“What would be Highbaugh’s motive? Didn’t he make a lot of money representing her?”
“We assume he did, but who knows if that’s true? Even if it is, Delilah Mason’s death would increase the value of her paintings, and therefore his percentage of the profits. It’s just the way the art world works. And from what I’ve heard, Highbaugh needed money. Could it be that simple?”
“Seems a rather convoluted way to make money. I mean, maybe kill her, but why bury her like that? What would be the point?”
“To throw everyone off the scent, maybe? So people would think that it had something to do with a reenactment of Isabel Perles’s death?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” said Ellen.
“Also, I think I saw him at the bar one night, talking to Joel. A man in a suit; Highbaugh is always in a suit.”
“A lot of people wear suits.”
“Not at the Pearl, they don’t. And Joel was constantly drinking from his big orange water bottle—if Highbaugh was meeting with him, he could have slipped something into it.” Harper felt the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “Plus…the tarp.”
“What tarp?”
“Delilah Mason was stabbed before she died. Asher said his sister painted in her living room, and always put down a tarp to protect the original wooden floors. Alastair Highbaugh had a tarp flecked with paint with a big, reddish-brown stain in the middle. Sergeant Emerson of the Fort Ord MP gave it to me; I have it in my trunk.”
“Harper, it’s time to call the police, don’t you think?” Ellen said, looking worried.
“Good point.” Harper dialed Detective Serrano, but this time he did not pick up. She left him a detailed message about finding possible evidence and a likelier suspect in Delilah’s murder.
Jonathan returned, coffee and cookies in hand, and they chatted for a while.
“I’d best be going,” Harper said after a bit. “Time to speak with the prissiest person I’ve met here: Alastair Highbaugh.”
“Harper, hon, I wish you wouldn’t. If what you suspect is true, Highbaugh could be dangerous.”
“I’ll swing by his gallery. It’s a public place on a busy street in Carmel. I should be safe enough.”
Thirty-Four
The note in the window of Highbaugh’s gallery announced it was closed due to the storm.
Rats. That was a bit of a letdown. Harper had been amping herself up the entire way to Carmel. It was probably just as well, she decided. She started this trip with a great sense of purpose, but on the drive down had given Ellen’s warning some thought. If Alastair Highbaugh really was responsible for Delilah’s death, Harper might need more than pepper spray to protect herself. She debated stopping at Ellen’s to borrow her gun, but then what? Was she honestly going to attempt a citizen’s arrest of a violent murderer?
And if not, then why was she going there?
Harper kept thinking of the old photograph of Isabel Perles, and everything she had learned about the poor woman. She imagined Isabel living in that house with her grave-robbing brother conducting autopsies—and who knows what else—down in his laboratory. She imagined what had happened between the siblings, and the baby that had resulted.
According to Sigrid, Isabel had forged some kind of connection with Harper through that shrouded mirror. And she must have done the same with Delilah. It made no rational sense, but at this point Harper was willing to entertain the possibility that there was something supernatural going on.
Perhaps one real conversation with an otherworldly spirit would clear up this entire mystery. If Harper were brave enough to gaze once more into that mirror, then maybe, just maybe, she could communicate with Isabel Perles and get some answers.
Harper decided she would return to the Perles Mansion. But she needed backup.
Unfortunately, she did not have a lot of friends in the area. Especially kick-ass ones who could provide backup. That did it: Presuming she did not die soon at the hands of a murderer or an angry spirit, she was going to get out more.
After a moment’s hesitation, Harper called her one kick-ass friend, but she was not surprised when Tariq did not pick up. She had essentially accused him of murder just a few short hours ago, and now she was going to ask him to escort her to have a chat with a spirit in a mirror? She did not leave a message.
She at least needed someone with an open mind and a sense of whimsy, Harper decided. She called Gabe.
“You know how you said you wanted to see inside the Perles Mansion?” she said. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.”
The storm seemed to be easing up by the time she arrived at the mansion and let herself in through the gate. Running through the rain toward the front door, she noticed that it stood ajar.
“Gabe?” she called out.
