A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5)

by Patrice Greenwood

  I looked at Willow. “Congratulations. The tours were a huge success.”

  She smiled, taking her coat off a hook. “Same to you.”

  “I bet you’re looking forward to a break.”

  “I am. And also to exploring Hidalgo Plaza with you.” She put on her gloves. “Have a wonderful evening. You look splendid.”

  “Thanks.”

  I watched her go up the hall, but not feeling inclined to face the Wicked Bird Woman of the West, who was still talking Rosa’s ear off, I didn’t accompany her. Instead I retreated to the pantry. Dee passed through with a tray full of china from the tour group. Grabbing another tray, I went into the dining parlor and gathered the rest of the china, being careful of my gown.

  “Let me do that!” Dee said, returning.

  “Don’t you need to change?”

  “It won’t take me long.”

  She shooed me out, and I wandered into the main parlor to help Kris. She had her suitcase open on the piano bench and was removing large pieces of gorgeous fabric: brocade, jacquard, silk. My inner dressmaker drooled.

  “Shall I start taking out the knickknacks?” I asked.

  “Sure. But leave the tributes to Vi. Gabriel wants to see them.”

  I nodded, and began collecting ornaments from the alcoves in the main parlor. Vases, statuettes, table lamps, and lace were all to be banished, along with the low tables and the smaller chairs, which would line the main hall and provide places for the guests to wait for their turn to go through the seven chambers. Fortunately, the hall was wide enough to accommodate the furniture without violating fire code.

  Rosa stepped into the parlor. “You look beautiful! Do you want me to help?”

  “No, I can manage, and you already stayed late. Thanks for listening to Mrs. Olavssen. Did she drive you crazy?”

  A slightly pained expression crossed Rosa’s face, then she shook her head. “I think she’s just lonely, you know? She was talking about going to the mall to scare the kids trick-or-treating.”

  And I bet she will, too.

  I thanked Rosa again and sent her home. With my arms full of Victoriana, I made my way slowly upstairs, careful not to trip on my long skirt. I set my burdens on the credenza in Kris’s office, then collected a couple of empty boxes for the next batch.

  Dale and Cherie arrived and started moving the small furniture while I continued to gather the Victorian décor. I was beginning to feel amazed at just how much of it there was. It had accumulated gradually over the last few months.

  As I was starting up the stairs with a full box, Cherie stopped me. “Here, this will help.” She caught up the sides of my skirt and tucked them into my belt, raising the front hem several inches above the floor. “Now you won’t have to worry about tripping.”

  “Thanks,” I said, heading upstairs with an easier step.

  When I returned, Gabriel had arrived. I found him closing the drapes over the windows in the main parlor. He paused to admire my dress, smiling appreciatively.

  “Now that looks magnificent. You should always wear your hair down.”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Thanks.”

  Over the next hour, the tearoom was gradually transformed from its customary cozy Victorian norm into an eerie, quasi-Gothic labyrinth. Kris’s fabrics draped cleverly from the picture-rails to suggest high walls, passages, and arches, and defined the colors of the “chambers.” Gabriel had brought a multitude of folding stools that stood four feet high and took up very little space. Some became stands for the colored glass lanterns in each of the chambers, while others were topped with trays to hold the platters of food that Julio was preparing.

  The dining parlor was the designated beverage room. Here, too, the lace was banished in favor of a brocade tablecloth and more of the candle lanterns. There was a giant, shallow steel bowl in which a smaller bowl had been frozen, with an inch-thick layer of ice between them. That was a nifty trick and I wondered who had done it; it must have taken a big freezer. The inner bowl held a chilled, non-alcoholic punch, with a pear cider base. Another bowl that looked very much like a cauldron sat on a rack over a trio of tea-lights, not yet lit. It was destined, Kris told me, to hold mulled wine, which was heating in the kitchen.

  In between these two, centered on the dining table beneath the chandelier, was an incongruous bit of Victoriana. It looked like an oddly-shaped epergne, or an elaborate lemonade server, comprising a silver footed stand holding a beautiful glass jar with four little faucets around the sides. It was filled with ice and water.

  “Pretty fancy water dispenser,” I said to Kris as we set out two dozen gorgeous glass goblets etched with filigree designs.

  “It’s a fountain. For the absinthe,” she said, laying out a row of tiny, silver, slotted spatulas.

  “I thought there wasn’t going to be absinthe.”

  “Cherie insisted. But the drink at the end is still cinnamon schnapps.”

  She brought out an ornate silver bowl supported by three winged fairies, filled it with lump sugar, and set a pair of tongs shaped like bird’s claws on top.

  “The sugar is for the absinthe?” I asked.

  Kris looked at me, tilting her head. “You’ve never had it?”

  “No.”

  She picked up one of the goblets and pointed to where the etched design stopped, about an inch above the bottom of the bowl. “Fill with absinthe up to here. Then lay a spoon over it.” She picked up one of the little spatulas and set it across the top of the goblet, then placed the whole under one of the spigots of the fountain. “Sugar on top, and trickle water through until the sugar dissolves and the glass is full.”

  “Oh,” I said, nodding. “Who filled it?”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. “I did. I brought the sugar cubes too.”

  I nodded and smiled, though my brain was busy imagining ways that the sugar, or any of the open liquor bottles, for that matter, could be compromised.

  “Want to try it?” Kris said.

  “I do, but I’d better not tonight. The dress is enough of a challenge.”

  Her eyes narrowed in amusement as she returned the spatula-spoon and the goblet to their places. I heard the back door open and went out to see who had arrived.

  Ramon, in black jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, stood holding the door open for Margo, whose arms were full of shopping bags. She, too, was in all black with jeans. I started to feel like I was surrounded by stage crew. In a way, I supposed it was true.

  “That wind sucks,” Margo announced as Ramon closed the door behind her.

  “Don’t you mean it blows?” Ramon said with a deadpan expression.

  That made me laugh despite my concerns. Margo raised her chin and headed into the dining parlor. The joke lessened my pique that Ramon was allowed to wear blacks when I had to dress up. This vanished altogether when Gabriel came down the hall toward us.

  “There you are!” he said to Ramon. “I have your houpelande in the restroom.”

  Ramon held his guitar case out to me. “Could you watch this for a minute?”

  “Why don’t I put it by the stairs?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Dale had already set up a discreet microphone and a brocade-draped folding chair against the south wall near the foot of the staircase, and Gabriel had brought his small mic to amplify my mantel clock in the main parlor. Dale had magically hooked up both to the house stereo. Point in his favor, if I wound up offering him a job. Someone who knew his way around a sound system would definitely be an asset.

  I set Ramon’s guitar case on the floor beside the draped chair, then peeked into the main parlor. Draperies formed a tunnel from the hall to the center of the room, where four archways gave access to four of the colored chambers. The orientation was not that different from the normal arrangement of the alcoves, but the atmosphere was completely changed. Even with the canister lights still on—and they’d be off during the party—the chambers felt mysterious.

  Lily
was now swathed in white, with glints of silver here and there. Next to it, Jonquil was draped in orange. Iris was now lush violet, with Kris’s “Death’s Head” skull placed defiantly on top of the piano.

  Rose was draped entirely in black. I stepped in, and noted that Gabriel had moved the mantel clock from the center of the mantelpiece to the end that was part of Rose. It was just visible past the edge of the drapery passage connecting the two chambers. The candle lanterns, not yet lit, were very red. A black brocade drapery arch framed the door into the dining parlor, which was usually kept locked but was open for this party.

  Hearing a step, I turned to find Kris looking in. She smiled.

  “What do you think?”

  “Very effective. I wonder why Poe didn’t have a yellow chamber, though.”

  Kris shrugged. “Or why he had both purple and violet, but not indigo. There are lots of theories, but they’re really just blowing smoke. Poe didn’t say, so we’ll never know.”

  The sound of Ramon’s guitar being tuned wafted in from the hallway, muted by all the cloth.

  “Why is Iris the violet chamber, instead of Violet?” I asked.

  “Because of the sequence,” Kris said. “The violet chamber is next-to-last, and we wanted Rose to be the black one.”

  “We couldn’t have them east-to-west, unfortunately,” Gabriel said, joining us, “but that’s a minor detail. Where’s Dee?”

  “Helping Julio,” Kris said.

  “I’ve got her costume, and I need to do her face.” Gabriel turned to me. “I don’t suppose you have a vanity in the house?”

  “No, but there’s my bathroom.”

  “Excellent! If you don’t mind?”

  “Just let me tidy it up a little.”

  I hurried upstairs to make my suite presentable and lock up my purse. It wasn’t that I distrusted Gabriel, but this way I wouldn’t worry if I was called back downstairs. There were already people I didn’t know well in the house, and soon there’d be a lot more.

  Dee came up, still wearing her lavender dress and the cat’s ears. She had taken off her apron.

  “Gabriel said I should change up here.”

  “Yes, come on in.”

  “He doesn’t want anyone to see the costume underneath until midnight,” she added. “Wow, your bed is beautiful!”

  “It is indeed,” Gabriel said, coming in behind her with a garment bag over his arm. “So you are a Goth at heart!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “It’s probably got too many colors to be Goth.”

  “But they’re the right colors. Jewel-tones, and the brocades are rich.” He stroked a curve of the bed’s drapery. “Very elegant. And those candlesticks are magnificent!” He gestured to the two carved wooden candle stands, four feet high, that flanked my bed.

  “Thanks. They were a gift.”

  “May we have them downstairs? In the dining parlor?”

  “Oh—I guess so.”

  “You really do shine in this setting,” he added, smiling at me as he hung the garment bag from one of the bed posts. “How shallow of us all to assume you only cared for Victorian. Dee, you can start by washing off the whiskers.”

  “Oh!” She put a hand to her cheek, then pulled off the cat’s ears. “Sorry, I forgot!”

  “I’d have you wash your face anyway. I need a clean canvas.”

  Gabriel set a tackle box on my dresser and opened it to reveal a rather impressive makeup kit. The sight took me back to my theatre days in high school.

  I led Dee to the bathroom and returned to find Gabriel poking through the tackle box, taking out brushes. “So you’re going to paint her face?”

  “Yes. She’ll wear a veil over it until midnight.”

  “Are you planning to photograph your work?”

  He flashed me a smile. “Oh, yes. It will be documented.”

  Dee came out, rubbing her face with a towel. Gabriel opened the garment bag and removed a length of pale, shimmering fabric, which he handed to her. He turned to me as she headed back into the bathroom.

  “Would you mind making sure no one comes in? I don’t want the surprise to be spoiled.”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  He moved to the head of the bed and put a hand on one of the carved candle pillars that Tony had given me. “Maybe we could move these while she’s changing.”

  “Sure.”

  I collected the one from the other side, and we took them down to the dining parlor, where Margo was setting out bottles of wine.

  “Hello, Margo, love. Drinks under control?”

  Margo started, then nodded, going back to the bottles. Gabriel placed his candle stand beside the fireplace, then frowned.

  “On second thought,” Gabriel said, gazing around, “it’s going to be crowded in here. These might be better by the windows.”

  “Yes,” I said, relieved that they’d be in a place where they were less likely to be knocked over. I was pretty sure they were indestructible, but the candles were a potential fire hazard. The two windows in the north wall were recessed enough, due to the thick adobe walls, that the candlesticks should be safe.

  As we headed back to the stairs, we found Ramon tuning his guitar, resplendent in a blue velvet tunic with wide sleeves that had zig-zag edges. So much for his escaping the dress-up.

  I double-checked that he wasn’t blocking access to the stairs, then followed Gabriel back to my suite. Dee’s voice called from the bathroom.

  “Is it safe to come out?” she called.

  Gabriel turned to me with a slow smile. “Can you keep a secret, my lady?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’d like you to watch. Yes, come on out,” he called.

  I had already decided to stay and chaperone Dee. She was over twenty-one, but just barely, and Gabriel’s charm was so powerful.

  She emerged, hair pulled back into a bun, and I gasped. She wore a skin-tight bodysuit, silvery-colored, that was painted with an exquisite rendering of a skeleton. It was not like commercial skeleton suits that I’d seen, white bones on a black background. This was all shadow and shade. The only part of the fabric that had no paint was the bones themselves. Gabriel had used shading to create a background and the details, but left the majority of the “bones” unpainted, which made them look ethereal. He had created the illusion of a heart inside the chest cavity, the only touch of red in the piece. It was eerie and exquisite and disturbing.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “It’s marvelous!” I said. “I was expecting a shroud.”

  “The story describes a shroud, yes, and we have one.” He reached for the garment bag and took out a cloud of pale pink, lacy gauze, which he draped around Dee. “Like so.”

  It suggested a shroud, though the color was odd. The skeleton painting glowed through it, looking even more ghostly.

  “Pink?” I asked.

  “Yes. You’ll see.”

  “Well, the skeleton is amazing!”

  “Thank you. Please keep it to yourself. Not even Kris has seen it yet.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” He took the shroud off of Dee again and tossed it onto my bed. “And now, the face.”

  Never mind chaperonage; I was delighted to watch Gabriel at work. We all crowded into my bathroom, where the light was better. Gabriel gave Dee a wide hairband to put on, then commenced applying a white base for the makeup. With a half-dozen brushes, he added detail in shades of gray and cream and, to my surprise, silver. He matched the painting on the bodysuit perfectly, painting neck bones that continued the skeletal design. He magically hollowed Dee’s cheeks and eye sockets, and made her face look incredibly skull-like. In addition to the gray shadows and sculpting, he added patches of the silver, dappled at random over the “bones” of her face.

  Dee sat patiently, perfectly comfortable with Gabriel painting her face. Had she sat, or stood, the same way as he painted the bodysuit?

  I glanced at him. So seductive. Had he made
a pass at Dee? I hoped not, because if he’d been unfaithful to Kris I’d have to throttle him out of loyalty.

  But Dee didn’t show the agitation I would expect if she’d been seduced by this man. She was also pretty level-headed, and she was fond of Kris. She wouldn’t try to steal Gabriel, I thought.

  And Gabriel was completely intent on his work, not flirting with her at all. Maybe that was due to my presence, but he seemed all business. Focused. An artist at work, nothing more.

  I had no idea how much time passed, but eventually I realized I was getting stiff from standing in the corner out of the way. I eased my weight from foot to foot, reluctant to leave.

  Gabriel put down his brush. “That’s good,” he said, and dusted powder over the makeup to fix it.

  From a small box, he produced a wig that he carefully placed on Dee’s head, over the hairband. It was white with blood-red tips: a page-boy cut that ended right at her jawline. The effect, on top of the skeletal makeup, was striking.

  “Good.” He turned to me, radiating such a glow of delighted accomplishment that I almost gasped. “You like it?”

  “It’s magnificent,” I said, nodding.

  He beamed at me, then turned to clean his brushes. I now understood why every female who got near him—with the possible puzzling exception of Dee, who was busy admiring herself in the mirror—fell under his spell. He was attractive and sexy under normal circumstances, alluring when he flirted, and devastating when he was happy in his art.

  Gabriel carefully cleaned his brushes and packed everything away, even wiping the counter clean. I watched, amazed at how unconscious he seemed of the impact he’d had on me, and equally amazed that Dee didn’t seem affected.

  We returned to my bedroom where Gabriel draped the shroud around Dee, pinning it in a few places to keep it from slipping. He took about a dozen photographs from various angles, then brought out a black, hooded cloak which completely concealed the “Red Death” costume. Inside the hood was a black veil with eyeholes, so that Dee’s face was hidden. Because her eye sockets were black, her eyes seemed to float inside the hood. I couldn’t decide if it looked more like a burqa or one of the Nazgûl.