Chapter Twenty-One #2
As the meaning of the song started to sink in, Harper realized she had never before paid attention to the lyrics.
“What is he saying?” Harper asked. “Do you know the words?”
“The song is told from the perspective of a man killing his unfaithful girlfriend,” said Gabe. “She stood there laughing…I felt the knife in my hand, and she laughed no more…”
“That’s awful,” said Harper. “I never realized how appalling this song is.”
“I especially like that the killer asks his victim for forgiveness, all while blaming her for her own death,” said Tariq, playing with the drinks menu on the table.
“Am I the only one who thinks it’s odd he chose that song?” said Harper. “I mean, his sister, Delilah, was just murdered.”
“With a knife, no less,” said Tariq with a nod.
“It does show a remarkable lack of taste, doesn’t it?” said Gabe. “On the other hand, the man can sing. And even if he couldn’t, he’s gorgeous.”
Choice of disturbing song aside, Gabe was right: Asher Mason had a good voice, deep and resonant, and he was very easy on the eyes.
The crowd cheered and hooted when he finished, and Asher ducked his head as though embarrassed by the attention.
As Asher handed the microphone to the DJ, Harper noticed his eyes were wet with tears.
He glanced in the direction of their table, and Harper beckoned him over.
“Don’t—” Tariq began, but Asher was already heading their way. Tariq groaned.
Harper stood. “Asher Mason, right? I’m Harper Grae. You were really good up there.”
Asher quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Pardon me. It’s the name. My sister, Delilah. She…” He trailed off.
“We know,” said Harper gently. “We’re so very sorry. Please, won’t you join us?”
“Yes indeed, have a seat,” said Gabe. “Gabe Ruiz. I knew your sister years ago. My sincere condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you,” Asher said, nodding. He looked at Tariq.
“Please do join us,” Tariq said. “I am so sorry about your sister, Asher. Let me buy you a drink in her memory. Name your poison.”
Asher let out a breath. “Bourbon and bitters, rocks. Thanks.”
He slid into the booth next to Harper as a woman started singing Ed Sheeran’s “Shivers.”
“Harper and I need refills as well,” Gabe said, getting up and grabbing their empty glasses. “I’ll give you a hand with the drinks, Tariq.”
Alone with Asher, Harper resisted the urge to say something, anything, to fill the awkward silence.
After her mother died Harper remembered people struggling to think of what to say, unsure how to react.
Mostly they came up with platitudes that not only did not help but enraged Harper: “She’s in a better place” or “She wouldn’t want you to be sad.
” What Harper had wanted most was simply for them to sit quietly, to support her just by their presence, to give her the time and the space she needed to formulate her thoughts and to attempt to wrap her arms and mind and heart around her grief, not try to brush it aside.
But, as she had since learned, staying present yet quiet in the face of tragedy might sound simple, but it was far from easy.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Asher asked, “How did you know my sister?”
“I didn’t, not really,” said Harper, wondering how much to disclose about Delilah Mason’s last moments. “But I was there that night. On the ghost tour that…found her.”
Asher placed his hand on hers, suddenly urgent. “Tell me everything. Please. Don’t hold back.”
“I…There really isn’t a lot to tell. I’m so sorry, I—”
Tariq and Gabe returned to the table with their drinks. Tariq’s gaze zeroed in on Asher’s hand on Harper’s. Feeling awkward, Harper withdrew her hand.
“We were just talking about finding Delilah,” Harper said quietly. “That night.”
“That must have been so awful,” said Gabe, setting a frosty pint glass on the table.
Tariq placed the bourbon in front of Asher and a glass of red wine in front of Harper and took his seat.
“I know this is probably hard for you, but it would help if I knew what you saw. Anything at all,” urged Asher. “The police said they ‘weren’t releasing any details to protect the integrity of the investigation,’ whatever that means. I can’t stop thinking about it…”
“I can appreciate that,” Tariq said. “The thing is, though, we really don’t know what happened.
We simply came upon her, there in her garden.
She was alive but wasn’t able to tell us anything.
A member of the tour group was a retired nurse and did what he could to help her until the EMTs arrived.
The whole thing lasted maybe ten, fifteen minutes. ”
“And she was found under the Witch Tree?”
Tariq nodded.
“She wasn’t left alone,” Harper said.
Asher looked stricken. Even in the dim light of the bar, his beautiful blue eyes were remarkable. He shook his head. “I should have been there. I should have protected her.”
“She was an adult, Asher,” Tariq said. “You could hardly have been escorting her every moment of every day. You both had careers, lives of your own.”
Asher let out a loud snort. “Delilah was the one with a true vocation, the one with true talent. My work seems so…” He trailed off, apparently searching for the right word. “So trivial in comparison.”
“What kind of work do you do?” Harper asked.
“I’m at the Defense Language Institute.”
“Asher speaks several languages,” said Tariq.
“That’s impressive,” Harper said. “What languages do you teach?”
“None, actually. The institute employs only native speakers to teach the language classes. I work in development.” He took a sip of his drink, staring off into space.
“Tariq, I believe I owe you an apology. I was a real pain in the ass when you were seeing Delilah. It’s just that she has awful taste in men. ”
Tariq let out a bark of a laugh. “Talk about your backhanded compliments.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. But…her divorce was rough, and afterward I felt she was vulnerable.
Which may seem absurd—anyone who knew Delilah knew she was a woman with a mind of her own.
Thing is, when we were kids, we were so close, did everything together.
And I felt I had to shield her from our father. He was a brute.”
“That must have been difficult,” said Harper.
“More than you can imagine. It was a long time ago, but it left a mark. As adults, we’ve both struggled with relationships. And Delilah’s latest guy, that ridiculous Mario Lombardi…” He trailed off with a humorless chuckle. “A fisherman, of all things. Can you believe that?”
“That’s a bad thing?” asked Harper.
“It’s not the fishing part that bothers me,” he said with a shrug.
“And he’s a skilled carpenter in the off-season.
That’s how they met, he worked on her house.
Suffice it to say I don’t think he was good enough for her.
Not her equal in any way. They just didn’t have anything in common that I could see. I suspect he was after her money.”
“Do you good people never watch Dateline? It’s always the boyfriend,” said Gabe.
“Or the ex-husband,” Tariq added.
“Benjamin Philips, right? I met him,” said Harper. “Sort of. He seems like someone who could fly off the handle easily, but the circumstances of her death were so…bizarre.”
“What do you think, Asher? Could Philips have had something to do with it?” Tariq asked. “They were divorced years ago and had no children to fight over. Could something have made him angry enough to kill?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t like the man,” replied Asher. “He’s a pain in the ass and often rude as hell, but I just don’t see him as a killer. Then again, what do I know? They did have history, and the cops were called to their house more than once.”
“Was he abusive?” Harper asked.
Asher hesitated. “I’d like to blame it all on him, but the truth is that Delilah is—was—a passionate woman. She was more than capable of ramping things up and never backed down from a fight, physical or otherwise.”
“I heard Philips has been trying to get approval for a ‘seaside housing development’ on the former Fort Ord military base,” said Gabe.
“It’s true that Delilah didn’t like the idea of that development,” said Asher. “She thought the land was contaminated.”
“But surely a disagreement over land use wouldn’t lead to murder,” said Harper. “Would it?”
“Do you have any idea how lucrative housing developments can be?” asked Gabe. “Especially when they’re on or near the ocean?”
“I’m assuming the police are looking into Philips,” said Asher, “as well as into the boyfriend.”
“Pretty awful to think that most murdered women are killed by men who allegedly love them,” said Gabe, letting out a loud sigh and raising his glass in a toast. “Let’s hear it for romance.”