“Wait out in the hall,” the cop told him with a jerk of the head.
He glanced at me, then at Gwyneth, then headed for the pantry. The cop followed him out.
I drew Gwyneth into the kitchen and closed the door. “Would you like a hot drink? Coffee, or tea?”
She shook her head, looking forlorn, then a shiver went through her and she began to cry in earnest.
“Come and sit down,” I said, gently putting an arm around her and steering her to the break table.
There was a box of tissue there; I pushed it toward her. While she was mopping her face, I ducked into the pantry and put the kettle on, wondering what Tony had said to her. When he was in cop mode he could be pretty ruthless.
I darted upstairs to fetch her white satin cloak and Roberto’s black velvet, then returned to find Gwyneth making a valiant attempt to compose herself. I sat beside her and took her hand again, just holding it to steady her.
“Gabriel’s dead,” she whispered, and I felt a tremor go through her hand.
“Yes,” I said softly.
She turned wide, green eyes on me. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
A tear slid down her cheek. She dabbed at it absently with the wad of tissue in her other hand.
We sat in silence for a while. Distant voices reached us from the hall, unintelligible but present, reminding us we were not alone. Eventually Officer Finch called out a name. Shortly afterward, Roberto came through the outside door.
Gwyneth released my hand and stood as he hurried toward us. She gave a small gasp as they embraced, and I instinctively moved away. At that moment the kettle in the pantry whistled, so I busied myself setting tea to steep. When that was done, I turned back to the kitchen. Roberto met me at the pantry door, his cloak over his arm.
“We’re going,” he said. “Thank you for bringing her inside.”
Gwyneth, standing a few feet away in her own cloak, looked much more composed. I nodded to Roberto. “Take care,” I said. An inadequate wish, but it would do to represent the stronger feelings that were still too raw to be articulated.
I saw them out through the back door, then started more coffee and tea. There were still paper cups in the hall, so I put the teapot on a tray with sugar, milk, and spoons, and took it out.
A half-dozen scones were left. As I debated whether to make more, a purple-corseted fairy left the dining parlor and Officer Finch called out, “Margo Foss.”
This surprised me; I hadn’t noticed Margo in a while and had assumed she was gone. The reason, I realized, as she rose from her chair, was that she had removed not only her mask, but her hennin, and she’d taken her hair down. It was longer than I’d thought: straight and dark, ending well below her shoulders. Her emerald gown was dark enough to look black in the shadow of the stairs, where she’d been seated. She walked silently down the hall to the parlor, and Finch waved her in.
What next? I stood in the center of the hall, going through the options: coffee, tea, water, scones. I was caught up.
Oh, no.
“Excuse me, Ms. Rosings?” said a gentle, masculine voice.
Turning, I saw the long-haired nature spirit rising from a chair. He held his mask of leaves in his hand. His costume—a vaguely Georgian coat and knee-breeches of tapestry-like fabric, rich with dark greens and crusted with silver braid, embroidery, and a sprinkling of glinting gems—was almost as glorious as Gabriel’s had been, although more subtle. Without the mask, he might have stepped out of some historic painting, except that no Georgian gentleman would wear his hair loose and waist-length. It was a perfect, dark waterfall that I admired every time I saw it.
“Yes?” I said.
“May I have a word with you?”
He stepped toward the foot of the stairs, a little apart from the others. Under the watchful eyes of Officer Marcos, I joined him there.
He’d been to the tearoom before, on several occasions. He was one of Kris’s friends, and I really ought to remember his name.
“Owen Hughes,” he said disconcertingly, with a slight bow. He then lowered his voice. “We’ve all deduced that something’s happened with Gabriel.”
“I really shouldn’t discuss it. I’m sorry.”
“I won’t ask you to, but I thought you should know that he asked me to photograph the chambers throughout the evening.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.” He reached into a capacious pocket in the skirt of his coat and withdrew a slim digital camera. “I’d prefer that the police not confiscate this. Do you have a way to download a copy of the photos for them?”
He had interposed his body between me and the officer at the door, shielding his hand from view.
“I won’t withhold anything from them,” I said.
“I’m not asking you to. Exactly the opposite; I want you to give them the photos. I’d just rather keep possession of my camera.”
“All right. May I keep copies for myself?”
“Of course.”
I slipped the camera into my pocket, then went upstairs. Dee had her phone out and was reading her book, which I took to be a good sign. Mick was zoning on his music. I waved to get his attention, and he disconnected.
“Could you help me with something?”
I led him into my office. “I’m going to download the photos from this,” I said, showing him Owen’s camera. “I want you to watch, so you can confirm that I’m not deleting anything.”
He looked puzzled. “OK.”
“The photographer wants to keep his camera,” I explained. “The pictures were taken here, tonight. I’m going to burn them onto a disk for the police.”
“Ah.” Mick nodded.
I turned on my computer and invited Mick to bring one of the guest chairs around behind the desk. Meanwhile I dug around in Kris’s office until I found a package of disks and another of paper sleeves. The camera’s port was compatible with my phone cable, and it connected cheerfully with my computer. I copied the photos onto my hard drive, then burned them onto the three disks, labeling them with a marker and sliding them into sleeves.
“Thanks,” I said to Mick as I disconnected the camera.
“Sure thing. Easiest job I ever had.” He smiled, which reassured me.
We went out to the hall, where Mick resumed his seat and I collected the scones tray, the teapot, and the empty sandwich plate from the sitting area.
Downstairs, the company of Goths was growing sparse. There were fewer than a dozen left. The nature spirit—Owen—hovered near the foot of the stairs, and looked up with relief as I came down.
“They’ve called my name,” he said.
I nodded, and led him back to the dining parlor, leaving my tray on an empty table. He gave me a troubled glance, but followed.
Tony was waiting in the doorway, tired and grouchy. I caught his eye.
“May I come in for a moment? I have something for you.”
His eyes went alert, then he nodded and stepped back. I gestured to Owen to join us, gently closing the door after he came in.
“Gabriel asked Owen to take pictures during the party,” I said, producing the camera and the disks. “Owen would like to keep his camera, so he asked me to download them for you. Mick watched; he can verify that I didn’t delete anything.” I offered two disks to Tony, and one to Owen along with his camera.
Tony gave me a long look. “Thanks,” he said, accepting the CDs.
Owen received his camera and the third disk with another small bow. “Thank you very much,” he said.
“Do you need more coffee?” I asked Tony. “Something to eat?”
He shook his head. “Glass of water?”
I nodded and left them together, returning to the kitchen where I found Ramon washing trays and pitchers.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“Passes the time,” he replied.
I filled a clean pitcher with water and put it on a tray with a stack of paper cups, then took it to the
dining parlor. Officer Finch knocked on the door and opened it for me.
Tony was seated in the chair I’d taken in for Gwyneth, but he’d moved it to the north wall, between the two windows. The candles on their pillar stands to either side were guttering. He looked like a king holding court.
I paused, taking in the scene he had staged. Who knew that Tony had such a flair for the dramatic?
Owen stood before the fireplace. They watched me set the water on the sideboard, next to the impressive array of alcohol.
“Owen, may I talk to you before you leave?” I said.
“He can’t go back to the waiting area,” Tony said.
“May I take him upstairs?”
Tony gave a grudging nod. I looked to Owen, who also nodded.
“Thanks. Let me know if you need anything else,” I said to Tony, and got out.
I should have taken another chair into that room hours before, I realized. Except that if Tony had wanted one, he would have asked for it. I pressed my lips together, disliking the subtle intimidation of making people stand while they were questioned. If I’d thought of it, I’d have sent a chair in anyway, but it was too late now.
Back to the kitchen, where the timer was beeping and Ramon was taking the scones out of the oven. I took them out to the remaining Goths and got back to the dining parlor just as Owen was emerging.
“Straight upstairs,” Tony told me, “and straight out when you’re done.”
I nodded, and led Owen up to my office. He accepted a chair and set his leaf mask on my desk, then sat gazing absently at the print of Monet’s “Water Lilies” on my wall.
“Would you like tea, or a scone?” I offered.
He shook his head and smiled. “I’m fine, thanks. You’ve worked hard to make us comfortable. What did you want to talk about?”
“Photography,” I said. “Are you a professional?”
“Semi-pro. I freelance. Gabriel is—was—a client. He had me document all his work.”
“Oh! Well, then, what I have to ask is a continuation of that. And I’ll pay, since Gabriel isn’t able to.”
Owen raised an intrigued eyebrow. “You have some of Gabriel’s work? I assume you mean besides the chambers downstairs.”
“Yes. His finale. Come and see.”
We went out to the sitting area, where I introduced Owen to Dee and asked her to stand up. Owen took a step toward her and peered at her face, marveling.
“Wow. Yes, of course I’d be glad to photograph it.”
“It should be downstairs, in the black chamber,” Dee said.
“Downstairs will have to wait until the technicians are finished,” I said. “And that reminds me—Dee, they want to talk to you.”
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yes. Don’t worry—I think it’s about the costume.”
“Oh.”
“Since we have to wait,” Owen said, “I’d like start up here, if you don’t mind.”
Dee glanced at me. “I don’t mind. Should I take off the cover?”
“There’s more?” Owen’s face lit with excitement, and he took out his camera. “Let me get this first.”
He took a few minutes to decide where the best lighting was. In the end, I brought out a table lamp from my suite to supplement the hall chandelier, and Owen had Dee stand in front of a blank patch of wall. Mick was sufficiently interested in the proceedings to withdraw from his musical reverie and watch with a critical eye.
After taking what seemed like a hundred photos, Owen told Dee to remove the black cover-up. I helped her to take it off, avoiding brushing it against her makeup. She rearranged the lacy shroud and looked expectantly at Owen.
“Wow!” he said. “This was going to be the midnight reveal.”
“Yes,” Dee said.
“That’s not body paint.”
“It’s a bodysuit. He painted it in three sessions. He did the makeup and the hands tonight.”
“Magnificent! OK, let’s start with a profile.”
For the next half hour, Owen took pictures from every angle. Full body shots, half-body shots, details. He didn’t pose Dee much, but occasionally asked her to shift a limb or change her position, and I could see that these subtle changes made a difference. The whole process was so fascinating I forgot about the Goths and the cops until a heavy tread approached on the stairs.
Officer Finch appeared on the landing. “Detective’s talking with your cook now. We need the rest of you down here.”
Owen put away his camera, and Dee draped the black cover-up around her shoulders. We trooped downstairs after Officer Finch and found Tony standing in the hall, leafing through his notes on the legal pad. Officer Marcos was gone.
Ramon came out of the pantry, carrying his guitar and sound gear. “I’m going home, unless you need me to stay.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll talk to you on Monday.” I locked the door behind him, then returned to the others.
Tony glanced at Owen. “You can go.”
“Actually, I’ve asked him to stay and take some photos for me,” I said.
Tony gave me a skeptical look. I gestured to Dee.
“This is Gabriel’s last work of art,” I said.
Last surviving work; his own face paint was damaged, and while the ghoulish might still consider it art, I had no wish to record it even if I could have. The police photos would have to stand as documentation for that.
Dee lifted the cover-up to show her costume. Tony stared at it.
“Oh,” he said.
“It was going to be revealed at midnight, in the black chamber,” Dee said.
“That was supposed to be the highlight of the evening,” I added. “Everyone was going to unmask, and there was going to be a toast—ohmigod. The vodka. It’s probably still in the kitchen.”
Tony turned to me. “Vodka?”
“Cinnamon vodka. To symbolize the Red Death.”
He frowned. “I want you to explain this whole Red Death thing to me,” he said.
“Yes, of course. It’s a story by Edgar Allen Poe—”
“Not now.”
Silenced, I waited. Tony seemed lost in thought.
“Could we take the photos?” Dee said. “It’s cold.”
With a shrug, Tony gestured toward the front of the house, which we took for permission. The technicians were now on the south side, so we went into the main parlor. It was warmer there, though the fire was down to coals. The candles in Rose were burning low, but still lit the black chamber with a red glare.
“I should turn off the lights,” I said, glancing at Owen, who had his camera ready.
He nodded, and while everyone else clustered at the entrance of Rose, Dee removed the cover-up and took her place between the two candle lanterns. I turned off the overhead lights, and the others gasped.
Dee looked ethereal, a pale skeleton with a glowing red shroud. The silver paint dappled in patches on her face—and also on the bodysuit, the shroud, and even the tips of the wig, I noted—reflected the light from the candle lanterns in a brilliant red gleam, while the rest of the costume was shadowy. The effect was of tiny droplets of liquid blood, dappled all over her body.
15
Magnificent,” Owen said softly, breaking the silence. He went to work taking photos of Dee, asking her to change position slightly so that he could get every angle.
The sandy-haired tech came across the hall to look. “Oh, that is awesome!” he declared, and summoned the police photographer to take photos of Dee.
I moved out of the way, into the center of the parlor where the draped archways gave onto the other chambers. Tony touched my arm and nodded for me to follow him out to the hall.
“We’ll need that vodka,” he said to me. “No one actually drank it?”
“No. You don’t think—”
“I don’t want to find out the hard way.”
I swallowed. “OK. Yes, you’re right—though I don’t think Gabriel would do that.”
Tony gave me
his flat cop stare.
“And besides, Julio prepared the drinks.”
“Let’s go see what you’ve got,” Tony said. He glanced at Officer Finch, who was watching through the draped archway. “Keep an eye on that.”
Finch nodded and folded his arms across his chest. I led Tony to the kitchen.
“God, what a night,” he said, suddenly looking exhausted.
“Want some coffee? I think there’s some left.”
“Yeah.”
I poured him a mug and held it out to him. He put his notepad on the work table and wrapped his hands around mine. For a heartbeat we stood, gazes locked. Then he pulled the mug away and drank.
“The vodka,” he said.
“It’s not in the fridge; I was in there earlier. I bet Julio put it in the freezer.”
I opened the door of the walk-in, and saw the tray immediately. It stopped me short.
The large, oval serving tray was lined with white velvet. Around the outer edge, plain sugar skulls made a ring that tightly enclosed dozens of tall, straight shot glasses half-filled with red liquor.
“Damn,” Tony muttered.
“We ought to take it to the parlor to be photographed,” I said. “Dee was supposed to distribute them.”
Tony frowned, but said nothing. I carefully picked up the tray and brought it out, realizing too late that my fingers were freezing to the metal.
It was heavy. Julio had been smart to fill the glasses only halfway; one slip and the red would have sloshed onto the white velvet. Gritting my teeth, I set the tray on the work table and carefully unstuck my fingers. They had gotten cold so fast that they ached, and I shook my hands in an attempt to warm them up again.
I closed the freezer, then joined Tony. We both stared at the tray.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “OK. Let’s take it in. Don’t touch the glasses.”
I got some potholders to protect my skin, and picked the tray up again. Tony retrieved his notepad and went ahead to hold the draperies aside for me when we reached the parlor. Officer Finch’s eyes went wide and he moved back.
“Coming through,” Tony said, pushing back the drapery from Rose’s entrance.
The others stepped aside. Dee gave a little gasp as I entered the chamber.
A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) Page 19