.”
Matthew ran. By the time I arrived at the site, he was standing by a skull that lay atop a pile of dirt. As we trudged back to Lakecrest, silent with shock, neither of us said what we knew in our hearts.
It was Cecily. She’d been buried in the Labyrinth all along.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Even the Lemonts couldn’t escape an official inquiry. The police were called; investigators sifted through the heaps of rubble where the Labyrinth had once stood. The gates at the end of the front drive were pulled shut and locked, and Matthew told Hank to watch the fences in case an enterprising reporter tried to climb over. Matthew, Marjorie, Hannah, and I huddled in the sitting room, barely talking, barely eating. The only time anyone left the house in the following days was when Matthew and Hannah went to the police station to identify the remains.
“Was it her?” I asked Matthew when he returned. I couldn’t bring myself to say the name out loud.
“There was a ring Mum recognized. The body . . .” He shook his head, shutting me out. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” The devastation on his face broke my heart.
The police agreed to question the family at home to avoid a circus at the station. That morning, Marjorie had Alice go into East Ridge to buy the latest newspapers. The words “Lemont Scandal!” were splashed across the top of the pile that Marjorie tossed onto an end table.
“We shouldn’t have that trash in the house,” Hannah said, but without her usual force. She looked older than I’d ever seen her.
Marjorie appeared both exhausted and exhilarated, as if she couldn’t decide whether to collapse in bed or relish the drama.
“I’d better make myself presentable before our friends arrive,” she said. “I’m supposed to charm them, aren’t I, Mum?”
When the policemen arrived less than an hour later, Matthew answered the door. Three officers and a secretary walked into the front hall, all of them trying to hide their awe of the marble opulence. The tallest of them seemed to be in charge, with the others hanging slightly behind.
“Chief Powell,” he said. “Lake County Police.”
Matthew reached out his hand, but the chief kept his arms firmly at his sides. His dark eyes, black mustache, and intent stare gave him a threatening air. Hannah pulled out all her gracious hostess tricks, ushering everyone into the sitting room and offering coffee. Chief Powell shook his head.
“As you know, there’s been a lot of public interest in this situation.”
His eyes sidled over to the newspapers. Matthew sat next to me on the couch, listening with rapt attention. Marjorie stood by the window, holding an unlit cigarette; it was the first time I’d seen her look uncertain. Hannah sat opposite us, her back as stiff as the wing chair that framed her body.
“My purpose today is to get statements from the family, and I’m counting on your full cooperation, Mrs. Lemont.”
Chief Powell talked to Hannah as if she was any other suspect, seemingly unimpressed by her wealth or position. Which meant he might actually uncover the truth.
Chief Powell asked to meet with Matthew first, in private. Matthew suggested they talk in the office, and they walked out together, accompanied by one of the policemen and the secretary. The third policeman propped himself in the doorway of the sitting room, keeping a discreet watch on the rest of us. Marjorie asked if we could listen to the radio, and the man shrugged. I was grateful for the gentle hum of Mozart filling the room, suggesting a calm none of us felt. Marjorie laid out a game of solitaire at the card table while I tried to avoid looking at Hannah.
Matthew came back a short while later, looking pale but resolute. Chief Powell nodded at Marjorie, who pulled herself up from her chair with a melodramatic roll of her eyes.
“What happened?” I asked Matthew after they’d left.
He shook his head. “Not much.”