“Do you think she’ll now appear as the invisible woman?” I quipped.
“To appear invisible is a contradiction of terms,” Marge noted brilliantly.
“Nobody likes a smart-ass,” her husband reminded her.
Mack Macurdy, born John Macurdy, is a redheaded Irishman with dark eyes and an infectious grin, with a body that announced his college-football-playing past. Our housekeeper, Ursi Olson, who is Lolly Spindrift’s unpublished counterpart, told me that Mack Macurdy enjoys a loyal female following who are more interested in Mack than the hot topics of his show. Macurdy is irritatingly aware of his appeal both on and off the tube, making him a bit too full of bluster and blarney for my taste, but then I’m not married to the guy.
It had occurred to me earlier that Mack had found the goal because he knew where to look. By this I mean that he had flown over it in that helicopter, but the result of his snooping was soon made public on his televised show and the evening news. As I recall it was impossible to distinguish individual pathways from the helicopter’s altitude, and even if they had been discernable to the naked eye from up there it would have been impossible to commit the layout to memory. Still, Macurdy had boasted to his wife that he would make the goal—and he did. Curious?
The crowd began to drift off into groups, all gabbing about the show that had just been enacted by the master of the house and the upstairs maid. People like to be among friends when in strange surroundings and Le Maze was proving most strange in a town where the norm was anything but.
Joe Gallo and Fitz joined us and, need I add, they were followed by Vance and Penny Tremaine. I could see Carolyn Taylor and Billy Gilbert with a group but could not pick out Laddy Taylor. When Hayes finally reached the balcony he took the hysterical maid by the elbow and led her off to the second-floor hall and oblivion. People continued to storm the bars but, while awaiting the fate of Marlena, no one dared approach the buffet except Lolly, who sampled the crabmeat.
“Do you think we have a news-breaking story here?” Joe mused aloud, hoping for the worst.
“Only if Marlena can’t screw her arms back in,” Vance said, garnering a look from Penny not unlike that of a mother gazing proudly upon her precocious two-year-old. Vance sought Fitz’s approval and got only a blank stare. It has been my experience that the more beautiful the woman, the more blank the stare.
As the wait for Hayes’s return grew longer, the natives grew restless—and a little tipsy. I was reminded of my school days when the teacher would leave the classroom and we would sit like good little boys and girls for a prescribed number of minutes. Should the teacher exceed the limit, all hell would break loose.
People had begun attacking the buffet and making party sounds when Hayes reappeared at the top of the staircase with the teary-eyed maid in hand. Together they began their slow descent. A guilty silence now reigned, and the chow hounds tried to hide the proof of their gourmandism.
About midway down Hayes paused and stated clearly and simply, “Marlena has disappeared,” as if he didn’t believe it. He looked stunned and disheveled, having shed his tux jacket and cummerbund. If this were an act, it was worthy of a Barrymore. The maid clutched a handkerchief, covering her mouth with it every few seconds to stifle her sobs.
“We’ve searched the house, Tilly and me,” he went on. “Bedrooms, baths, closets, even the attic. Marlena is gone.”
Gone where? Out of the house, presumably. There was, of course, a front door. We had gone out back, to the maze, via a series of French doors that lined the west side of the great room. The doors gave to a terrace and steps leading to the maze which took up a huge hunk of the property behind the house. Also, there had to be a kitchen door for the staff and deliveries. Marlena had many routes of escape but, as we would soon learn, none was possible for her to access between the time we had seen her as Venus and the time we had all returned to the house.
Hayes and Tilly (as in the Toiler?) completed their descent and moved among the guests who made way for the couple in a silence born either of respect for Hayes’s loss or doubt as to his sincerity. Having bought Lolly’s expertise in crashing Palm Beach society, Hayes now approached the gossip columnist for either guidance or a refund.
Everyone, including the catering staff, watched the whispered exchange between Lolly and Hayes as if the two were deciding if we should all be detained on suspicion of carting off Marlena Marvel. (Who had the strength to cart the likes of Marlena was in itself a mystery.) When the two, and Tilly, turned to look at me I felt the icy fickle finger of fate run down my spine.
“You’re on, McNally,” Marge stage-whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
Hayes beckoned and I approached, fixing Lolly Spindrift with a look that would have shamed an honorable man. It bounced off Lolly like a speeding bullet off Superman’s chest.
“Lolly tells me this is your type of gig, Mr. McNulty,” Hayes began with all the social grace of a charging bull.
“The name is McNally, and I am a private investigator.”
“I want to hire you to investigate Marlena’s disappearance.”
“Your wife has been gone for a little over an hour, Mr. Hayes. That can hardly be termed missing.”
“So where did she go?” he asked, looking up at me with his cobalt eyes.
I wanted to shout, She’s your wife, you tell me, but thought the less said, the soonest mended, and the soonest we could all go home. “Where did you last see Mrs. Hayes?” I asked Tilly.
Tilly looked surprised at being consulted and we had to wait for her to regain her composure before answering. When she did speak her voice was clear, if a bit shaky, and her story most explicit. “During the presentation I drew Madame’s bath, as usual. Madame must bathe to remove the makeup,” she added.
“After her bath, Madame complained of a headache and said she would lie down until the buffet supper was served. She told me to inform Mr. Hayes of this and I did.”
“Yes,” Hayes blurted, “she did just that. Came right down here and told me Marlena was resting and would join the party after the hunt for the goal.”
Nodding, Tilly continued, “I saw that Madame was resting comfortably on her chaise lounge which Mr. Hayes purchased from the previous owners.”
“That’s not important, Tilly,” Hayes noted with obvious annoyance.
“Yes, sir. I went to my room and rested until I heard the party returning from the maze. I went immediately to tell Madame it was time to get dressed for the supper show.”
“It’s not a supper show here,” Hayes cut in. “Our carnival days are over. It’s a dinner party.”
“Yes, sir,” Tilly said, looking miffed but determined to have her say. “Madame was not on her chaise lounge. I looked in her dressing room, her bathroom, even the closet. No Madame. Then I began to look in all the bedrooms on the floor, there are seven of them, including mine. And the guest baths. There are seven of those too. Each room has its own...”
“That’s not important, Tilly,” Hayes once again admonished the poor girl.
Tilly began crying. “Then I got worried and ran on the balcony and called down to Mr. Hayes. Madame has disappeared. Madame...”
“She did just that,” Hayes said, cutting off a reprisal of the scene. “I imagine you all heard her.” Then he picked up the remarkable story. “I went upstairs and we looked for Marlena. I mean we looked everyplace, including the closets and attic, even though that wasn’t necessary.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t necessary, Mr. Hayes?” I questioned.
“I mean the door to the attic was locked from the outside, the key still in the lock. If Marlena went in, how could she have locked it from outside?”
“The lower level,” I suggested, more for something to say than because it held any hope of containing Marlena.
“To get to the lower level, or the front door or the kitchen door or any door, she would have to come down those stairs and into this room, which was filled with the catering staff from the
minute we left it to go to the maze,” Hayes said, gesticulating like a puppet on a string.
“I never left this room,” Lolly corroborated. “And no one came down those steps.”
“She’s disappeared into thin air,” Tilly concluded, unnecessarily.
“What should we do, Mr. McNally?” Hayes asked, and I told him.
“Call the police, Mr. Hayes. Right now.”
“You think it’s necessary?’
“I don’t think, Mr. Hayes, I know. The police are better equipped to handle something like this. They’ll search the house and the grounds and if they don’t find her they’ll put out an APB and start to canvass the island.”
“But Marlena wouldn’t just walk out without saying a word. That’s crazy,” the little man shouted.
“But obviously she did,” I retorted.
“But how?” he cried.
S. Holmes tells us that once you have ruled out the impossible, go for the improbable. “She could have gone via an upstairs window,” I said, “and may be just outside in need of help.”
Tilly screamed her scream and raced to the French doors. I immediately grabbed Hayes and told him to call the police before going off on any wild-goose chases. Then I addressed our audience who had been watching the show with unwavering interest, observing that most of them still wore their name tags. In light of what was happening the name tags looked more foolish than festive, like party hats on New Year’s Day morning.
“Mr. Hayes is calling the police,” I told them, as if they hadn’t been listening. “I don’t think anyone should leave until the police arrive and take statements. If you get restless you can search the house and if there are any flashlights in the utility closet have a look around the grounds—but not alone. No one should go out alone.”
Stepping forward, Laddy Taylor volunteered, “I’ll lead a search through the house.” Now where did he emerge from? I wondered. Had he left the room and returned, or had I just not noticed him when we came in from our hunt for the goal? “Fitz and I will lead a group outside,” Joe Gallo called out.
“I’m with you,” Vance quickly volunteered.
“And me,” Penny joined in.
“Marge and I will lead a group,” Mack Macurdy said. “Joe and I will see about flashlights and anyone caring to join us just fall in behind when we leave. We’ll take separate routes to cover the grounds faster.”
And all three rings were in full swing.
The police arrived in the person of Lieutenant Oscar Eberhart, with whom I have crossed paths while doing my job of protecting the good names of Palm Beach’s bad people. He came with a retinue of four officers, including Sergeant Al Rogoff, a personal friend and colleague of yrs. truly. Al and I do not make a display of our relationship when in public and on occasions such as this merely nod in greeting.
“Do you ever miss a party in this town, McNally?” was how Eberhart greeted me.
“Do you ever miss a chance to crash a party on the Boulevard, Lieutenant?” Eberhart is far from subtle in his aspirations to a more lofty social status in this town. I’m sure that if the call had come from any location other than the prestigious Ocean Boulevard, he would have dispatched a patrol car to see what was amiss.
“I was invited by...”
“Me,” Hayes said, suddenly popping up before us like a jack-in-the-box. “I’m Matthew Hayes. My wife’s disappeared. We’ve looked everyplace. People are searching the grounds and...”
“Into thin air, she went,” Tilly cried, “just like that. Poof! Into thin air.”
Eberhart looked down at Hayes and, fearing he would laugh, I took him aside and told him to take Al and the other men into the hall and I would join them there.
“What the hell is going on?” Hayes complained.
“I know Lieutenant Eberhart and his men,” I said, “and I think it would be best if just one of us explained what is going on.”
“I’ll come with you,” Hayes insisted.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Hayes,” Eberhart said, “I’d like to learn what happened from an objective observer like Mr. McNally. You’re a bit distraught right now, but I will get to you directly.”
“You hired me, remember?” I added to bolster Eberhart’s point. “Now let me do my job and you do yours. Get everyone together, including the catering crew, and have them wait here until the police have been brought up to date.”
Given a mandate to command, Hayes forgot the police and happily mounted his drum, barking orders. Old habits die hard.
In the hall, the boys were, as I had feared, having a laugh. “Is that the Amazin’ Matthew Hayes?” Eberhart exclaimed. “He’s two feet high.”
“Quiet, he’ll hear you,” I lectured. “His wife has flown the coop.”
“So I gathered. What do you know about it, McNally?”
I told my story, beginning at the beginning, when Marlena appeared as Venus, and ending at the end, when Tilly went ballistic on the balcony and all the stops along the way.
“It’s impossible,” Eberhart concluded. “She’s got to be up there.”
“But she isn’t,” I told him. “Hayes and the maid said they checked upstairs but to be sure I got a group of the guests to double-check. Laddy Taylor is leading the pack.”
“Him?” Eberhart cried. “That’s the guy who’s been after us to investigate his father’s death. The old man had a heart condition for years and died of an angina attack. Junior wants us to question his stepmother, for cripes’ sake.”
“Laddy Taylor is not happy with daddy’s will, but wayward sons seldom are. He’s out to disenfranchise Carolyn Taylor, who’s also here tonight.”
“With Laddy Taylor?”
“No, Lieutenant, with her new beau. A lad who used to belong to Lolly Spindrift but Lolly gave him to the widow for comfort and solace.”
Eberhart whistled through his teeth, green with envy.
“Excuse me,” Al Rogoff intervened, “but this Hayes guy is a con artist and publicity hound. Has it occurred to either of you that this is a hoax?”
Finally, an intelligent word from a man who is long on the commodity. “I have, Sergeant, which is why I connived an independent search of the house. However, that doesn’t mean much because some of these mansions contain secret nooks and crannies like hidden closets along the back stairs where the master of the house could hide, if necessary, when on his way to the servant’s quarters for a bit of hanky-panky with the parlor maid.”
Eberhart whistled through his teeth, greener than ever.
“What’s this goal thing?” one of the patrolman asked.
“An enclosed area, except for the entrance, in the center of the maze,” I told him. “The purpose of a maze is to hunt for it. It’s called making the goal.”
“Okay. Now let’s all go hunt for Mrs. Hayes,” Eberhart ordered. Having gotten all the facts, and not sure what he was getting himself into, Eberhart led us back to the great room where all were assembled—silent, morose and irritable. After introducing himself, Eberhart informed the group, “Mr. McNally has filled us in, but before I begin a formal investigation I want to know what the search parties have found.”
“They’ve found nothing,” Hayes called out from the dais where he was sitting, not standing, with Tilly and Lolly.
“We searched the house,” Laddy Taylor claimed. “From the attic to the lower level and both were locked from the outside but we looked anyway. Nothing.”
“And nothing outside, Lieutenant,” Mack Macurdy offered.
“Did you search the maze?” Eberhart asked.
Hayes jumped onto the drum and hawked, “Why the hell should they look there? We were all over the maze. How could she have gotten in it? How could she have gotten downstairs without being seen?”
“He doesn’t want us to search the maze,” Al Rogoff, who was standing behind me, whispered in my ear.
I glanced at Eberhart and he gave me a nod.
“You searched the attic, Mr. Hayes, when you told us yo
urself that it would have been impossible for Mrs. Hayes to enter it and leave the door locked from the outside,” I called to him.
“So what the hell does that prove?” he bellowed right back.
“It doesn’t prove a thing,” I said, “but that the lieutenant wants to be just as thorough in his investigation as you were with yours.”
Eberhart immediately backed me up with, “Everything about your wife’s disappearance is a mystery, to say the least. You said it was impossible for her to leave the second floor without being seen, but she did. Now you tell us it’s impossible for her to be hiding in the maze, but she may well be. How do you get out back?”
Hayes leaped off the drum like a performing monkey and raced to the French doors. He opened one and stepped onto the terrace, followed by Eberhart, the officers and me. Our audience soon began opening the other doors and cautiously inching their way onto the terrace. Hayes scooted onto the lawn and then to the entrance of the maze where he fiddled with something hidden in one of the hedges. A moment later the floodlights came on and we were looking across the top of the maze, a sea of greenery for as far as the eye could see.
It was, besides awesome, a tad eerie.
“Some piece of work,” Eberhart mumbled, starting for the entrance.
“It’s a fool’s errand,” Hayes groused.
“Then fools we’ll be,” Eberhart said, sounding as excited as a kid entering the house of horrors at a theme park. “Can you take us straight to the goal?”
Hayes got out his map of the grid. “Follow me, if you must.”
Eberhart turned to his men. “You all spread out and check the pathways, and don’t follow us.”
“I wish you luck,” I called to Al as he and the others entered the maze.
Eberhart and I followed Hayes who sped through the aisles like a mouse who had mastered the labyrinth and knew just where to find his reward. Along the way we crossed paths with the meandering officers several times. I gave Al a wink and he gave me the finger.
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