“Oh, that’s just awful!” Ellen exclaimed. “That poor man. And Asher Mason—you really think he might have pushed him to his death?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s hard to believe, and yet…there’s something ‘off’ about Asher. And that house. The mirror room, in particular.”
Ellen shook her head and clucked. “What a shame, so sad for everyone concerned. Didn’t you say Alastair Highbaugh was there, as well?”
“He apparently skedaddled when he heard the arguing but came back at some point and called 911.”
“You know, I taught him in high school, many years ago. I remember he was an odd young man, didn’t have many friends. His peers used to call him Master Allie, which I don’t think he appreciated.”
Harper smiled at the thought. Highbaugh always seemed so formal, the nickname fit him perfectly.
“He was also extraordinarily devoted to his mother,” Ellen said. “I was sorry to hear she had passed. Poor man must be bumping around in that big house, all alone.”
“Isn’t he married?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“He mentioned a wife.”
“Oh really? I didn’t think so, but I could be wrong.”
They pulled up to the kiosk at the entrance to 17-Mile Drive, and Harper shelled out the twelve-dollar fee. The bored young attendant looked up from his phone long enough to take her money and hand her a glossy brochure: “Your guide to 17-Mile Drive.”
“Oooh, this will be fun,” Ellen said. “It must be thirty years since I’ve been here!”
They drove by Spanish Beach Bay and stopped to gaze out at the Restless Sea, which the brochure described as the most turbulent section of coastline in Pebble Beach. Here, huge submerged rocks caused waves to converge and crash into one another. They passed by China Rock, the site of a small Chinese fishing village in the late 1800s, and the Fanshell Beach Overlook, which looked out over a cove that served as a harbor seal pupping site in the spring.
“Do you know where Delilah used to live?” Harper asked.
“Not exactly, but anything in this area costs a fortune.”
“Pretty swanky,” agreed Harper. Some of the homes were Mediterranean style, others were hypermodern, glass and wood or stucco. All were massive, most surrounded by tall walls and paths that marched up the hill. “Though I have to imagine they don’t have a lot of trick-or-treaters dropping by. Must be a bit of a bust for Halloween.”
“That reminds me—next time you’re at the grocery store, would you pick up some candy to pass out?” Ellen asked. “Halloween’s just around the corner, and I do enjoy seeing the little ones in their costumes.”
“I do, too! I love Halloween. Let’s make an evening of it, shall we?”
They pulled into a parking area that offered a view of the famous Lone Cypress. They got out to stand on the cliff, enjoying the wild, raw scene, buffeted by the ocean breeze. There was something very special about these Monterey cypress trees, the way they planted themselves on rocky crags, bent with the harsh winds blowing off the ocean, and endured for centuries.
“Okay, maybe the drive was worth the twelve bucks, after all,” Harper said as she gazed at the tree, and behind it, the azure water, the green hills, and the sheer rock cliffs.
“I’m hungry, though,” Ellen said. “We should have brought snacks; we could have had a picnic.”
“According to the brochure, there’s a market near the golf resort. Want to check it out?”
The Pebble Beach market was a convenience store and deli for rich people. Exorbitantly priced bottles of wine were artistically arranged on half barrels, and the deli case held beautifully decorated fruit tarts and cakes, and an array of delicious gelatos. A self-serve antipasto bar had a wide assortment of olives, marinated mozzarella, mushrooms, and artichoke hearts, and a dozen different kinds of pickled peppers. Sandwiches and coffees were made to order with locally sourced and imported meats and cheeses.
Ellen and Harper took one look at the prices on the menu board and decided chips, nuts, and sodas would tide them over.
There were a lot of people crowding the store, even on a Monday. The women took their places in the queue and heard someone grousing loudly that the market stocked only Pellegrino water, not the Perrier he preferred. According towhat the man was yelling at the poor stock boy, it had to do with the size of the bubbles.
Harper looked to see who was talking. “Speak of the devil, isn’t that him?” she whispered to Ellen.
“The devil? Seems fitting.”
“No, Delilah’s ex.”
“Benjamin Philips?” Ellen said loudly, craning her neck.
