Harper’s attention turned from the medical cabinet to the tarp it had been wrapped in. It was flecked with drops of brightly colored paint, and in the center was a large, reddish-black stain. Harper looked more closely. That wasn’t paint. Could it be…blood?
“Where did you get this tarp?” Harper asked.
“This is how Highbaugh gave the box to me. To make sure it didn’t get banged up, I guess.”
“When was that?”
“It was…I dunno, last week? Monday, I think. I remember I was watching football when he called and asked me to meet him at the gallery. He gave me this cabinet and a bunch of other things, told me to hide it all.”
“You said Delilah Mason gave Highbaugh some of her teas and tinctures for his mother, right? How long was that before his mother died?”
Emerson looked surprised. “Are you suggesting something Mason gave him killed his mother?”
“I’m asking when she gave her concoctions to Highbaugh.”
“Can’t swear to the dates,” Emerson said, looking thoughtful. “But I do know Highbaugh sort of lost it, said the stuff Mason gave him made his mother hallucinate. I gotta tell you: I didn’t much care for the look in his eye. I’ve been in combat, and I’ve seen that look before. It ain’t good.”
When Harper arrived at the hospital, Ellen was sitting up, chatting with her son.
“We owe you a debt of gratitude,” Jonathan said.
“Paid in advance,” Harper said, and gave Ellen a kiss. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired, but otherwise well. I’m being released tomorrow.”
“That is good news,” Harper said. “You look much improved.”
“Jonathan, dear, would you run down to the cafeteria and fetch Harper something to drink?”
“Sure thing. Coffee? Soda? Name your poison.”
“Jonathan,” Harper said.
Jonathan looked stricken when he realized what he had said.
Ellen laughed. “Calm down, you two. I’m fine. Harper will take coffee, I suspect. Black.”
“Back soon,” Jonathan said.
“Why don’t you grab a bite to eat while you’re there? I’d like to speak with Harper for a few minutes.” After Jonathan left, Ellen turned to Harper. “I will happily get all sentimental with you in a few minutes, but to cut to the chase: I don’t remember much about last night.”
“Ellen, did you buy some tea from Delilah Mason? Or some kind of tonic, maybe?”
“I didn’t realize that was what you were talking about the other day,” said Ellen. “Yes, I did. Some charming young women were selling it, and I wanted to be supportive. Like Girl Scout cookies, but without the sugar.”
“Two of my students, Jenny and Blanca, said something about Joel Aristide recruiting them to sell Delilah Mason’s teas and tinctures,” Harper said. “I could kick myself for not following up on that.”
“Finding a woman buried alive would throw anyone off their game.”
“Something else just occurred to me,” said Harper, her mind racing. “The last time I was at the Perles Mansion, Alastair Highbaugh mentioned Delilah being found buried alive under the Witch Tree.”
“Wasn’t she?”
“Yes—but how did he know that? He wasn’t there the night it happened, and the police hadn’t released that information. They were keeping really tight-lipped about it.”
“This is a small town, Harper. People talk.”
“So I’m learning. Still.”
