“And not just plants,” Harper said, spotting a chicken coop, a rabbit hutch, and a dovecote. “Sigrid, this is amazing. A beautiful garden.”
Sigrid nodded. “Delilah loved it here. She liked to sit on that bench over there and just commune with nature. Her yard was too shady for a decent garden, and nothing grew under that damned cypress tree.”
“The Witch Tree.”
“That’s what the ignorant call it, yes.”
“Guess that includes me?”
“If the shoe fits,” Sigrid said snippily.
Harper had to smile. Points for honesty, at least.
“What was Delilah like?” Harper asked. “I mean, as a person. I’ve seen some of her art, and read a few articles, but I don’t have a sense of who she really was.”
“Delilah was…” Sigrid trailed off as she meandered through the garden, searching for the right words. “I’d describe Delilah as ‘multifaceted.’ She said what she meant and meant what she said, and did not suffer fools gladly. That directness upset a lot of people. When a man says exactly what he wants and needs and believes, society calls him a stand-up guy. When a woman does the same, she’s labeled a bitch, or worse.”
“Could she have made someone angry enough to murder her?”
“I suppose she must have. I mean…why else? Murders are prompted by jealousy, or anger, or revenge, or greed, right?” She ticked the motives off on her fingers as she spoke.
“Or to cover something up. Could Delilah have known something she shouldn’t have?”
Sigrid let out a mirthless chuckle. “Very likely. In many ways Monterey’s a small town, and small towns are rife with rumor and innuendo. She’s lived in the area her whole life; I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew where some bodies are buried, to borrow a phrase. But Delilah was also brilliant. Truly larger than life.”
“I’ve heard that phrase used to describe her before.”
“For good reason. She was…” Sigrid’s voice caught in her throat. “She was more than a friend. There were times I didn’t like her much, myself, but I got over it. Because she was a sister.”
“What did you think of her art?”
“I thought it was extraordinary. Especially her recent work. She promised me one of her paintings, you know. The one with the mirror over the fireplace.”
“A lot of them seem to showcase that mirror.” What had she seen in that looking glass yesterday? Had Delilah seen a similar apparition and felt compelled to include it in her paintings?
“This one had vines all over it, and a murder of crows. She painted it here, in my garden,en plein air. That’s why she promised it to me.”
“I know that one—unfinished, right? I saw it on an easel in the mansion. I imagine you’ll have to speak with her brother about it, though. As her only living relative, he’ll inherit her estate unless she left a will and bequeathed it to you.”
“She said she was going to, but I don’t know if she ever did,” Sigrid said, her tone wistful. “I barely know her brother. We’ve met a few times, but I don’t think he cares much for me. He’s said some awfully nasty things about witches and witchcraft.”
“I’ve heard he can be difficult.”
“As can we all.” She hesitated. “The truth is, in the last few months, Delilah had been acting oddly, increasingly erratic. She would stand in that mirror room of hers for hours sometimes, just looking out the window, staring into the branches of that cypress tree. It was like she was…possessed.”
“That room made me uncomfortable, myself.”
“You were in it?”
“Yes…the detective looking into her murder asked me to accompany him. Speaking of which, you don’t know of any groups that would break into the mansion and hold a séance in that room, do you?”
Sigrid fixed Harper with a look of disdain mixed with anger. “You’re not suggesting that my coven—”
“No, no, not at all,” Harper hastened to assure her. “But some people were there yesterday, doing some kind of ritual.”
“In Delilah’s Reflection room?”
Harper nodded.
