Philips turned around at the sound of his name.
“Oh, how are you, Benjamin?” asked Ellen.
“You aren’t process servers, are you?” he asked, his eyes darting around the store as if suspecting the FBI might be lying in wait. “If so, I’m not him.”
“You most certainly are. I’m Ms. Sundvold, Benjamin. I was your tenth-grade English teacher,” she replied. “I see you haven’t changed much.”
“Oh. Right. Yes, of course. Sorry about that.” His gaze fell on Harper. “And do I know you? I do, right? But not from school—at Highbaugh’s, in Carmel.”
“Yes, I was one of the wildebeests.”
Philips stared at her in annoyed confusion as Ellen smothered a laugh.
“How’s it going with Sergeant Emerson? Photos turn out okay?” Harper asked.
“How do you know so much about me, and why do you care? Are you two private eyes?”
“Goodness, no,” Ellen said.
“Imagine such a thing,” Harper agreed, then took pity on Philips. “I was one of the people who found Delilah, and I—”
“What? You think that gives you the right to go poking your nose into my business?” Philips glanced at the heavy watch shackling his wrist. “I don’t have time to waste like this. I have a tee time.”
And with that he turned on his heel and left.
“Guess he’s not going to pay for that Italian mineral water,” murmured Ellen.
“Well, after all, it wasn’t Perrier,” said Harper. “And the man has a date to hit a ball with a stick, so no time to waste.”
“I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Bubbly water is bubbly water, isn’t it?”
“It has to do with the size of the bubbles, or so I hear. So, since you’re my source for all local history: Did Benjamin Philips grow up with money?”
“I don’t think so—he went to public high school. But he’s clearly done well for himself. There must be a lot of money in real estate development.” Ellen shook her head. “He was a sneaky kid, used to throw temper tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way. Figures he’d grow up to grouse about bubbles. I always ignored him, and eventually he’d knock it off.”
“Probably why he wouldn’t admit he knew you.”
“That ugly watch he was wearing no doubt cost more than a year’s worth of my social security checks.”
“Something tells me ol’ Philips isn’t worried about collecting Social Security.”
“I was thinking we could hit happy hour at the Stokes Adobe,” said Harper as they drove back to Monterey. “Interested? My treat.”
“How could I refuse? Sounds lovely.”
“Mind if I make a stop on the way?”
“I’m free as a bird. Where are we stopping?”
“At a tattoo parlor.”
“Really?” Ellen sounded surprised but intrigued. “Do youhave a tattoo? I don’t. Maybe I should get one. I’m not getting any younger.”
“I’ll be happy to hold your hand, if you need it. But I’m actually stopping to ask a few questions about an allegedly haunted mirror.”
Tending the shop today was a young woman named Maevis with a lilting English accent.
“Why is that mirror covered?” Harper asked after introducing herself and Ellen, and explaining that they were not in the market for tattoos. At least not today. “Did…No one died here, did they?”
