Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
Joel’s broken body was splayed on the slate patio, a bright red halo of blood radiating out from his head, staining the stone. Overhead, the branches of the cypress shimmered and shook, despite the stillness of the night.
“Joel!” Harper called out. Joel remained motionless.
Asher began hurling himself against the hard glass surfaces of the mirrored walls, like a moth maniacally flinging its body at the glass of a lantern.
Harper turned and headed for the door. She was almost there when Asher suddenly stopped his flailing and darted in front of her, blocking her path.
“He read that journal, you know,” said Asher. “Joel said he didn’t, but I know he did. He’s been lording this over us for years now. Where is it? Where’s the journal?”
“It’s in the basement, remember?” Harper said. “Where you left it.”
He pushed past her and ran down the stairs.
Harper bolted after him. She experienced that same horrifying telescoping sensation, the nightmarish feeling that she was not in control of her own body.
But then she found herself in front of the open basement door, and the odd sensations suddenly disappeared.
Things crashed and fell as Asher rummaged around in the laboratory, searching for the journal.
Harper slammed the basement door shut, locked it, then pushed a heavy bureau in front of the door for good measure.
Then she ran for the door, the sound of Asher banging on the basement door following her.
“Open this door! Now!” he bellowed. “Bitch!”
As she ran, Harper glanced into the living room, but Highbaugh was gone. The shroud was once again draped over the mirror.
Outside in the garden, Harper knelt by Joel’s side. “Joel?”
He did not respond to her voice, and if he was breathing, it was too shallow to be detected.
His skin was clammy under her fingers as she felt his neck for a pulse.
She didn’t detect any signs of life, but she was no expert.
She could not tell for certain whether or not he was alive, and she was afraid to move him.
The muffled sounds of Asher cursing and flinging himself at the blocked basement door filtered out to the patio.
Harper ran around the back of the mansion to where she had left her car, one hand grabbing at the journal that threatened to fall from her waistband.
Highbaugh’s car was gone. When had the gallery owner left?
Had he heard the commotion upstairs—or seen what happened to Joel?
Or had he slipped out earlier, his tally of Delilah’s paintings completed?
Harper locked herself in her car, shoved the journal under her seat, pulled out of the alley, and drove down another block before pulling over and dialing 911. This time the call went through.
Just as the dispatcher answered, Harper saw the big black dog running down the street, away from her. Harper blew out a frustrated breath.
Joel took precedence at the moment.
The dog would have to wait.
When the paramedics and the police arrived, Harper joined them in the Séance Garden.
Sadly, Joel was beyond help. One of the first responding officers released Asher from the basement and took his statement, then Detective Serrano spoke at length with Asher. Eventually, Harper saw the detective heading her way.
“Professor Grae. We meet again,” he said. “Tell me: How did you happen to be here today?”
Harper gave a brief summary of Asher inviting her to tour the house while Highbaugh looked through Delilah’s art.
“How well do you know Asher Mason?” he asked.
“We just met yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Um…in a bar.” Sounded a bit seedy, when she said it like that. She added: “At karaoke night.” Now it sounded silly.
“Uh-huh,” Serrano muttered, and reviewed his notes. “According to Mr. Mason, he and Joel Aristide were arguing but got separated. He says Joel saw something in a mirror, freaked out, and flung himself out the window.” Detective Serrano looked at Harper. “That make any sense to you?”
Harper took a deep breath. “I didn’t see what happened. I heard them arguing, but I was still downstairs.”
“Aristide seem suicidal to you?”
“I hardly knew him.” Harper’s voice sounded faraway to her own ears, as if it belonged to someone else.
It was midmorning and the sun was shining, yet the scene was sadly reminiscent of the night they found Delilah: the shadows of the garden lit up by flashing red lights, the little yellow triangles of evidence markers, the police photographer recording the scene.
“I met Joel exactly twice,” Harper continued. “The first time was the night of the ghost tour. The second time was at the antiquarian society. Today was the third time, and he was acting as if he was drunk, or maybe high.”
“When I spoke to him the night Delilah Mason was found, Aristide told me he didn’t drink,” said Detective Serrano. “He said he had gotten sober.”
“Maybe he relapsed. It happens.”
“Maybe so.”
“Check the water bottle Joel dropped in the hallway. My money’s on vodka,” said Harper. “That’s what my dad always put in his water bottle.”
“I’ll have it tested. A toxicology panel is routine in these kinds of cases,” Serrano said, looking at his notes. “I understand you locked Asher Mason in the basement. Any particular reason for that?”
“He was acting oddly.”
“In what way?”
“He got very agitated, and I did not feel safe.”
“This have to do with the journal he’s been ranting about?”
“Could be. When we were in the basement, he suddenly became angry about the journal and tossed it aside. Then he accused Joel of locking us in the basement and chased him upstairs. I heard them arguing, then heard a crash, which I assumed was one of the mirrors breaking. I tried calling 911, but the call didn’t go through, so I went upstairs. ”
“Why’d you put yourself in danger? Seems pretty foolish, under the circumstances.”
“I—I can’t really explain why. This house has a strange effect on me. Anyway, I can’t say what happened with Joel because I wasn’t there. But for what it’s worth, Joel didn’t strike me as suicidal. Under the influence, but not suicidal.”
“Asher Mason implied that Aristide might have felt guilty with regard to the death of Ms. Mason, and the alcohol pushed him over the edge,” Serrano said.
“I’ll interview some of his friends, see if I can get a handle on what was going on in his life.
Could be there’s something else. We had cleared him as a person of interest in Delilah Mason’s murder, but I’ll take another look.
Sometimes it’s the ones you’d least suspect. ”
Harper nodded.
“What led to you locking Mr. Mason in the basement?”
“After I went upstairs, Asher went to retrieve the journal. I followed and locked him in.”
“And why was that, again?”
“Like I said—he was acting strangely. Very angry and threatening. He was safe enough down there, so I went outside to check on Joel and called 911 again. This time, the call went through.”
“What about the art dealer, Alastair Highbaugh? Where was he during all this?”
“He was in the living room when Asher and I went to the basement, but I didn’t see him after that.”
Serrano nodded and gestured to the other side of the garden, where Highbaugh was animatedly talking to a detective. “He returned, actually, after calling 911 himself. He’s giving a statement to my colleague.”
Highbaugh appeared exhilarated. Harper imagined he was rarely exposed to this kind of excitement.
Neither was she, of course, but Highbaugh seemed swept up in the drama of it all.
She could hear him recounting the story and speculating that Joel must have been involved in Delilah’s murder, claiming Joel had seemed possessed.
After what seemed like ages, the detective told Harper she was free to go.
“Okay, you know the drill,” said Detective Serrano. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, you give me a call.”
Sitting in her car, Harper tapped the steering wheel.
It was hard to know what to do next. Other than the horrifying experience with her mother dying, Harper had gone her entire life without tripping over a dead body. And now, over the course of a week, she’d been a witness to not one life ending violently, but two.
And Asher’s sudden transformation from affable to enraged had been…
bizarre. Disturbing. And why had he thrown himself at the mirrors in the Reflection room?
Was he affected strangely by the Perles Mansion, too?
Tariq and Detective Serrano seemed not to notice anything odd about the property, but Harper could no longer deny that it had an inexplicable, powerful effect on her.
Could the building truly be haunted? Was such a thing actually possible? Or could there be a logical explanation? Was she dehydrated? Sleep-deprived? Was there a carbon monoxide leak?
Trauma triggered trauma; she knew that much from therapy.
The sensations of losing her mother kept coming back to her, no matter that she did not know Delilah Mason, and barely knew Joel Aristide.
She kept hearing that damned requiem from her mother’s funeral; the mournful music repeating incessantly in her head.
Harper felt an urge to call Scout, just to hear her voice, but her sister was lost to her now.
She had other old friends, but did not feel capable of catching someone up on what had been happening for the past week or so.
It would be like trying to recount a four-hour-long movie. A long, involved horror movie.
Finally, she called Tariq. “Hey, whatcha doin’?”
“Getting ready to head out on the boat, collect some samples. Why? What’s up?”
Harper opened her mouth to tell him about Joel, but her throat tightened, and nothing came out but a high-pitched squeak.
“Harp? Tell me what’s going on.”
Harper took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I’m…I’m inviting myself along on the boat to collect samples. Is that okay?”
“Sure, that can be arranged, as long as you’re willing to wear an ugly orange life vest. I’ll pick you up at your place in half an hour.”