Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Her eyes flew open.
A man was standing over her.
“The journal. Where is it?” he whispered fiercely. She could barely make him out in the dim light streaming in through her gingham curtains: Asher Mason.
“Asher? It—it’s there, in the basement. At the Perles Mansion. On the floor, where you threw it.”
“It isn’t. I looked! And you locked me in!”
In one quick move, Harper rolled, jumped out of the other side of the bed, and grabbed her pepper spray and car keys from the nightstand. A flick of the car fob set off her car alarm. The neighbors were going to love her.
“Asher, you need to leave. Now. The neighbors will be calling the police in about twenty seconds. Tomorrow, I’ll go back and help you find the journal.” Right after hell freezes over.
“You took it, didn’t you?” Asher said, clearly bothered by the shrieking car alarm but still visibly angry. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Listen to me, Asher. Please. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, you experienced a sudden tragedy, and I’m not sure you’re—”
He lunged at her from across the bed. She bolted for the door, but he caught her by the hair before she was halfway there.
She kicked and yelled. They fell to the floor, grappling.
Asher was much stronger than she was, but Harper managed to aim the pepper spray in his general direction, turned her head, and pushed the lever.
He cried out and reared back, coughing and squeezing his eyes shut.
Harper was also hacking and crying, having inhaled some of the irritant just by virtue of being in its vicinity. On all fours, she scrambled to the front door and managed to open it, but Asher grabbed her from behind and pulled her back inside.
Harper spun around and sprayed him again, this time directly in his face. He doubled over, gasping and coughing and retching, and she shoved him out the door and onto the landing. She tried to slam the door shut, but he pushed back, his fingers curled around the side of the door.
“Give it to me!”
“I’ll give it to you, all right,” Harper muttered, struggling to keep the door from opening farther.
She spied the antique iron doorstop on the floor near the door, leaned over to grab it, and pounded his hand as hard as she could.
He cried out, stumbled backward, and she heard a strangled scream followed by a god-awful clatter.
She cautiously peered out the door. Asher had tumbled down the wooden stairs and lay on his back on the wet ground, coughing and choking.
On the lawn, a white-haired woman was standing in the rain.
Isabel? Had the ghost visited her again?
But this woman wore a bright pink flannel nightie with turquoise flamingos and was pointing a gun at Asher.
“You okay, hon?” Ellen called out. “Thought I heard a commotion back here.”
Harper nodded. Still coughing, her eyes streaming with tears from the spray, she descended the slippery stairs carefully.
“Is he…?”
“He’s moaning a lot,” said Ellen, nudging him with her foot. “I suppose he’ll live. I called 911, the police are on their way. Did he hurt you?”
Harper shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I managed to spray myself along with him, and I’m a little scraped up, but I’m okay. Better than Asher, anyway.”
Asher, coughing and retching, let out a loud groan and reached for his knee. “My leg!”
“My word! Real sorry about that, Asher,” Ellen said, not sounding at all sorry. “But you reap what you sow.”
The police placed Asher Mason under arrest and took him for medical attention.
After answering some questions, Harper went back to bed and was able to catch a little more sleep, though in the morning she was running late.
She made herself coffee and braved the rain to fetch the newspaper.
According to the lead article, the medical examiner had determined that although being stabbed and suffocated contributed to Delilah Mason’s death, ultimately what caused her demise was oleander poisoning, which left her semicomatose, and eventually sent her into cardiac arrythmia.
The article concluded that Delilah’s boyfriend, Mario Lombardi, had been arrested for her murder.
Mario? That can’t be right, Harper thought. Mario seemed genuinely upset about what had happened to Delilah. Could he have been that ruthless?
True, Harper barely knew him. And solving a murder required figuring out, and being able to prove, motive and means and opportunity. Hunches and feelings weren’t enough. It didn’t help that Mario had admitted he had dug that grave under the Witch Tree. Or at least the hole that became a grave.
Still.
Unfortunately, Harper was not free to look into it any more today.
She had classes to teach.
Harper ran into Gabe Ruiz in the faculty mail room. After exchanging small talk, and filling Gabe in on what had happened with Joel at the Perles Mansion, Harper asked him about that long-ago stage production that included Joel and Delilah.
“Harper, are you really asking me if anything happened during the production of The Importance of Being Earnest that foretold that Delilah Mason and Joel Aristide would die gruesome deaths, years after the final curtain call?”
“Not after you put it that way,” Harper said.
Gabe laughed. “Wish I could help you out, but I just don’t see how the theater could be relevant. As far as I know, all the others in the play are still alive. Alastair Highbaugh is still with us, isn’t he?”
“So far, anyway.”
“I can tell you that onstage, Joel was a real ham but rather entertaining, and Delilah was surprisingly good; never forgot a line. And beautiful, of course. That always helps.” Gabe poured himself a cup of coffee and blew on the steam.
“Now that I’m thinking about it, Joel had one odd run-in with the brother. ”
“Asher?”
Gabe nodded. “I heard it from someone who heard it from someone else, so I really don’t know what happened. But I gathered that Delilah and Asher were in the costume room, Joel came upon them, and there was a kerfuffle followed by various threats. But it seemed to sort itself out.”
“You spent some time with all three of them—any guesses?”
Gabe paused, as if weighing his words. “You know, I hate to speak ill of the dead, or spread gossip, but Delilah and Asher often seemed…closer than one might expect of a brother and sister.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“It made me wonder if Joel found them in a compromising situation and used it for his own gain.”
“You think he saw something incriminating, and then blackmailed Delilah?”
Gabe shrugged. “Don’t quote me on it because this is pure supposition. But Delilah didn’t suffer fools gladly, and he wasn’t part of her social circle. Blackmail would explain why Delilah put up with Joel and his ghost tour.”
Stopping by her office before class, Harper placed a call to Tariq.
Before she could say anything, he asked, “How about I take you to dinner tonight?”
“You mean like a proper date?”
“I don’t know how proper it will be, much less how proper it will remain, but yes. I would like you to accompany me to dinner tonight, assuming you are free.”
Harper smiled. And then they did that thing that new lovers do, which she had forgotten about because it had been so long since she’d been interested in anyone: They hung on the line, not speaking but not ready to hang up.
She could hear his soft breathing and imagined him smiling just as she was.
She was on the verge of telling him what had happened with Asher the night before, but was loath to break the spell.
Probably a story better told in person, anyway.
“You still there?” he asked in a sexy growl.
“Yep. Just imagining you being improper.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ for dinner?”
“I didn’t say that already? Yes, kind sir. I would love to go to dinner with you.”
“Pick you up at seven. Oh, and, Harper? Wear your glasses. I’ve always had a bit of a schoolteacher fantasy.”
“Professor?” Blanca said, after class. Aurelio trailed her, but remained silent. “I wanted to tell you that Jenny and Aurelio and I went back to the Perles Mansion and cleaned up the mess we made in the mirror room.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “We felt really bad about it.”
“That was good of you. Did you have permission, or did you just break in?”
“Oh, we didn’t have to break in. The door was kind of open, so we just went in.”
Harper sighed. “Do you understand the concept of trespassing, Blanca? Aurelio? That’s a private residence.”
“I know, but after talking to you we just felt so bad. Jenny especially. Besides, we always go there to decorate the graves for the Day of the Dead.”
“The graves in the oleander bushes? Why?”
Blanca’s expression was wide-eyed and sincere.
“Because it’s important to remember the dead.
Someone had already decorated it, though, so I guess we weren’t the only ones thinking that way.
But the more we looked into local history and everything, it sort of felt like Isabel Perles, especially, should be remembered. Not so sure about the brother.”
“Where is Jenny today?” Harper asked. “I noticed she wasn’t in class.”
“That’s the thing. We don’t know.” Blanca glanced over her shoulder, as if to be sure no one was listening. “We think Jenny’s missing.”
“What do you mean, she’s missing?”
“We haven’t seen her? She was investigating, you know? And she didn’t come back.”
“Did you call the police?”
Blanca nodded. “They said she’s an adult and has a right to disappear if she wants to. Told me to call back if she didn’t turn up after a day or two.”
“Where was she going to investigate?”
“To Pebble Beach. She wanted to talk to the ex-husband, Benjamin Philips. She knows a guy who caddies at the Pebble Beach golf club, and she thought maybe she could get Philips to talk to her.”
“About what?”
“I’m not sure…” Blanca lowered her voice. “Maybe about the murder? Or his development plans? But I don’t really know.”
Harper registered the tapping of high heels on tile and saw Naomi Ruger clacking her way toward them.
“She’s his girlfriend,” Blanca whispered.
Harper looked at the Nemesis. Worth a shot.
“Hello, Dr. Ruger,” said Harper. “Do you have a moment to chat? All four of us.”
Naomi’s gaze flickered over Blanca and Aurelio, and her smooth brow was marred with a small frown. “Yes?”
“Why don’t we go into my office?”
“It’s about Jenny Enos,” Harper said after they had all sat down. “She went to meet with Benjamin Philips, and Blanca and Aurelio haven’t seen her since.”
“What did she want to talk to Ben about?” Naomi demanded.
Blanca wilted. “She just, like, wanted to talk to him? About his development project, and the rumors of toxic contamination on the old Fort Ord? Like, for the podcast? But now I can’t get hold of her, so I thought…”
“You see?” Naomi said, glaring at Harper. “This is what happens when you come waltzing in with all your ridiculous ghost stories. Ruined a perfectly good science major. Now Jenny wants to be a podcaster, of all things.”
“I’m not sure that had much to do with me,” protested Harper. “Jenny and Blanca were doing the podcast long before I arrived.”
“Totally. Please, Dr. Ruger,” Blanca intervened. “If you could call him, maybe? Just to see if he’s seen her? I wouldn’t ask, but Jenny’s, like, real serious about the podcast. She isn’t one to just disappear.”
Naomi looked at Harper. “Well? What do you think?”
“I think Jenny is a responsible young woman—ambitious and intelligent.” Harper decided not to mention Jenny trespassing and taking part in a séance. “And unlikely to take off without telling someone, especially her best friends.”
“Very well,” Naomi said, tapping her phone with a French-tipped finger. “The truth is, Ben’s been acting wonky for days now. If he’s involved with something untoward, I’ll kill him myself.”
Benjamin Philips did not pick up. Naomi left a voicemail that Harper, at least, would be afraid not to return. Dr. Naomi Ruger was not a woman to be gainsaid. Blanca and Harper shared a smile at her tone.
“He’ll call back,” said Naomi, slipping her phone back into her leather bag. “I’ll let you know what he says. In the meantime, you two should check with some of your classmates. No offense, but some of them are pretty sketchy.”
Blanca got to her feet. “Okay. Thanks, Professors.”
Aurelio stood and managed a quiet “Thank you” before scooting out the door after Blanca.
After they left, Harper said, “Naomi, would you be willing to look at some lab notes for me, and give me your opinion?”
“What kind of lab notes?”
“Old ones. Really old.”
Sometimes friend, sometimes foe.
There are times she gets so angry that she smashes the very mirrors
through which she manifests.
She has asked one thing of me, only one thing.
Looking through the looking glass,
I know what I must do.