Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
A silence fell over the table. It was hard to know what to say to that.
Onstage, a middle-aged man took the microphone and started singing Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds.” The perfect soundtrack for their conversation.
“Is there still a viable fishing industry here in Monterey?” Harper asked after a long moment. “I read that the sardine industry was dead, all the canneries on Cannery Row have shut down.”
Tariq nodded. “It is dead, by and large. Overfishing was a big part of it. But a few hardy folks still do small-scale fishing, especially for halibut and lingcod. All around the bay.”
“Oh, I meant to ask: What’s the deal with all the sea lions down by the beach?” asked Harper.
“Aren’t they marvelous?” said Asher. “I love their determination to throw a monkey wrench into the plans of humans.”
“I had the same thought,” Harper said, and they shared a smile.
When she glanced toward Tariq, he pressed his lips together and looked away.
“What I heard is that the sea lions moved in unexpectedly a while ago and show no signs of leaving,” said Gabe. “But it’s assumed they will eventually. In the meantime, people seem to be enjoying the close encounters with the sea lions at least as much as they used to enjoy the beach.”
“Delilah loved them, too,” said Asher, staring into his glass and tearing up again.
“You know, I don’t know much about the art world, but I know that my sister was a true artist. She had great vision.
Her work will go down in history, mark my words.
” His eyes settled on Tariq. “Do you still have that painting she gave you?”
Tariq gave a barely-there nod in response.
“Hang on to it,” said Asher. “When collectors hear the news of Delilah’s death, its value will go through the roof.”
Harper looked at her old friend with surprise, but Tariq did not meet her eyes.
“Have you seen any of my sister’s artwork?” Asher asked Harper.
“As a matter of fact, I went to Carmel yesterday and dropped by her gallery. You’re right, Asher, she was incredibly talented.”
“At least she leaves a legacy.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “A legacy of beauty, and of mystery. Her style shift to surrealism…I always wondered if there was something she was trying to say, something that none of us understood, or will ever understand.”
“Maybe she really was seeing something at the Perles Mansion,” said Tariq.
“What do you mean by that?”
Tariq shrugged. “Nothing really.”
Asher and Tariq had a momentary staring contest.
“Delilah was fascinated by that old place,” Asher continued. “As kids we used to escape our house whenever we could, and roam free. The Perles Mansion had been abandoned for years by then, and we used to tease each other that it was haunted, dare each other to go in.”
“And did you?” asked Gabe.
Asher smiled. “Of course we did. We were looking for the Lady in White.”
“Why is she always in white?” asked Tariq as an aside.
“Why is she always a lady?” asked Gabe, one eyebrow raised.
“I remember we found a book, a kind of old journal, full of notes and potions. Delilah was fascinated by the recipes, but I was more enthralled with the language. We made up our own patois, partially based on it,” Asher said, with a shake of his head. “Can you believe that?”
“What kind of language?” Harper asked.
“It was a mélange of Spanish, Latin, German, a little Rumsen.”
“Rumsen? I’ve never heard of that.”
“It’s the language spoken by the original inhabitants of the area.
We had no idea how it was pronounced, of course, but there were words and phrases written in the journal, and we felt no compunction about stealing liberally.
I still remember we’d say: Kuu ku me koypon, which we figured out meant ‘don’t be afraid.
’ Looking back, I feel as if it were a sort of folie à deux… ”
“What’s a folie à deux?” Tariq asked.
“It’s French for the ‘madness of two.’ ” Asher gazed at the amber liquid in his glass as if seeking answers or insight.
“It’s a psychiatric syndrome in which two people share the same delusions and egg each other on.
I’m exaggerating when I use the term, of course, but for years Delilah and I lived in our own little world.
As we got older, our worlds expanded. But Delilah never lost her fascination with the Perles Mansion, and when it came up for sale, she jumped at the chance to buy and renovate it.
Poured her heart into it, and it still wasn’t done. ”
“I saw a journal down in the basement,” Harper said. “It looked like parts of it were very old, and there were recipes inside. Would you mind if I looked through it? That sort of thing is gold to a historian.”
Asher nodded but stared into the distance, as if he were listening to their conversation with half an ear. “I should probably start emptying the place out anyway, now that the big old disaster of a house belongs to me.”
“Do you have plans for the mansion?” asked Gabe.
He shook his head. “Nothing solid. My attorney says to wait until probate clarifies that I have a clear title. I’m in no hurry. I already have a place in Pacific Grove and an apartment in San Francisco.”
“And after all,” Gabe quipped, “how many houses can a person have?”
“You’re joking, but it’s true,” said Asher. “If it were up to me, I’d bulldoze it. If it was haunted before, it’s even more so now.”
“But it’s a historical building, Asher,” Harper protested.
Despite finding the Perles Mansion deeply unsettling, she was compelled to defend it.
It felt as though she could not turn away, like finding a puppy in the rain.
“It should be preserved, despite…everything. Would you consider donating it to the antiquarian society? They do really important work.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I’ll try to unload it on someone. But Delilah loved it so much…in a way, selling it feels like losing her all over again.”
“They say one shouldn’t make big decisions for a year or so after a great loss,” Harper said. “You could always hold on to it for a while, decide later. It’s not going anywhere.”
Asher nodded, his gaze on Harper. “Would you like to see it? The police released the house this afternoon, so you could get that journal if you want. I’m supposed to meet Alastair Highbaugh there early tomorrow morning to begin cataloging Delilah’s remaining paintings.”
“I’ve seen it,” said Harper. “Parts of it, anyway. The detective wanted me to look at the laboratory.”
“Whatever for?”
“I’m still not sure. We were interrupted…which reminds me, you should probably get someone in to clean up the mirror room.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a little, um, messy.”
“What happened?”
“Some kids thought they might be able to summon the spirit of Soren Perles, or something along those lines.” At his continued frown, Harper paused. “They, uh, sacrificed a chicken.”
Gabe winced. “That’ll make a mess.”
“You got that right. Way more blood and feathers than a person might expect from a single poor bird. It’s pretty gruesome.”
“The police told me someone had broken in, but I didn’t hear all the details.” Asher shook his head. “I feel like an old man when I say this, but what’s the matter with kids these days? When Delilah and I ran wild, we never set out to hurt anything, or anyone.”
“What time are you going to the mansion tomorrow?” Harper asked.
Part of her wanted to steer clear of the place, but another part was intrigued.
The memory of the woman dancing on her lawn…
Could the spirit of Isabel Perles really have followed her home somehow?
And if so, was Sigrid right—was she trying to tell Harper something?
Something about what happened to Delilah?
“Fairly early, eight o’clock. We’re meeting at the back gate, it leads onto Brazilia Avenue. We’re still not supposed to go in the front gate, or muck with the scene under the cypress. But you’re all welcome, if you want to take a look.”
“I’d love to see inside,” said Gabe. “Sadly, I promised to escort my elderly neighbor to church services in the a.m.”
“Next time,” said Asher. He held Tariq’s gaze for a moment, but Tariq said nothing. “Well then, I’d better get going. Thank you for the drink, Tariq. Good night, Gabe. And, Harper, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A silence fell over the table after he left.
“Anyone up for a duet?” Gabe asked. “Looks like the microphone is free.”
Tariq and Harper demurred.
“Aw, you’re no fun,” said Gabe, downing the last of his beer and getting to his feet. “Well, in that case, I’d best get going, myself. Thank you, Tariq, as always, for a fascinating evening. Harper, see you around campus.”
After Gabe left, Tariq turned to Harper. “Are you seriously planning to meet with Asher tomorrow?”
“Why not?”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t trust him.”
“Then come with us.”
“I can’t. We have some major donors visiting the aquarium tomorrow, and we’re putting on a bit of an event to welcome them.”
“Jellyfish lovers?”
“I hope so, though usually the otters get all the attention. But seriously, Harper. Asher puts me on edge.”
“I don’t know the details of your history with him, but he seems perfectly nice to me.”
“I don’t trust anyone who’s that good-looking.”
“You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself, mister,” she scoffed. “Besides, you two seemed to get along fine tonight.”
“Hey, I’m a civilized guy. Just because I’m polite doesn’t mean I like someone.”
“I really do want to go back and see the Perles Mansion. Maybe take a look at that journal.”
“Why?”
“There’s something in that house…I don’t know. When I went in with the detective, something seemed really odd, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what. Didn’t you notice it, that first night?”
Their gaze held for a moment.
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts,” said Tariq.
“I don’t. But I believe in history.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tariq asked, an edge to his voice.