Or maybe it was as simple as Detective Serrano had suggested: Nobody liked to hear from a homicide detective.
Plumes Coffee House stood on the corner of Franklin and Alvarado, next door to the allegedly haunted Monterey Hotel. Harper spotted Jenny sitting with Blanca at a table by the rear wall.
She ordered a double latte—her fourth cup of coffee that day, or maybe the fifth?—and told herself that she had to start getting more sleep or give up coffee entirely because surely that much caffeine was not good for a body. The barista handed her the drink, and Harper joined her students, settingher tall glass down next to two plates on which were the remnants of sugary pastries. Had Jenny and Blanca been here awhile, getting their stories straight?
“Good morning, Professor,” said Blanca.
“Good morning,” said Harper. “What are we all drinking today?”
Blanca’s concoction was served in a mason jar with a straw and crowned by a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. All it was missing was the colorful paper umbrella.
“It’s a Nutella frappe.Sogood. Wanna try?”
“Thanks, I’m more of a coffee person.”
“It has coffee in it,” said Jenny, holding up her own glass. “Mine’s a Mexican mocha.”
“When it comes to coffee, I’m a purist. Those look more like milkshakes than coffee to me.”Sheesh, way to be a wet blanket, Harp.“But they do look delicious. Enjoy, by all means.”
The students each took a gulp of their drinks.
“So. Jenny, mind telling me what you were doing at the Perles Mansion yesterday?”
“How did you know?” Jenny asked.
“Never mind that. Were you there, too, Blanca?”
Blanca shook her head. “I’m, like, just here for moral support?”
“Okay, then, Jenny, start talking. Was this some sort of stunt for your podcast?”
The young women exchanged a glance. “No. I mean, sort of? I, like, did record it. But it really had more to do with the chicken.”
“The chicken,” Harper repeated, remembering the nightmarish scene in that mirrored room, walls and floor painted in blood and feathers, the gory reflections stretching to infinity.
“I’m an animal lover?” began Blanca. “And I heard they were going to sacrifice a chicken, and—”
“I was the one who—” interrupted Jenny.
“Because they usually use other body parts, and—”
They were talking over each other, arguing, and Harper could make no sense of what they were saying.
“Stop!” Harper said, using her teacher voice. Her tone was so effective that a young man passing by their table obediently halted in his tracks. “Sorry, not you,” she said, waving him off. “Go on about your business.”
She turned to Blanca and Jenny. “Listen, you two—”
“Are you going to tell?” Jenny asked.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m leaning that way.”
“But it wasn’t anything about Delilah Mason, honest! It’s just that I’m a real animal lover. I went there to make sure they didn’t hurt the chicken.”
“But…they slaughtered the poor thing,” Harper pointed out.
“I mean, yeah. But they were quick about it. It didn’t suffer.”
“Uh-huh,” said Harper, sipping her coffee.
