“Just covering my bases. I think we’ve got our man, but just in case, it pays to be thorough. At the moment, the evidence suggests Ms. Mason was attacked in the garden, where you found her. The brother gave us permission to search the house, but there’s no evidence it’s part of the crime scene, so I’m getting pressure to release it to the family. But first I wanted you to take a look. My colleagues, the forensics team, they’re great. But sometimes a pair of fresh eyes will see something we’ve overlooked.”
“It’s not because I’m under suspicion for being there that night?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Detective Serrano said with a smile. “Until I put the perp behind bars, my own grandmother is under suspicion. And she’s a heck of a sweet old lady. All right, let’s get out of here.”
Escaping the house felt like coming up for air after too longa time underwater. Harper took several deep, restorative breaths, feeling her lungs expand; the air was cool and tinged with the scent of autumn.
She noticed the garden gate was ajar. And a familiar big black dog stood near the stone angel. Silent. Its head hanging low as it stared in their direction.
Damn. Harper didn’t have any treats with her.
“Come here, pup,” she called out. “Aren’t you a pretty boy? C’mere.”
“Who are you talking to?” Detective Serrano said from behind her.
She turned to him. “The dog.”
“What dog?”
“That—” When Harper looked back, the dog was gone. She searched the shadows but saw no glowing eyes, nothing at all. “It was right over there, by the well. You didn’t see it?”
She heard a rustling near the oleander and thought she saw the dark flash of a tail in the fading light. “Come here, pup. There’s a good boy!”
Harper chased the dog through the tangled shrubbery, oleander leaves slapping her in the face. She emerged into a small clearing encircled by the thick bushes.
Two ancient, lichen-encrusted headstones stood side by side. The first read:
Isabel Annamarie Lopez Perles
1842–1877
Beloved Sister
A Pearl in Death as in Life
Beneath as Above
Asleep as Awake
And the second:
Soren Joseph Lopez Perles
1838–1877
“The wind is my breath,
The darkness my soul,
The earth my embrace,
Await my return”
Surrounding the graves were signs of an altar set up in the style of the Day of the Dead: There were half a dozen candles, vivid orange and yellow marigolds, and brightly colored pieces of paper that had been cut out in decorative designs.
The bushes rustled as Detective Serrano pushed through the foliage to join her.
“What did you find?” he asked.
