“I’ll have it tested. A toxicology panel is routine in these kinds of cases,” Serrano said, looking at his notes. “I understand you locked Asher Mason in the basement. Any particular reason for that?”
“He was acting oddly.”
“In what way?”
“He got very agitated, and I did not feel safe.”
“This have to do with the journal he’s been ranting about?”
“Could be. When we were in the basement, he suddenly became angry about the journal and tossed it aside. Then he accused Joel of locking us in the basement and chased him upstairs. I heard them arguing, then heard a crash, which I assumed was one of the mirrors breaking. I tried calling 911, but the call didn’t go through, so I went upstairs.”
“Why’d you put yourself in danger? Seems pretty foolish, under the circumstances.”
“I—I can’t really explain why. This house has a strange effect on me. Anyway, I can’t say what happened with Joel because I wasn’t there. But for what it’s worth, Joel didn’t strike me as suicidal. Under the influence, but not suicidal.”
“Asher Mason implied that Aristide might have felt guilty with regard to the death of Ms. Mason, and the alcohol pushed him over the edge,” Serrano said. “I’ll interview some of his friends, see if I can get a handle on what was going on in his life. Could be there’s something else. We had cleared him as a person of interest in Delilah Mason’s murder, but I’ll take another look. Sometimes it’s the ones you’d least suspect.”
Harper nodded.
“What led to you locking Mr. Mason in the basement?”
“After I went upstairs, Asher went to retrieve the journal. I followed and locked him in.”
“And why was that, again?”
“Like I said—he was acting strangely. Very angry and threatening. He was safe enough down there, so I went outside to check on Joel and called 911 again. This time, the call went through.”
“What about the art dealer, Alastair Highbaugh? Where was he during all this?”
“He was in the living room when Asher and I went to the basement, but I didn’t see him after that.”
Serrano nodded and gestured to the other side of the garden, where Highbaugh was animatedly talking to a detective. “He returned, actually, after calling 911 himself. He’s giving a statement to my colleague.”
Highbaugh appeared exhilarated. Harper imagined he was rarely exposed to this kind of excitement. Neither wasshe, of course, but Highbaugh seemed swept up in the drama of it all. She could hear him recounting the story and speculating that Joel must have been involved in Delilah’s murder, claiming Joel had seemed possessed.
After what seemed like ages, the detective told Harper she was free to go.
“Okay, you know the drill,” said Detective Serrano. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, you give me a call.”
Sitting in her car, Harper tapped the steering wheel.
It was hard to know what to do next. Other than the horrifying experience with her mother dying, Harper had gone her entire life without tripping over a dead body. And now, over the course of a week, she’d been a witness to not one life ending violently, but two.
And Asher’s sudden transformation from affable to enraged had been…bizarre. Disturbing. And why had he thrown himself at the mirrors in the Reflection room? Was he affected strangely by the Perles Mansion, too? Tariq and Detective Serrano seemed not to notice anything odd about the property, but Harper could no longer deny that it had an inexplicable, powerful effect on her.
Could the building truly be haunted? Was such a thing actually possible? Or could there be a logical explanation? Was she dehydrated? Sleep-deprived? Was there a carbon monoxide leak?
Trauma triggered trauma; she knew that much from therapy. The sensations of losing her mother kept coming back to her, no matter that she did not know Delilah Mason, and barely knew Joel Aristide. She kept hearing that damned requiemfrom her mother’s funeral; the mournful music repeating incessantly in her head. Harper felt an urge to call Scout, just to hear her voice, but her sister was lost to her now. She had other old friends, but did not feel capable of catching someone up on what had been happening for the past week or so. It would be like trying to recount a four-hour-long movie. A long, involved horror movie.
Finally, she called Tariq. “Hey, whatcha doin’?”
“Getting ready to head out on the boat, collect some samples. Why? What’s up?”
Harper opened her mouth to tell him about Joel, but her throat tightened, and nothing came out but a high-pitched squeak.
“Harp? Tell me what’s going on.”
Harper took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I’m…I’m inviting myself along on the boat to collect samples. Is that okay?”
