“His point was that when it comes to medicines, they can all be poisonous if not administered properly,” Harper continued. “As I said, you should probably consult with a toxicologist. I know mostly about how poisons and medicines were used historically, in the pursuit of crowns, or lovers, or positions in the court…”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Which is obviously not what you’re asking,” Harper continued. “Bottom line: It’s not that hard to poison someone. Not historically, and not today. It certainly doesn’t require training or expertise. A little antifreeze in a smoothie, an overdose of readily available drugs such as insulin or nicotine, or even eye drops like Visine. And of course, a lot of garden-variety plants and roots are poisonous if ingested.”
“Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.”
“I’ve also watched a lot of true-crime shows. Does this line of questioning have anything to do with Soren Perles?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been listening to local ghost stories,” Serrano said.
“It’s not that. I thought maybe his old laboratory…Never mind.”
“How did you know about the laboratory?”
“The ghost tour leader mentioned it. Joel Aristide.”
“Guy’s got a big mouth.” Detective Serrano snapped his notebook closed. “Here’s the deal: Delilah Mason hardly ever used her cell phone, apparently she thought they were ahealth risk. Usually text messages and call histories are a gold mine when it comes to this sort of thing, so without that we’re sort of flying blind.”
“Oh, that’s too bad…”
“You busy right now, Professor?”
Harper glanced at the clock: It was almost five. “My office hours are just about over. Why?”
“Let’s take a ride.”
The gate of the Perles Mansion was festooned with even more flowers and candles, as well as a smattering of handwritten notes thumbtacked to the wood. The teddy bear still held the string of a helium balloon that bobbed laconically in the breeze, and a few Halloween decorations had been added to the mix: the figure of a witch, a silhouette of a black cat.
Dusk came early in mid-October, and the orangey light made the scene appear softer and yet more sinister. The sun’s final rays streamed through the twisting cypress branches, painting the sidewalk in shades of pink and gold, reminding Harper of Delilah Mason’s early California impressionist works.
The garish yellow crime scene tape sealing the gate had been cut. Serrano pushed the door open and waved Harper in.
Unsettled, Harper reminded herself to breathe. Her heart pounded, and she felt perspiration on her upper lip.Just a trauma reaction,she thought.Nothing to be nervous about.
Hesitantly, she passed through the gate.
Everything was more or less as it had been the night they found Delilah: The garden was dominated by the massivecypress tree, its twisting black branches reaching high overhead, and crowded with oleander bushes on all sides. Harper tried to keep her gaze averted from the spot where they had found Delilah. The mournful angel statue still knelt and gazed down at the disturbed dirt, seemingly despondent. The former grave was cordoned off with crime scene tape, and one forlorn yellow evidence cone lay on its side. The Perles Mansion’s front door was closed against the elements, the latch area sadly splintered.
On the second floor, in the same window as before, there was a dim glow—or could it be a trick of the late-afternoon light? And was that a silhouette in the window, as if someone stood behind the curtain, peeking out?
Harper’s heart caught in her throat. Sigrid’s words came back to her:“That’s the Reflection room…Delilah loved to stand at that window and look out over the garden, into the branches of her tree.”
Harper glanced at the no-nonsense countenance of Detective Serrano, and opened her mouth to say something. But when she looked up at the window again, she saw nothing. No glow, no shadow. Just darkness.
Harper felt hot, then cold. She tried to measure her breathing, slowly in through her nose, even more slowly out through her mouth.
“You okay, Professor?” Serrano asked.
“A little rattled, but yes. I have a question,” she said, mostly to distract herself. “Isn’t this a crime scene? Is it okay that we’re here?”
He hesitated for a moment, apparently measuring his words.
“We’ve identified a person of interest. I just need to cross a few more things off my list.”
“Who is it?”
He shook his head. “Still developing the case. That’s one reason I want to hear your thoughts. Just don’t touch anything.”
