In the Shadow of Lakecrest(29)

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?”

As I’d suspected, Mr. Haveleck wasn’t able to resist a demonstration of his deductive skills. “Given what I know of human nature, and the circumstances of Miss Lemont’s life, I’d say there’s a good chance she ended up in an asylum.”

Mabel had insisted Cecily wasn’t crazy. But they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. How could she know for sure?

“Someone like Cecily Lemont wouldn’t be locked up in the county hospital, but there are some other places, more private, where she might have been admitted. Most likely under a different name.”

Mr. Haveleck began rummaging through a pile of books and papers next to his desk. It made no sense. Mabel had said Cecily was answerable to her brother, but if Jasper had his sister committed, why would he call in the police to search for her? If he was worried about being publicly shamed, he could have put out a story about her being sick or going abroad.

Mr. Haveleck slapped a folder down in front of him. “I’m not saying that’s what happened. It’s one avenue I’ll explore, among many others.”

I thought of Cecily, locked away for more than fifteen years, and felt queasy.

“You all right, Mrs. Lemont?”

“Fine,” I said, but not nearly as confidently as I’d intended.

“How about I get you a glass of water?”

I nodded, and Mr. Haveleck hurried out. I gazed at the folder on the desk in front of me, then pulled it into my lap. Gingerly brushing off the dust, I pulled out a stack of pamphlets.



ST. CLAIRE’S RETREAT

LAKE COUNTY REST HOME

CHICAGO CLINIC FOR NERVOUS DISORDERS



The front of the Chicago Clinic brochure had a sketched illustration of a wide stone town house. Flowers were planted in neat beds along the front. I flipped the pages, skimming flowery descriptions of the hospital’s services. Something nagged at me, and I slowed down to read more carefully.



The Chicago Clinic for Nervous Disorders is a haven for those suffering from melancholia, mania, and other disorders of the brain. We take pride in our ability to treat patients in a soothing atmosphere conducive to a restful mental state.



All very reassuring, if you weren’t the one stuck there.