“When we were kids, we found a little basement window just big enough to allow us to slip through. Delilah was fascinated by it. That’s where she found the journal I mentioned to you, though I’m not sure if it’s the same one you saw. She has so many things, everywhere.” Asher looked over at a bookshelf crammed with tomes and crowded with tchotchkes, sighed, and shook his head. “It’s a lot to deal with.”
“Asher, I don’t mean to tell you what to do,” said Harper in a gentle voice. “But you lost your sister not long ago, and it was a terrible shock. You might want to take a while before you make decisions about her estate.”
He nodded, but she wasn’t sure if he was listening.Grief brain. She remembered it well.
“I understand that in addition to being an artist, your sister was also something of a scientist, experimenting with natural tonics.”
He murmured: “Delilah’s Gift.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She used to joke about it,” Asher laughed. “ ‘Gift’ means ‘poison’ in German.”
“Poison?” Harper repeated. She noticed that Highbaugh was staring at Asher, a shocked look on his face. “Why would she joke about something like that?”
“It was her sense of humor,” Asher said with a slight inclination of his head. “I thought it was funny, too. We shared a weird sense of humor, I guess. She was convinced that the so-called medications on the shelves were the real poison, while she had the secrets to the real cures.”
Twenty-Four
“Alistair, if you’re all set here, I’m going to show Harper a bit more of the house,” Asher said.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Highbaugh. He had turned back to the paintings and was busily taking snapshots and making notes.
Asher led the way through a doorway at the back of the room. “Voilà, the servants’ stairway,” he said.
“Because you wouldn’t want to meet the servants on the main stairs, for Pete’s sake,” said Harper.
“Exactly,” Asher said with a chuckle. “And through here is the sun porch. Apparently there used to be scorch marks in that corner, there. Someone tried to burn the place down, a long time ago.”
“It’s charming,” Harper said of the bright and airy room. “It’s clear Delilah did a lot of work on the house, and I’m sure most of it was the less fun stuff that we don’t see—electrical and plumbing, that sort of thing.”
“She truly loved this house, more than…”
He trailed off with a shake of his head. The look on his face was tragic, bleak. His bright blue eyes were shiny with tears.
Harper felt awkward, as though she were intruding on a doting brother’s grief. She went to stand by the window, which looked out onto the garden, the mournful angel statue, and the grand cypress.
“Do you know the story of Isabel Perles?” Asher asked, coming up behind Harper and standing so close she could feel his breath on her neck.
“A little.”
“Delilah was fascinated by the home’s original owners, especially Isabel. That’s where she was found, you know,” he said, his tone desolate. “Right there, under the cypress tree.”
“You mean…?”
“Isabel Perles.”
“Oh, right. They say she was buried under the tree, but I saw a grave marker for her in a corner of the garden, almost entirely hidden by the bushes. Two graves: one for her, and one for her brother, Soren.”
But none for a baby.
“They must have moved her.”
Before Harper could ask who would have moved her and why, she heard Highbaugh in the other room exclaiming, “Oh! This one! Yes, yes, yes. A real treasure. You’ll get top dollar for these paintings, Asher. A pretty penny indeed.”
“Harper, I wanted to ask you something,” said Asher.
“Shoot.” Uncomfortable with him standing so closely, she moved away.
