“They won’t get far,” Jemma said as we waited.
After what must have been five minutes, the guard seemed satisfied as he slid the boxes back into a compartment and told us we were free to go. Without a word, Summer and Jemma followed me down the steps and into the moonlit night.
TWENTY-EIGHT
We stood in the garden, our eyes adjusting to the low light. I’d seen Katie and Dr. Bellingham come outside, but even though no other buildings stood nearby, there was no trace of them.
“Where do you suppose they went?”
Jemma pointed to the maze. “The only place they could’ve gone.”
“If that’s true, they shouldn’t be in there long, right? Or should we…?” I hesitated, noticing clouds floating overhead, making the night darker. Inside the maze, it would be almost pitch-black.
“Why don’t we go around and wait on the other side?” Summer suggested.
We picked up our pace, skirting the rose hedge maze. When I stretched my fingers to press the petals of a rose, I discovered it was a sturdy fabric without scent, and the leaves were waxy and unreal.
“It looks so authentic,” I mused.
“I don’t see why Mr. Finch would even build it if it’s just a fake,” Jemma said, distastefully.
“My mother had a green thumb,” I said. “And I remember her and Aunt DeeDee talking about the maze. In this climateit would mildew, and the roses wouldn’t get enough sun. Still, Aunt DeeDee said that Mr. Finch insisted he had to have one, so years ago, before I was born, he had this built.”
“I guess Mr. Finch wants—wanted—everything to look a certain way,” Summer added.
I thought of his annual tradition of filling a ballroom full of women desperate for a crown—including me this year—before echoing her. “I guess so.”
A cloud moved past the moon, and the garden became more visible again. An owl hooted in the distance. Minutes passed. Still no sign of Dr. Bellingham or Katie Gilman. I wasn’t sure what we planned to do when the two of them emerged. Pounce on Dr. Bellingham? Interrogate him? Demand that he confess that he’d planted a crown in my aunt’s room? That he was a murderer?
I paced in front of a bench. “They’ve been in there for a while.”
“Do you think Katie is okay?” Summer asked.
“She seemed pretty strong at my morning workout,” Jemma answered.
I was impressed. “She attended your Broadway Butt-Buster?”
“It’s for all ages,” Jemma informed me. “The glutes are one of the most important muscles as one ages.”
As I looked from my two companions to the maze, something Lacy had said came to mind. “On Wednesday, when we were poking around my aunt’s office, she mentioned that the Finches built tunnels all across the grounds.”
I also recalled how Mrs. Finch had told us in her apartments that she’d had every inch of the garden searched, high and low, which was strange if it was just a garden. But if a tunnel lay underground, one would need to search every inch, even beneath where we stood.
Without another word, I started toward the greenery, and Jemma and Summer matched my pace.
As we entered the maze, the high trellises blocked out much of the moonlight. A chill settled around us even though the night air remained warm, and for a flickering moment my mind was awash with the image of a bloody Katie Gilman, Dr. Bellingham standing over her lifeless body in the heart of the maze—or somehow underneath it. I blinked back the thoughts and focused instead on the scattered electric tea lights, interwoven into the foliage and glowing faintly.
We walked for several yards and hit one dead end and then another.
“Do you have any idea where to go?” Summer asked.
Jemma shook her head. “I’ve never been in here.”
“Really?” I was surprised that navigating the maze wasn’t some kind of pageant tradition. “In all these years?”
“I’m not a child, Dakota. I don’t do mazes.”
I could only imagine the look of derision on Jemma’s face because I could barely see the farther we went.
