“I did not. Mr. Mason was very clear: I was to meet him outside the back gate. Unless I’m mistaken, that’s where I am. Where we are, I should say.” There was silence for a moment, then Highbaugh continued. “I admit I was relieved when he said that. I did not want to see where poor Ms. Mason was found. Buried under the cypress tree? Of all places.”
Harper nodded. “Indeed. You must have known her well.”
“Not especially,” he replied curtly. “I was a business acquaintance, not a personal friend. We were both clear about that.”
“I see,” Harper said. “Tell me, how did you come to own a gallery? Have you always been an art lover?”
Highbaugh appeared to relax a little. “I’m a failed artist, I’m afraid. I learned the hard way that enthusiasm can’t make up for a lack of talent. I wasn’t sure what to do next, but then my wife suggested I try representing artists. A different role in the art world, to be sure, but every bit as important. If an artist can’t sell her work, she can’t eat.”
Highbaugh was married?That was surprising. He struck her as a solitary creature, catlike, observant and calculating. But maybe that just showed how bad she was at reading people.
“Does your wife—?”
Harper’s question was cut off when the gate swung open and a large man emerged, holding a sizable ax. Highbaugh and Harper both took an involuntary step back.
Gruff-looking and muscular, but handsome in a roughhewn way, the man appeared to be in his early thirties. He looked as surprised to see them as they were to see him. After a brief moment, Harper recognized him: He had been on the ghost tour, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Hello,” she said. “I remember you from the other day. Mario, right?”
He nodded, but did not reply.
Harper glanced at Highbaugh, who looked as if he were about to hightail it back to his car.
“Did Asher Mason ask you to let us in?” Harper asked.
“Asher’s coming here?” Mario replied. “Now?”
“I certainly hope so. He was supposed to be here at eight. He wanted to meet early in the day, he said,” Highbaugh replied. “I do detest tardiness.”
“I’d better get going, then,” said Mario, frowning.
“Wait, what were you doing here?” Harper asked.
“This is private property,” Highbaugh added.
“I left a few tools here. Need them for work.” His voice broke, and Harper was surprised to see tears in his red-rimmed eyes. “Delilah and I were…”
“Seeing each other?” Harper suggested.
He wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. The police have been all over me. I would be the last person who would ever hurt her.”
“You ran away that night,” Harper said. “When we found her.”
“I freaked out,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t even realize it was her until after, and let me tell you, I felt awful. She always told me there were spirits in the house, or whatever, so I really lost it when I heard something under the tree.”
“It was an extraordinary situation,” said Harper.
“Delilah was getting sort of paranoid, you know? Thought the renovations had stirred up the spirits, and then she started saying things were being stolen from the house.”
“And you didn’t believe her?”
He shrugged. “Why would anyone want weird old things? Or, like, an ancient medicine cabinet?”
“She said a medicine cabinet was stolen?”
“Yeah. The portable kind that I guess old-timey doctors used to have. I figured it must’ve belonged to the old doc who lived here a long time ago. It was old and funky, always gave me a weird vibe. Can’t imagine who would want to steal something like that.”
“Did it have markings on it?”
