He pushed past her and ran down the stairs.
Harper bolted after him. She experienced that samehorrifying telescoping sensation, the nightmarish feeling that she was not in control of her own body. But then she found herself in front of the open basement door, and the odd sensations suddenly disappeared. Things crashed and fell as Asher rummaged around in the laboratory, searching for the journal.
Harper slammed the basement door shut, locked it, then pushed a heavy bureau in front of the door for good measure.
Then she ran for the door, the sound of Asher banging on the basement door following her.
“Open this door! Now!”he bellowed.“Bitch!”
As she ran, Harper glanced into the living room, but Highbaugh was gone. The shroud was once again draped over the mirror.
Outside in the garden, Harper knelt by Joel’s side. “Joel?”
He did not respond to her voice, and if he was breathing, it was too shallow to be detected. His skin was clammy under her fingers as she felt his neck for a pulse. She didn’t detect any signs of life, but she was no expert. She could not tell for certain whether or not he was alive, and she was afraid to move him.
The muffled sounds of Asher cursing and flinging himself at the blocked basement door filtered out to the patio. Harper ran around the back of the mansion to where she had left her car, one hand grabbing at the journal that threatened to fall from her waistband. Highbaugh’s car was gone. When had the gallery owner left? Had he heard the commotion upstairs—or seen what happened to Joel? Or had he slipped out earlier, his tally of Delilah’s paintings completed?
Harper locked herself in her car, shoved the journal under her seat, pulled out of the alley, and drove down another block before pulling over and dialing 911. This time the call went through.
Just as the dispatcher answered, Harper saw the big black dog running down the street, away from her. Harper blew out a frustrated breath.
Joel took precedence at the moment.
The dog would have to wait.
When the paramedics and the police arrived, Harper joined them in the Séance Garden.
Sadly, Joel was beyond help. One of the first responding officers released Asher from the basement and took his statement, then Detective Serrano spoke at length with Asher. Eventually, Harper saw the detective heading her way.
“Professor Grae. We meet again,” he said. “Tell me: How did you happen to be here today?”
Harper gave a brief summary of Asher inviting her to tour the house while Highbaugh looked through Delilah’s art.
“How well do you know Asher Mason?” he asked.
“We just met yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Um…in a bar.” Sounded a bit seedy, when she said it like that. She added: “At karaoke night.” Now it sounded silly.
“Uh-huh,” Serrano muttered, and reviewed his notes. “According to Mr. Mason, he and Joel Aristide were arguing but got separated. He says Joel saw something in a mirror, freaked out, and flung himself out the window.” Detective Serrano looked at Harper. “That make any sense to you?”
Harper took a deep breath. “I didn’t see what happened. I heard them arguing, but I was still downstairs.”
“Aristide seem suicidal to you?”
“I hardly knew him.” Harper’s voice sounded faraway toher own ears, as if it belonged to someone else. It was midmorning and the sun was shining, yet the scene was sadly reminiscent of the night they found Delilah: the shadows of the garden lit up by flashing red lights, the little yellow triangles of evidence markers, the police photographer recording the scene.
“I met Joel exactly twice,” Harper continued. “The first time was the night of the ghost tour. The second time was at the antiquarian society. Today was the third time, and he was acting as if he was drunk, or maybe high.”
“When I spoke to him the night Delilah Mason was found, Aristide told me he didn’t drink,” said Detective Serrano. “He said he had gotten sober.”
“Maybe he relapsed. It happens.”
“Maybe so.”
“Check the water bottle Joel dropped in the hallway. My money’s on vodka,” said Harper. “That’s what my dad always put in his water bottle.”
