Chapter Nine #3
Suddenly an orange water bottle clattered as it rolled along the tile floor. Xochi crouched to scoop it up. Harper’s view of the bar was blocked, but it sounded like Joel was growing more agitated, the strident tones of his voice rising above the music and the murmur of the crowd.
“Hey! That’s enough!” Xochi barked in a commanding voice, and pointed toward Joel and the man he was talking to. “Take it outside, you two!”
Xochi shook her head and sighed. “Cretins. Anyway, I should get back to work. Nice to meet you, Professor. And, Tariq, I expect to see you here on karaoke night. You and I are going to sing a duet one of these days.”
“It’s a deal.”
Tariq and Harper watched as Xochi returned to the bar, handed Joel his orange water bottle, and said something to him. A moment later, Joel got up and left.
“Speaking of ghosts,” Tariq said after a moment. “I remembered today that Delilah once told me she had a premonition of her own death. And that she would never leave the Perles Mansion.”
“That’s…kind of creepy. I thought she wasn’t scared of the alleged spirits at the mansion.”
“She claimed she wasn’t. But living in the mansion had a definite influence on her, and it showed in her artwork. She made her name in artistic circles as a California impressionist. After she moved into the mansion ten years ago, her style changed.”
“In what way?”
He took out his phone and pulled up several photos. “Here’s an example of her earlier work, from before she moved in.” He handed her the phone. The paintings were moody, sun-dappled landscapes and seascapes painted in saturated colors, featuring scenes from the local area.
Tariq scrolled through several more photos. “And here’s what she started painting afterward.”
Harper recognized the style from the canvases she had seen in the Perles Mansion.
They were colorful and dreamlike, even surreal, sort of a cross between Leonora Carrington and Marc Chagall but with her own unique twist. An old-fashioned lighthouse, someone swimming across a river, a weeping angel on its knees, an incongruous interior scene of a door ajar and a fireplace with a huge old mirror over it.
In the glass was reflected some sort of ethereal… something. A face?
Someone trapped within the glass? Trying to climb out?
A shiver passed over her. She felt Tariq’s eyes on her.
“I have a bit of a phobia when it comes to mirrors,” Harper explained.
“I remember.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “That, and your affinity for classic rock and red wine.”
It occurred to Harper that Tariq remembered a lot more about her than she did about him.
Her memories of graduate school consisted mostly of spending hours in the library and seminars, relaxing with Jake, and eating a lot of Top Ramen.
Tariq was always there in the background, steady, smiling, and sweet.
It wasn’t that she didn’t remember him, but she doubted she would recall something like a phobia he had, much less his taste in music or wine.
“Any idea what the paintings are about?” Harper asked. “What all the symbolism means?”
He shook his head. “The inner workings of the human mind confound me, whether Delilah’s or anyone else’s. That’s why I stick to jellyfish husbandry. You can see right through your average medusa.”
“Yes, but jellyfish sting.”
He chuckled. “So can humans.”
“Did a jellyfish get you there?” She touched the top of his hand, where an angry red mark marred his otherwise smooth skin.
Tariq cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, checking his watch.
“Looks like no one else is showing up tonight.”
He scanned the bar, and his expression hardened.
Harper craned her neck to follow his gaze and spotted a dark-haired man hunched over a drink.
“Friend of yours?” she asked.
“Delilah’s brother, Asher.”
“Oh no, really? Poor guy, to lose his sister like that.” At Tariq’s silence, she added, “I take it you’re not a fan?”
“You could say that. He wasn’t happy—at all—with my dating his sister. Long story. Anyway, I should get back to the lab. I have some copepod cultures I need to check on before calling it a night. Are you staying, or shall I walk you to your car?”
“No, I’ve got some copepod cultures of my own that need tending to.”
“Cute.”
“What’s a copepod?”
“Food for jellyfish, basically.”
“Oh, gotcha. That reminds me, I have to stop by the grocery store for Ellen, but after that, reading in bed is about my speed tonight.”
As they were leaving, Delilah’s brother glanced up from his drink.
He and Tariq exchanged glares before Asher’s gaze shifted to Harper.
The Mason family resemblance was remarkable: Like his sister, Delilah, Asher was movie-star handsome, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones.
But most astonishing were his eyes: bright blue pools in an olive complexion.
Harper nodded at him and opened her mouth to speak, but what did one say to a stranger who had just lost his sister?
“I’m sorry” seemed so trivial, while “I was one of the last people your sister saw before she left this life” seemed far too personal, even macabre.
So she kept walking, leaving him to his beer.
But as she turned to slip out the door, she found his gaze was still on her.