“C’mon,” she said. She took me by the arm and led me out into the hall. “I’ve lived in Rhinebeck my entire life, but I love to travel. Sometimes I just need to get away from Alec and his collection of haunted antiques.”

“You’re not in school?” I asked.

“I graduated early,” she said. “I think I’ve learned more from traveling than I ever did sitting in some schoolhouse.”

I’d never heard anybody use the word schoolhouse when they were talking about school. Maybe rich people did things differently.

We hung a right and she led me down another long hallway lined with more creepy paintings in gold filigree frames. She showed me an indoor swimming pool but said the one outside was much better for swimming in the summer. We came to a set of tall double doors and she pushed them open.

The room could only be described as a mini museum. Glass cases full of artifacts were crowded together at the perimeter of the room. Masks, swords, pottery, clothing, and tools were all expertly displayed.

“My collection,” Marie said. “Alec and I are getting all these artifacts back to their countries of origin. Most of them were stolen, smuggled out, or sold on the black market. So much history looted.” She shook her head. “Now museums charge a fee to look at things that don’t even belong to them.”

“How’d you get ahold of all this?”

“That’s a long, boring story.”

I moved to a display case in the far corner. Inside was a broken bowl that looked like it was made out of gold, and on it was the tiny figure of a woman with three faces.

“The triple goddess, Hecate herself,” said Marie. “That one was a gift from someone I was very close to.”

“Keeper of the Keys,” I said, repeating the words I’d read in one of the books back at the house.

Marie narrowed her eyes. “You know about her?”

“Sort of,” I said. “I’ve been doing some reading and her name is always connected with a woman called Medea.” As I stared at the symbol, it reminded me of the one in the crest on the door in the garden.

“I’ve seen the play,” said Marie. “I love the theater.”

“Me too,” I said smiling. “I haven’t seen it, but there are some portraits of her in the house.”

“Circe loved to read. And that story is tragic, really gut-wrenching. Maybe she found some parallels with her own life.”

“Her life was tragic?” I asked. I turned my attention to another display full of artifacts. “She had a big house, and it’s paid off. She was running a business and I’m sure she was making good money based on what you said about how much you paid her. Doesn’t really seem like a tragedy.”