In the Shadow of Lakecrest(27)

“Those buildings on the grounds, the Labyrinth and the Temple,” I said, “were they part of this salon?”

“Oh yes.” Mabel smiled, mentally reliving her memories. “Cecily believed very strongly in what she called ‘the drama of place.’ Certain sensations can only be felt in the appropriate surroundings. We’d stand in the Temple and toast each other in the moonlight or wade into the lake at dawn to recite lines from the Iliad. She’d tell stories of women who performed dazzling feats of bravery—it was all quite thrilling.

“You’ve heard of Theseus and the Minotaur? That was one of Cecily’s favorites. On my last night, she sent me into the Labyrinth alone. I was terrified! I stumbled against this massive dark figure and saw two enormous horns looming over me. It was only a statue, but I didn’t know that; I thought it was the Minotaur himself, coming to kill me. I punched and kicked as if my life depended on it, and it was utterly glorious, fighting back! Though my hands were bruised for days afterward.”

Mabel looked pleased by the memory of pain. “To Cecily, we were all goddesses, capable of wondrous things.”

Matthew had said something similar. I remembered the story collection, the emotions that pulsed across the pages.

“I still don’t understand,” I said. “The woman you describe was brilliant and strong and talented. Why did she keep herself shut away at Lakecrest?”

“I don’t know,” Mabel said softly.

She hadn’t told me everything. I could tell by the way she looked down at her hands, the stiffening of her shoulders. There was some part of Cecily’s story Mabel didn’t want to share.

“I’ve read the Twelve Ancient Tales,” I said. “It was clear from those stories that Cecily felt things very deeply. Did she have any”—I hesitated, trying to find the right words—“romantic partners?”

“Cecily talked about love a great deal,” Mabel said. “The difference between eros and agape, physical and spiritual love. But she never confided any affairs of the heart to me.”

“And she never married,” I said. “I wonder why.”

“Marriage isn’t for everyone. Cecily relished her independence. She was answerable to her brother, I suppose, but he didn’t take much interest in her escapades. She could do as she pleased.”

What was it Matthew had once told me about his father? A remarkable man. Smart as a whip, bursting with confidence. Yet his wife, Hannah, never talked about him.

“How well did you know Jasper?” I asked.

“Oh, we exchanged pleasantries over the dinner table, but I can’t say we ever had a conversation. Jasper struck me as very old-fashioned. Much stodgier than Cecily.”

“Maybe she had a secret lover,” I suggested. “They could have met in the Labyrinth that night and eloped.”

Mabel’s mournful expression made me suddenly ashamed of my lighthearted tone. “I hope to God that’s what happened,” she said. “That she’s happy, somewhere.”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

Mabel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

This time, I knew she was telling the truth.

“Matthew’s mother thinks Cecily killed herself,” I said.

“Why? She had everything to live for!” Mabel’s eyes welled up with tears. “No matter what her family says, she wasn’t crazy. She was an angel, the kindest person I’ve ever known. You can’t imagine how awful it is to see her reputation dragged through the mud. I’m sorry. I’m finding this all rather upsetting.”

Dragged through the mud? Before I could ask what she meant, Mabel was standing up, making it clear the conversation was over. I thanked her for the tea, trying to hide my disappointment. Mabel escorted me to the front door, but just as I was about to walk out, she reached out and put a hand on my sleeve.

“I want an answer as much as you do,” she said, apologetic. “I’ve kept in touch with a few of the other girls who stayed at Lakecrest with me. I’ll write them and see if they remember anything.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

“And one more thing—it’s just occurred to me. My husband hired an investigator not long ago, when he suspected one of his accountants of cooking the books. It was all handled very quietly. I don’t know how much a detective can track down after all this time, but I could give you his name, if you’re interested?”

I was. I waited while Mabel phoned her husband at his office and wrote down the information on a monogrammed note card.

Sherwood Haveleck. The address was on the north side of the city, less than a mile away.

I had lunch plans with Blanche. If I told the driver I was going shopping afterward and sent him away for a while, I could catch a cab to Mr. Haveleck’s office and be back downtown within an hour.

One meeting, just to see what was possible.



I was usually able to put on a cheery face for Blanche; we were both good at summoning an air of carefree fun. It didn’t work that day. She quickly picked up on my preoccupied mood, and it wasn’t long before I was confiding everything about my search for Cecily.

“She must be dead, don’t you think?” Blanche asked. “Knowing for sure won’t make Matthew any happier.”