“Apparently not, though Sigrid said she was hoping to convince Delilah to join.”
“Sounds like a fruitcake to me,” he muttered. “I don’t go in for that sort of crap. Any actual evidence this Sigrid person was really working with Mason? Or is she just saying she was, for whatever reason?”
“None that I know of. You have a suspicious mind, Detective.”
“It’s in my job description.” Serrano made some notes on his phone, then gestured at a workbench. “What’s with all the leaves?”
“I assume they’re tea leaves. Tea is brewed from leaves and coffee is brewed from seeds. There’s no magic to it.”
“Uh-huh. You got a last name for this witch person?”
“No, but she gave me a phone number. Not sure what I did with her card, but she mentioned a coven—the Gaderian coven, I think she said.”
“Garderian? Galderian?”
“Ga-derian, if I remember correctly. Check the internet. Everyone seems to have a website these days.”
“Worth a shot.” He jotted down the name. “Let me know if you find that card, will you?”
“Of course. Sigrid mentioned she had left some of her things here and wants them back, so she would probably be happy to hear from you.”
The detective scoffed. “Yeah right. No one’s ever happy to hear from a homicide detective.”
Pointing to jars filled with plant material, Detective Serrano asked, “What can you tell me about that stuff?”
“Well, they’re seedpods and the like, but if you really want to know what you’re dealing with, then you need a toxicologist or a botanist. A scientist, not a historian.”
“All in good time. I wanted you to see this place first, in case any of it meant anything to you.” He seemed to be measuring his words carefully. “Tech guys get in here and sometimes mess things up. Some of this stuff looks pretty old. I thought a history professor might have a unique take.”
“I’m just not sure I’m the person to ask. I would assume this laboratory belonged to Soren Perles, who lived here in the 1800s, right? I also know that test tubes date back only as faras the late eighteenth century. And dedicated laboratory equipment did not truly exist prior to the early 1800s. Before that, most chemistry was done with whatever bowls and jars were readily available.”
Harper picked up a fat, bound journal sitting on one counter. This was no pristine tome: The pages were interleaved with scraps of paper, dried flowers, leaves, and twigs. Annotations and marginalia were scrawled on the pages throughout, and dirty smudges abounded. It was embossed with a copy of the poem “Snowdrops,” the middle section underlined:
I didn’t expect
to waken again…
“Louise Glück,” said Harper. “I love her work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The poem.”
“Not really a poetry guy.”
“It’s by Louise Glück.”
“You know a lot of obscure things.”
“That’s part ofmyjob description.” Harper opened the journal, and a few leaves and twigs fell out onto the counter. Flipping through, she found various notes and recipes in different handwriting with two different kinds of ink, one fresh, the other old and faded, as if the journal were two items combined into one.
“Check this out, Detective—” Harper cut herself off at a sound coming from overhead.
A strange, scraping noise.Scritch, scratch…
“You hear that?” Serrano asked, staring up at the ceiling.
“Sounds like chairs being dragged across the floor.”
