A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5)

by Patrice Greenwood

  He dug a much-folded wad of paper from his pocket, and I recognized the pages as having been torn from the legal pad I’d given him. Next he pulled out the guest-list, also much abused and adorned with check marks and scribbles, which he offered to me.

  “Help me narrow this down. Who should I be looking at?”

  “So it’s murder.”

  He laid the list in front of me. “Who should I look at?” he repeated softly.

  “Good grief, how should I know? I never saw most of these people before last night!”

  “Most of them. Which ones did you see before? Besides Kris. And Gabriel.”

  “Kris didn’t do it.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “She couldn’t have!”

  “Look, if you’re not going to help—”

  “Sorry. Sorry. All right.” I looked at the guest list, reluctant to pick it up. “There was a planning meeting for the party a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Here?”

  I nodded. “In the dining parlor.”

  “Who was at it?”

  “Kris and Gabriel, myself, Ramon.” I frowned at the guest list, which was alphabetical. “Gwyneth Bancroft and Roberto Chavez. Margo Foss. Cherie Legrand. And...Dale Whittier. I think that’s it. Let me check.”

  I fired up my computer. The kettle whistled, and I went across the hall to make tea. Tony was making notes when I returned with my kitchen timer. The computer had booted, so I brought up my calendar to check the planning party.

  “Yes, that’s everyone.”

  “What about Mr. Leaf-face?” he asked, gesturing toward Owen’s mask.

  “He wasn’t there,” I said firmly. “Julio was in the kitchen, and Dee was serving. Oh, and Mick was here too.”

  “Dee?”

  “Yes. But she didn’t do it.”

  Tony gave me a skeptical look. I shrugged.

  “She’s the one who found Gabriel. She called me right away.”

  “When? What time?”

  I checked my phone. “Eleven seventeen.”

  “M.E. says time of death was between eleven and eleven-thirty.”

  “Well, that fits.”

  He leafed through his papers and read from one. “Mick saw Dee leave a couple minutes after eleven.”

  “Dee did not kill Gabriel! She hardly knew him. She only met him the night of the meeting, like me.”

  “But then she let him paint that body suit while she was wearing it. Said it took three sessions.”

  I swallowed, not wanting to believe that Dee could betray Kris. There had been a connection between Dee and Gabriel, though. I had sensed it, but I’d assumed it was confined to his art. Was that wishful thinking?

  “Even if there was something going on there,” I said slowly, “and I’m not convinced there was...that wouldn’t give Dee any reason to kill Gabriel.”

  “Let’s get back to the meeting,” Tony said. “What do you know about the people who were there?”

  They all slept with Gabriel.

  Or maybe just all the women.

  I swallowed. “Roberto’s an artist. Gwyneth modeled for both him and Gabriel. She was with Gabriel before she hooked up with Roberto.”

  “Why did she switch?”

  “I don’t know. I think...maybe Roberto was more inclined to put her on a pedestal. I could be wrong, though. I don’t really know them.”

  “What makes you think that, though?”

  “Well—I saw their art at the exhibition. Gabriel’s was pretty stark, not always flattering to Gwyneth. Roberto’s...well, he painted her as Titania.”

  “Who?”

  “The queen of the fairies. From Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  Tony looked through his notes, and scrawled something on one of the pages.

  “Do you want some fresh paper?”

  “Nah. So Roberto loves Gwyneth. Think he stole her from Gabriel?”

  “Possibly. I think they were...rivals...in more ways than one.”

  Tony tilted his head, gazing at me. “You mean professional rivals.”

  I nodded. “Gabriel just got into a gallery on Canyon Road. I think Roberto was trying to do the same. Well, all artists want that, right?”

  “Think Roberto would kill over that? Professional jealousy?”

  An appalling suggestion. I made myself consider it before answering. “It seems rather a stretch. Roberto had won Gwyneth. Couldn’t that be revenge enough?”

  “You said they were rivals. Lot of money in Canyon Road.” Tony gazed steadily at me and I sensed his intensity go up a notch.

  “Yes,” I said slowly, “but killing Gabriel wouldn’t improve Roberto’s chances of showing there.”

  “How do you know?”

  I bit my lip. “I’m not a professional critic, but I think Gabriel’s work was a few notches above Roberto’s.”

  My timer went off. I picked it up and stood. “Change your mind about tea?”

  Tony shook his head. I fetched a fresh mug for myself, indulged in sugar and milk (a little more protein), and settled back behind my desk.

  “What about Gwyneth?” Tony said.

  “She didn’t kill Gabriel.”

  He dropped his notes in his lap and treated me to the Cop Stare.

  “No, I’m sure she didn’t. She was distraught after you talked to her last night. I found her crying outside, waiting for Roberto.”

  “Could be an act. She strikes me as a drama queen.”

  “I don’t think so. I mean—yes, she’s a drama queen, but I don’t think she’s that good an actor. When I brought her in the kitchen, she asked me why Gabriel was dead. She seemed genuinely bewildered.”

  “Oh.” Tony grimaced and made a note. “It’s never the easy answer.”

  “The easy answer would have been Roberto. But I don’t think he did it either.”

  Tony’s eyes narrowed and I thought he might be about to contradict me, but instead he said, “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “No.” I thought about it, frowning. “No. I’m sorry. There were so many people here...”

  “What about these others from the meeting?”

  “Ramon would have no reason to kill Gabriel. None of my staff would.”

  “Except Kris. And maybe Dee.”

  “I don’t think Kris did it, and I don’t know why Dee would,” I said loftily.

  He made another note, and looked through the pages. He wanted me to get defensive on behalf of Dee, or Kris. Probably both. Determined not to let him push me, I picked up my mug and drank.

  “Several people mentioned that Gabriel danced with Gwyneth right before eleven,” Tony said.

  “Yes. He did.” I put down my mug, remembering that dance, how everyone watched. “It was probably a bad idea, but I totally get why he did it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He...reveled in his attractiveness to women.”

  “You mean he dug being sexy.”

  “It’s more than that. He wasn’t just sexy, he was magnetic. Charismatic. I felt it myself.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Tony!”

  He hunched a shoulder and busied himself with his notes. “Sorry. Gotta ask.”

  “No, I did not! He was my client. I had no reason at all to kill him. Every reason not to, in fact, because now—” I stopped myself before I went over the cliff of self-pity.

  “Because...?”

  “I’ll probably lose money on that party. It isn’t important.”

  “He didn’t pay you?”

  “He paid a deposit. Tony, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It could matter. How much was it going to cost him?”

  “Not enough to kill for, if that’s where you’re going.”

  “You’d be surprised what people will kill for.”

  That was one of the more chilling things Tony had ever said to me. I stared at him, trying to convince myself he was just being dramatic, but the straight gaze he gave me seemed to
confirm his words.

  My throat felt dry, suddenly. I picked up my mug. Sometimes it was hard to feel good about the world.

  “I wonder who’s Gabriel’s heir?” I mused. “If he even had a will.”

  “I can answer that one. He did.”

  I waited, curious, but not willing to push. It might be that Tony wouldn’t divulge that bit of information.

  He stared back at me. Unwilling to get into such a game, I yielded, turning to my computer.

  “I know less about the other people at the meeting, except for Dale Whittier. He’s applied for a job here, so I know a good deal about him, but not really anything to do with Gabriel. Except....” I frowned. Something was niggling at my memory. “There’s a connection.”

  “With Gabriel?”

  “No,” I said slowly. “Not Gabriel. Someone else.”

  Whatever it was slipped away. I rubbed my forehead. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

  “If you remember it later, write it down.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Cherie Legrand?”

  I shrugged. “I met her the night of the meeting, and didn’t see her again until the party. Same with Margo. No—that’s not true. I saw them at the art exhibition. Briefly.”

  “Were all of them at the exhibition?”

  “I think so. Yes, Dale was there, too.”

  Silence made me look up at Tony. He was watching me with narrowed eyes.

  “What?”

  If he intended to bring Loren into the conversation, I just might blow my cool. I leaned back in my chair, waiting.

  Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out an evidence bag. Inside it was something flat and black. He tossed it on my desk.

  “Don’t open the bag. Ever seen that before?”

  I looked at the bag, poking it gingerly to rotate it. There was a black cord and a flat, black, rectangular object attached to one end of it. It rang a bell. I turned the bag over and recognized the black rectangle, because on this side it was clear and contained a map.

  “It’s a badge from the exhibition,” I said. “That’s a map of the booths.”

  “Did you get one?” Tony asked, leaning forward and staring intently at me.

  “Yes. Everyone did.”

  “Do you still have yours?”

  “I think so...” I started digging through my “to file” pile. About two thirds of the way down I found my badge and pulled it out.

  Tony gave an audible sigh and collapsed back in his chair. “Thank God.”

  “Why?”

  He pointed to the evidence bag. “Because that’s the murder weapon.”

  16

  I stared at the badge inside its plastic bag, twin to the one in my hand...or almost. Now I registered a detail I hadn’t noted before: the cord of the bagged badge had been cut. By the paramedics, I assumed.

  My eyes filled with tears. “Oh, God.”

  I dropped my badge and pushed my chair back from the desk, weeping. It was stress, lack of sleep—and deep sadness for Gabriel, who mattered to me much more than I’d expected.

  “Ellen. Ellen, I’m sorry,” Tony said as I blubbered.

  I waved a hand helplessly, wiping at my streaming eyes with the other, wanting him to know I didn’t blame him. Fumbling toward my desk, I tried to find the box of tissue, then felt it pushed into my hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Tony said again, his voice gentle. “I had to—”

  “I know, I know,” I said soggily.

  A hug would have been nice. Instead I heard his footsteps leaving the office. Struggling to get control of myself, I coughed and hiccuped.

  One hiccup. One.

  I straightened and pushed my shoulders back, drawing a deep, ragged breath. Tony came in, carrying my teapot carefully with both hands.

  “Will this help?” he said.

  I nodded and pushed my mug toward him. He put the teapot on the credenza and carried the mug over to it. Watching him pour tea for me, my heart relaxed a little and all my former annoyance left me.

  He put the pot down and brought me the mug. “Thanks,” I said, and took a sip.

  “You want to take a break?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I got up and walked out to the hall and over to my sitting area, standing by the window and looking down at the street as I drank my tea. A breezy, sunny day.

  “What’s all this?” Tony asked. “Did you make these?”

  Turning, I saw him looking at my sugar skulls. “Yes. Julio had a skull-decorating party, remember?”

  “You make the ones downstairs, too?”

  “There’s one that I made in Violet, on the mantel.”

  “I mean the ones in all the colored rooms.”

  “Oh—actually, I don’t know who made those. Dale put them there right before the party began, but he said he didn’t make them.”

  “Dale put them there? Why?”

  “I don’t know. You might ask him.”

  Tony shoved his hands in his pockets, frowning in thought. I looked out the window again. Leaves blowing around on the lawn. I’d have to rake them up. Maybe next weekend I’d have time.

  “Feeling better?” Tony asked.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “Can I show you something else?”

  I felt the muscles between my shoulder blades tighten. “If you must,” I said, turning to face him.

  “It’s not bad. It’s just a scrap of fabric. We found it at the scene.”

  He produced another, smaller evidence bag and held it out to me. Inside was a small shred of black tulle.

  “Could any of your guests have been wearing that?”

  “Probably at least half of them,” I said.

  “Yeah, I kind of figured. Thanks.”

  “Plus, it was Halloween. Any black costume could have included this kind of fabric. There was a witch in the bar at Hidalgo Plaza.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone there saw anything.”

  “Not until after you and Dee arrived.”

  “Hm. And you think the killer left this?”

  He met my gaze as he held out his hand. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Well,” I said, turning the bag around. “That lets out Kris and Dee, then. Neither of their costumes included tulle.”

  “Tool?”

  “Tulle. T-u-l-l-e.” I waved the bag. “That’s what this is. It’s a kind of fabric. Used in ballet costumes a lot.”

  “How do you know Kris and Dee weren’t wearing it? Could’ve been underneath.”

  “Tulle isn’t used for linings or undergarments. It would be too itchy. And I know about Dee’s costume because I helped her dress. There was no tulle in it.”

  He took the bag back. “Did you help Kris dress?”

  “No, but her gown was silk velvet, not tulle. And it wasn’t black. In fact, none of the party planners were wearing black. They were all dressed in the colors of the chambers.”

  “There was a black chamber.”

  “That was Gabriel’s. Kris’s was next door, the violet one. Do you need a copy of the map?”

  “There’s a map?”

  “Yes. Gabriel planned it all. It’s in my office.”

  “I want to see it.” He met my gaze and added, “In a minute.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and took another swallow of tea.

  Tony looked at the tulle. “So I’m looking for a ballerina.”

  “Not necessarily. There were some fairies at the party wearing black tulle. What you’re looking for is a torn costume. If you’re lucky, it wasn’t intended to look torn.”

  “Let me guess. There were people wearing torn tulle at the party.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me, though I don’t recall offhand.”

  Tony nodded, looking depressed. “Another roadblock. I’ve got a lot of them on this case.”

  “Can I help with any of them?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Worth a try?”


  He sighed, and sat on the sofa. “OK, here’s one. Nobody saw Gabriel leave the house.”

  “Dee saw him go by the kitchen window.”

  “Right. The hall was full of people, and none of them saw him. I figure he went out the front door right after Gwyneth fainted, when everyone was looking the other way.”

  “So he went out the front, and along the side to the back. And Dee said he was running. Why?”

  “Good question.”

  I sat beside him and put my mug on the table.

  “Maybe he saw Gwyneth faint, and got upset...” I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. I’d expect him to go toward her, not away.”

  “Even though she was with Roberto?”

  “Yes. He was kind, despite the artist’s ego. So either he got an urgent message that made him leave, or...”

  “He was chasing someone.”

  “Which would mean someone else left the party before him.”

  “Right. But nobody has fessed up to that.”

  I met his gaze. “Somebody’s lying.”

  He nodded. “Or Gabriel was killed by someone who wasn’t a party guest. But I think that’s not likely.”

  “What happened to suicide?”

  “We’re pretty sure it wasn’t.”

  I leaned back, absorbing the fact that the killer had been a guest in my house. I didn’t want to believe it.

  “Most murder victims are killed by someone they know,” Tony said.

  “You think it was Kris.”

  “I haven’t ruled her out.”

  I bit my lip. I knew in my heart that she hadn’t killed Gabriel. Even when he danced with Gwyneth, she’d been calm. She’d forgiven him.

  But they had disagreed about something that night. I’d overheard them talking, here upstairs. I rubbed my head, trying to remember.

  I heard my phone, which I’d left on my desk, ring, dispelling the memory like a puff of smoke. I fetched it and came back out.

  “It’s Gina,” I told Tony. “Please excuse me.”

  He nodded, looking amused, and took out his own phone.

  “Special delivery!” Gina said when I answered. “Come and let me in.”

  I met her at the back door. She looked smart in a red coat over a floral dress, crowned with a red pillbox hat with a little net veil. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill and she had a large paper carry-out bag in one hand.

  “Sweetie,” she said, folding me into a perfumed, one-armed hug. I closed my eyes, enjoying the comfort, wordlessly grateful.