I frowned at that one. Three “X”s meant poison. Was it some Goth thing? I’d have to ask Kris.
Turning to the work table, I saw both Julio and Andre wielding the icing bags with precision and beauty. Andre’s skull was all light colors: yellow, pink, pale blue, and lavender; rows upon rows of tiny, uniform dots. Julio was creating a fantasy in orange latticework, worthy of a wedding cake. Beside him, on another plate, was what I suspected was a portrait of Vi, much better than mine.
I suddenly wanted to add decorated petit fours to the tearoom’s offerings, but I knew Julio wouldn’t have the time. Maybe I could hire someone part time, and offer them for special occasions. I’d have to ask Kris if we had room in the budget, since we were adding two seasonal part-timers already.
Turning to the break table, I saw that Margo’s efforts were like mine: wobbly, sometimes blotchy, but improving. She sat frowning at a fresh skull, red icing in her hand.
Dale had covered one skull in astrological symbols, and was now working on a second one that was some kind of demon with red, uptilted eyes and green, twisted horns drawn on the skull top. He glanced up and I gave him a quick smile, then fetched the cider and headed back outside.
Dale hadn’t mentioned his job application. I really must make a decision on that soon.
As I edged my way through the screen door with two full cups of cider, I saw Gabriel and Cherie talking over by the lilac bushes, voices hushed, faces intent. Kris was decorating a new skull in shades of black and lavender, studiously ignoring them.
Gabriel took one of Cherie’s hands in his and placed something in it, covering it with his other hand, keeping hold while he spoke to her with an earnest expression. I leaned toward them slightly and the screen door slipped from my control, banging shut.
Everyone looked up at me. Cheeks burning, I turned my gaze to Angela, smiled, and joined her at the table, setting her cider before her.
“That’s a nice skull,” I said, avoiding looking toward the lilacs. Angela’s skull had “Abuelo” on the forehead in careful letters. “Your grandfather?”
She nodded, then reached for her cider. I glanced up as Gabriel stepped onto the portal, a stray breeze lifting his hair away from his neck and making me think of male fashion models with their open necklines, all collarbone and smooth skin. He slid into his seat and picked up the bag of green icing. Kris looked at him, but said nothing. Gabriel began adding to the crisscross of lines on his current skull.
The screen door banged again. I glanced that way and saw Cherie’s shadow in the kitchen through the screen.
None of my business, I reminded myself. I took a sip of cider, then returned my attention to the sugar skulls.
Emboldened by my success with the skull for Vi, I decided to make one for my dad. Staring at a blank skull on my plate, I wondered how to honor him. He had loved the outdoors, and skiing, and good wine and cheese. None of these suggested decorations that I could imagine using on a skull. I ended up going very simple, just his smile and a suggestion of hair.
At three-thirty, Julio made coffee, then brought around the tray of pan de muerto and suggested people start moving their finished skulls onto a single, clean plate for each person. Margo, who had warmed to the game as the day went on, needed two plates for her seven skulls. There were lots of crosses with elongated, pointed ends. A favorite image of hers, apparently.
Looking over the all the skulls, I was impressed. The skill levels varied, but everyone had done really creative work. A sudden desire to capture it all sent me darting upstairs for my camera.
“Does anyone mind if I take pictures?” I asked when I returned to the kitchen.
“Sure, go ahead,” said Andre, picking up yet another blank skull. Beside him, Margo looked annoyed, but didn’t say anything. I was beginning to think “annoyed” was her most common expression.
Since no one protested, I proceeded to photograph each plate of finished skulls in the kitchen, then went outside to document the plates that had accumulated not only on the small café table, but on the nearby benches as well.
“You don’t mind, do you, Gabriel?” I asked belatedly. “I want to remember all this wonderful creativity.”
“Of course not,” he said.
“Just don’t use them in an ad without getting permission,” Kris added.
I looked at her, a little surprised by the remark, then realized she was thinking not of her own work, but of Gabriel’s. He grinned.
“My business manager speaks,” he said.
“Well...” Kris said, with a shrug.
Gabriel kissed her, disarming her. I turned back to the café table, hiding a smile.
9
At four, I decided there must be tea, since I’d gone for Julio’s coffee instead that morning. I brewed up some Wisteria White and offered it around. The decorating was winding down, and guests gathered their handiwork to go home. Plastic wrap, held above the plates by sections of paper-towel tubes, protected the skulls.
Angela was the first to say goodbye. “I have to get back to Abuela’s, but this has been so nice. I had a really good time. Thank you for inviting me.”
I smiled, and on impulse gave her a quick hug. “Thank you for coming, though it’s Julio’s party, not mine. Will you come and have tea with me next week? I’d like to talk more.”
She nodded, smiling. “I’d like that, too.”
“We’ll compare calendars.” I waved as she headed for her car, an older model Corolla.
Rosa and Ramon left soon thereafter, with Dee following. Dale and Margo took off, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Andre, who had started tidying up the counters. I realized I hadn’t seen Cherie for a while. Maybe she’d gone home early.
“Where’s Julio?” I asked.
“Showing his painting to Gabriel,” Andre said, gathering used plates.
I stepped into the hall and found Julio, Gabriel, and Kris heading toward me. Gabriel was saying, “—got to have a portfolio together, that’s number one. Take high-res photos of your best work and make high-quality prints. I can recommend a photographer if you want.”
Julio nodded. “Thanks, man.”
They shook hands as Kris took her coat off a hook and swung it around her shoulders. She gave me a hug, gave Julio a bigger one, and headed out with Gabriel, plates full of skulls in their hands.
Julio had collected the unused skulls—about two dozen—into a plastic box. Andre was putting leftover snacks into containers.
“I’ll leave this for the staff, if that’s OK,” Julio told me, gesturing to the food.
“Sure, they’ll make it go away,” I said. “It was a great party, Julio. Thanks for including me.”
“Thanks for letting us do it here,” he said, grinning as he carried the ceramic insert of the slow-cooker to the dishwashing station. “Did you make a skull for Vi?”
“I did. Thank you, I’m really glad I got to do that.”
“I did one, too. Want to put them in Violet?”
“Oh. Sure, why not?”
I fetched my skull from my plate and followed Julio up the hall and into Violet. When I saw the mantel I caught my breath.
A length of lace now covered the wood. On top of it sat the votive holder on its coaster, the prayer card, my vase of pansies, a garland of pink silk roses that ran the length of the mantel, and three decorated skulls propped against the chimney. I recognized Kris’s black-and-lavender work and Rosa’s yellow and orange marigolds. The third skull was pale blue and lavender with touches of yellow, very swirly.
“Who did that one?” I said softly, leaning forward to take a closer look.
“Dee,” Julio said. “Here’s mine.”
He placed his skull to the right of Rosa’s, then put a fresh candle in the votive holder and lit it. I swallowed. There was now no pretending that this was anything less than an ofrenda.
Slowly, I propped up my skull next to Dee’s, then touched the lace.
“Rosa brought that,” Julio said. “An
d the roses.”
“They’re lovely. She didn’t have to go to such trouble. She hardly knew Vi.”
“She’s Vi’s successor, though. She wants to honor her.”
I let out my breath in a gentle sigh, looking up at the portrait. The candle’s flame made shadows dance across Vi’s face.
“This is why you wanted to decorate skulls,” I said.
“Partly, yes.”
Turning, I saw a hollow look on Julio’s face—a look I knew well. He immediately changed his expression, reaching up to straighten the votive which was already perfectly straight.
“I miss her, too,” I said. “I’m going to get a better light for the painting.”
He met my gaze, eyebrows tightening with sorrow. “Thanks.”
We left in silence, walking slowly back to the kitchen. Andre had put away all the food and was swapping out the kitchen trash.
“You don’t have to do that!” I said.
He grinned. “It was full. Lot of paper plates gooped up with icing.”
“We’ll stick it in the dumpster,” Julio said. “Can I leave the extra skulls here for now? And the leftover icing—it’s all in the fridge.”
“Sure,” I said slowly. “Actually, I might do another skull or two.”
“Have at it.”
Julio tucked the box of skulls into a shelf under the counter, then grabbed his jacket and headed out with Andre and the trash. Silence fell over the house. I looked around the kitchen, which showed almost no signs of the creativity explosion. The slow-cooker was still on the counter; its insert was drying in the rack.
A satisfying day, all in all. As I thought about the ofrenda in Violet, it occurred to me that I wasn’t quite finished.
I took out the box of blank skulls and grabbed a couple of paper plates from the stack of leftovers that was on the same shelf. I put a blank skull on a plate and gazed at it for a while, then poured myself a cup of Wisteria White. Fortified by the tea, I opened the fridge and chose a half-dozen colors of icing, then sat down at the break table to work.
I gave the skull pale blue hair, big brown eyes, and red lips, then drew a triple line of yellow dots along the jaw. It didn’t really look like a necklace, but I knew what it represented: lemon agate heishi.
Setting that skull aside, I got a fresh one and gave it black hair with some stripes of white, brown eyes, and red lips. Realizing I needed more colors, I went back to the fridge, then I carefully crowned the hair with pink roses, and put a couple more on the cheeks for good measure.
The third skull took a little more thought. I decided an abstract design would serve best. I gave it black hair and brown eyes, then used green, blue, and violet to make blocks of color on the cheeks and forehead. My lines were a little shaky, but that didn’t matter. I knew what it stood for.
The fourth skull was the hardest of all. I didn’t know the person it represented—much—and I certainly didn’t like him. But I wanted to make a skull for him. It would give me closure. After staring at a blank skull for a while, I picked up the red icing.
Red is my least favorite color, but it was the right color to use. It represented anger and hate. Those were the things I remembered about the man who had died in my driveway—the man who had tried to kill me there. I made the eyes red and drew a down-turned mouth. With black, I added frowning eyebrows and a patch of hair.
I put the skulls on fresh plates: Sylvia Carruthers and Maria Garcia on one, Daniel and Tommy Swazo on another. Almost done.
I set a blank skull on a clean plate, and picked up the brown icing. Hair, eyes, brows, and mustache, all brown, and owing more than a little to Mr. Quentin’s example. I didn’t know if that was correct, but it felt right. A touch of pink to the mouth, just a line, because I didn’t want it to look like lipstick, but I managed to give it a slight smile.
Not much to it, but something about the smile made it feel real. With the pale blue icing, I drew a “D” on the forehead.
“There you go, Captain,” I said softly.
Setting down the icing, I looked out the kitchen window and realized it was dark. I put away the blank skulls and cleaned the table, then carried my skulls upstairs, where I arranged them on the low table by the front window.
I collected two candles and a box of matches from my suite and went back to the hall, where I placed the candles on either side of the skulls and lit them. Sitting on the sofa, I gazed at the five skulls.
Four of those people had died this year: two of them in the tearoom, one out in the driveway, and one in my Aunt Nat’s driveway. To them, I sent a silent wish for peace.
To Captain Dusenberry, whose skull was in the center, I sent peace as well, and also gratitude. I considered him a friend, or perhaps even a family member, I realized to my surprise. I definitely felt affection for him.
Looking up at the pitched ceiling above me, I wondered what this space had looked like in his day. The walls hadn’t changed that much. The dormer windows at the front and back of the upper hall were the same, just as the doors framed by lights on the ground floor beneath them were the same.
In my heart, I thought of it not as my house, but as our house.
Smiling at myself, I got up and went to my suite to find something for supper. As I stepped through the door, the hall chandelier behind me came on.
I turned to confirm it. Yes, the light was on—and a single crystal drop was swaying back and forth.
I smiled. “Good night, Captain.”
October drew to a close in a frenetic rush. Willow called Monday morning to say she couldn’t meet that day.
“The first, then?” I asked.
“That’s Sunday. Monday would be better for me. Say, ten-thirty?”
“Got it.” I added it to my calendar. “See you tomorrow, then. Are you sick of the tea food yet?”
“No, it’s a nice break, especially when it’s cold.”
“Well, just one more week.”
“Yes...for now.”
Did that mean she wanted to do this again next year? I’d be willing. It had given our bottom line a nice boost.
I used the rest of my day off to get caught up on my personal life: laundry, housekeeping, bills, even cooking. I made a giant pan of lasagna in an attempt to duplicate Nonna Fiorello’s secret recipe. The seasoning wasn’t quite right, but I was closing in on it.
“Less rosemary,” said Gina as we shared the results in my suite Monday evening.
“Really? I was wondering about less basil.”
“No. More basil, if anything. Nonna loves basil.”
I smiled. “How was the concert?”
“Good, but the chairs at the art museum were uncomfortable, and we couldn’t see the string quartet.”
“Oh, when you said it was at the museum I thought it was the history museum. They have a nice auditorium.”
“No such luck.” Gina stabbed a forkful of salad. “How was the skull thing?”
“It was fun, and...quite satisfying.”
Gina tilted her head. “Satisfying?”
“Yeah. It was a good thing to do. I made a skull for my dad, and for my mom and my uncle.”
“Hm. Sounds morbid.”
“It wasn’t. If anything, it was the opposite.”
“This whole Day of the Dead thing. I don’t get it. Dancing, partying skeletons. It’s weird.”
“It’s supposed to represent happy memories, I think. And help us think about the dead in positive ways, instead of continuing to grieve.”
She fixed me with a speculative eye. “Is that what it’s done for you?”
“I think it has,” I said, nodding.
My plate was empty. I sipped my wine—a nice Malbec that Gina had brought—and thought about the skulls. “You want to see them?”
“Your skulls? Sure.” She scooped up the last bite of her lasagna, grabbed her wine glass, and stood.
I led her out to the sitting area by the front window. I had put out fresh candles that morning—two tall, white vot
ives in clear glass, the seven-day kind. I had also brought my other skulls up, except for the one that was in Violet.
“Impressive,” Gina said, standing in front of the table. “These can’t all be members of your family....”
“No. That’s Dad, and that’s Mom, and that’s Uncle Stephen. Those are the only family members.”
“Who are all the rest of these, then?”
“You can’t guess?”
She frowned, gazing at the collection. She started to shake her head, then bent closer to look at the Captain’s skull.
“D? D for Dusenberry?”
“Got it in one.”
“But I don’t have a clue about the rest.”
I sat on the love seat. “This one is Sylvia Carruthers.”
“Sylvia! Omigod. Then that yellow stuff is her necklace.”
“Right. And this one is Maria Garcia.”
Gina’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know her.”
“The Rose Guild. I told you about her. She was Julio and Rosa’s grandmother.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And these are the Swazos. Daniel and Tommy.”
“I never saw either of them. Just pictures on the news.”
“Well, these don’t look like them, any more than those look like Maria and Sylvia. This just represents how I think of them.”
“You didn’t do the opera singer. What was his name?”
“Victor Solano. He died at the Opera, and I didn’t really know him.”
“And Vi. You didn’t do one for Vi.”
“Yes, I did. It’s downstairs in Violet. Several of us did skulls for her. Do you want to see?”
She turned and gave me a long look. “Yes,” she said finally. “Let’s get more wine, though.”
We refilled our glasses and carried them downstairs. Gina stood looking silently at the ofrenda for a couple of minutes. Someone had added a small photograph of Vi in her tearoom server’s outfit: lavender dress, white bibbed apron, lavender ribbon through her auburn curls. Smiling, of course. Vi had almost always smiled.
A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) Page 11