Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
“Alistair, if you’re all set here, I’m going to show Harper a bit more of the house,” Asher said.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Highbaugh. He had turned back to the paintings and was busily taking snapshots and making notes.
Asher led the way through a doorway at the back of the room. “Voilà, the servants’ stairway,” he said.
“Because you wouldn’t want to meet the servants on the main stairs, for Pete’s sake,” said Harper.
“Exactly,” Asher said with a chuckle. “And through here is the sun porch. Apparently there used to be scorch marks in that corner, there. Someone tried to burn the place down, a long time ago.”
“It’s charming,” Harper said of the bright and airy room. “It’s clear Delilah did a lot of work on the house, and I’m sure most of it was the less fun stuff that we don’t see—electrical and plumbing, that sort of thing.”
“She truly loved this house, more than…”
He trailed off with a shake of his head. The look on his face was tragic, bleak. His bright blue eyes were shiny with tears.
Harper felt awkward, as though she were intruding on a doting brother’s grief. She went to stand by the window, which looked out onto the garden, the mournful angel statue, and the grand cypress.
“Do you know the story of Isabel Perles?” Asher asked, coming up behind Harper and standing so close she could feel his breath on her neck.
“A little.”
“Delilah was fascinated by the home’s original owners, especially Isabel. That’s where she was found, you know,” he said, his tone desolate. “Right there, under the cypress tree.”
“You mean…?”
“Isabel Perles.”
“Oh, right. They say she was buried under the tree, but I saw a grave marker for her in a corner of the garden, almost entirely hidden by the bushes. Two graves: one for her, and one for her brother, Soren.”
But none for a baby.
“They must have moved her.”
Before Harper could ask who would have moved her and why, she heard Highbaugh in the other room exclaiming, “Oh! This one! Yes, yes, yes. A real treasure. You’ll get top dollar for these paintings, Asher. A pretty penny indeed.”
“Harper, I wanted to ask you something,” said Asher.
“Shoot.” Uncomfortable with him standing so closely, she moved away.
“How well do you know Tariq?” Asher asked.
“I’ve known him for a long time. Since grad school.”
“He had a difficult time growing up, you know.”
“Were you two friends when you were young?” Harper was torn between wanting to know more and feeling disloyal for listening to gossip about her friend.
Asher shook his head. “I had him investigated when he began to date my sister.”
“Why would you do that?”
“It’s the modern world, Harper. A simple background check can be illuminating.”
“And what did the background check show?”
“He was a military brat, went to graduate school in marine science. Has a decent job but doesn’t own much. No brothers or sisters; his parents retired to a trailer park in Yuma.”
“Meaning?” Harper felt a twinge of annoyance at what sounded like a note of scorn in Asher’s voice.
Was that disdain for someone not fortunate enough to grow up with money and own a multimillion-dollar home on the exclusive California coast?
“Seems to me Tariq’s accomplished some pretty admirable things: a PhD from Berkeley and a professional position at the Monterey Aquarium. ”
“Oh, he’s certainly intelligent,” Asher said. “Although the private investigator did find some concerning information.”
“Tariq told me he got into some trouble as a kid,” Harper said. “Stupid kid stuff.”
“I’m afraid it was a little more serious than that. Tariq was adopted into a military family that had a biological son his same age. The son was killed in a suspicious hunting accident.”
She froze. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. They were kids, only twelve, if I recall,” he said with a tilt of his head.
“All I’m saying is that Tariq’s a hunter.
He knows his way around guns and knives.
And I find it disturbing that he of all people was here that night, that he was one of those who found Delilah—” Asher’s voice broke, and he cut himself off.
Harper’s heart went out to him even as she felt protective of Tariq, caught between fealty to her friend and wanting to understand what Asher was suggesting.
She remembered flailing in grief after her mother’s sudden death, her mind casting about for a reason, an explanation, wondering if there had been signs she should have noticed, wanting to blame the EMTs and a too-slow response at the emergency room.
Railing against the fact that symptoms of heart attacks in women were too often not recognized.
Railing against the priest who tried to comfort her with empty platitudes.
Railing against the commonplace cruelties of life.
People rarely understood how exhausting and confusing grief could be unless they’d experienced it themselves.
“You seem to be forgetting that I was there that night, too—in fact, I was the first to realize what was happening,” Harper pointed out. “And Mario was also on the tour.”
“I’m aware of that,” Asher said. “But you had never even met Delilah. Tariq and Mario not only knew her, they’d been involved with her.
I…Sometimes I look at them and think they’re just poor schmucks genuinely grieving my sister.
And then I think maybe one of them harmed her, and I want to tear him apart with my bare hands. ”
“Mr. Mason?” came Highbaugh’s voice from the other room.
“It’s Asher, please,” said Asher as he and Harper returned to the living room. “What can I help you with?”
“I was just wondering how we should proceed with this treasure trove. These paintings are far too valuable to leave here, unattended, with ax-wielding handymen and who knows who else running around. Anything could happen.”
Asher nodded and passed a hand over his face, blowing out a breath. “How do we handle this? Do I shove them all in the trunk of my car, or…?”
“Oh, good heavens, no. We engage a bonded art-transport service or have Emerson handle it. He has a firearms permit and knows his way around art. He’s familiar with the place, he’s been here several times, in fact, to bring some of Delilah’s paintings to the gallery.
I could make the arrangements to have it done right away, if you like. ”
“I would appreciate that,” said Asher. He gestured to the canvas sitting on the easel. “What about the unfinished ones, like this?”
“Those, too,” Highbaugh said. “Some collectors highly value an unfinished work because it gives them greater insight into the artist’s thought process. Though this one is…well, even more surreal than her typical work.”
“Oh, by the way,” Harper said to Asher, “a friend of your sister’s, Sigrid, mentioned that particular painting was promised to her.”
Highbaugh frowned.
“Sigrid? That’s the so-called witch person?” asked Asher.
“Um, yes…She was a good friend of your sister’s. She said Delilah painted at least part of this canvas in her garden in Salinas.”
All three of them stood back and studied the surreal work.
Painted in earth tones studded with deep teals and magentas, the canvas depicted an upside-down female figure being cocooned by vines as menacing black birds circled overhead.
A murder of crows. In one corner of the canvas Delilah had painted her living room fireplace with the mirror hanging above, a wraithlike figure seemingly emerging from it.
“Disturbing,” intoned Highbaugh. “And fascinating. Your sister was fascinating.”
“Ever and always,” Asher murmured. “As for now, basement?”
Harper nodded, and they headed out into the hall. When Asher opened the basement door, she was struck, as she had been the first time, with the stupefying, tactile sensation of humid air wrapping around her. The same sensation warning her: Don’t go down there.
Harper almost asked Asher to retrieve the journal for her but didn’t trust him to find it. She took a deep breath to center herself and followed him down the creaking wooden stairs.
The basement laboratory looked the same as when she had been there with Detective Serrano.
All of the antiquated equipment, the beakers and coiled tubing, the jars and vials full of mystery liquids, the dried leaves and flowers were there as before.
She noticed, again, that areas of the hard-packed dirt around the edges of the floor had been disturbed. Had something been buried there?
“This the journal you were talking about?” Asher asked, holding up the thick tome.
“That’s the one.”
He held it in one hand and allowed it to fall open. His eyes flickered and shifted as he read a few passages, turning one page after the other, speeding up as he skimmed the journal.
And then he seemed to transform, right in front of her eyes.
A muscle in his jaw started to work, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his breathing became rapid.
This time, when he looked at her, Harper did not register the beautiful blue of his eyes but instead wondered if she should have heeded Tariq’s warning.
“This is…These aren’t just old lab notes,” Asher growled. “My sister wrote in it.”
“Yes, I think she might have combined the old journal from Soren Perles with some of her own notes, and put a new cover on…”
“You can’t have this, this garbage.” He snapped the journal shut and flung it into a corner. “No one can have it. Not you, not anyone, do you hear me?”
Bang!
They jumped at the sound of the basement door slamming shut.
“What the hell?” Asher ran up the stairs and rattled the knob. “Highbaugh? Open this door immediately!”
With Asher distracted, Harper retrieved the journal from the dusty floor and shoved it into the rear waistband of her pants, making sure her long jacket covered it. She hurried over to join him on the stairs.
“Highbaugh!” Asher called out again, and banged on the old wood. “Damn it! Open this door!”
They heard a loud thump, then a giggle, and the door slowly swung open.
Asher cautiously looked around the door. “Highbaugh? Hello?”
“ ’Tis I,” said Joel, unsteady on his feet and sweating profusely. “Or should I say ’tis me?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Asher demanded. “And why did you lock us in?”
“I beg your pardon, kind sir! I did not lock you in, I let you out. And this is the thanks I get. Ungrateful wretch. All you Masons. Why are there bunnies bouncing? Do you see that?” Joel’s gaze shifted to Harper, and his orange water bottle fell to the ground as he pointed at her.
“You did this to me! It’s all your fault! ”
He turned on his heel and almost fell but grabbed the newel-post to steady himself.
Then, spouting something that sounded like lines from a play, Joel ran up the stairs to the second floor.
“I’m coming! Look at the bunnies…! Delilah, delulu, why why why, Delilah!
I’m coming! I know the truth! Everyone will soon know the truth! ”
“Stop this crap and come back here! Joel?” Asher yelled. “My sister is gone!”
When Joel did not reply, Asher raced after him, taking the stairs two at a time.
Harper hesitated, her heart pounding. Asher’s transformation in the basement had shaken her. And Joel was clearly under the influence, and incoherent. Neither man was appealing company at the moment.
She heard loud, angry shouting overhead. Were they going to kill each other? She grabbed her phone and started to dial 911.
Then came a scream, the sound of crashing glass, and a loud, sickening thud.