“Was his name Phillips, by any chance?”
“I don’t know.”
I couldn’t bear to look at that photo, so I turned back to Owen’s portrait. After a moment I looked at to Kris, blinking back tears, my heart full.
“It’s a lovely tribute,” I whispered.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
A couple of thirty-somethings peeked in, their stylish clothes and expensive cowboy boots marking them as tourists. I stepped out to make room for the probably-paying customers.
“You’re out of champagne,” Kris noted. “Want more?”
“Yes.”
I took some cheese and a cracker to keep the wine from shooting straight to my head. The gallery was filling up; the beautiful people of Santa Fe were coming out to see Gabriel’s show and mingle with a scattering of Goths, some of whom I didn’t recognize. One couple looked almost too perfect: pale-skinned, the woman with straight black hair, the man with white hair brushed straight up. Both of them were dressed entirely in black leather.
Hollywood Goths. Moneyed Goths. Maybe Gabriel’s story had gotten around.
Roberto and Gwyneth, both in black, came into the center room, and Kris went immediately to greet them. I stayed behind to nab another piece of cheese and indulge in people-watching.
My wandering gaze stopped and the cheese turned to dust in my mouth as I spotted Tony in the far doorway.
He was wearing his leather jacket over a dark blue shirt and black jeans. He’d been looking over the crowd, but now his head turned and he met my gaze.
I swallowed the cheese dust and tried for a smile. He threaded his way through the mingling art enthusiasts and stopped in front of me.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi. Want some champagne?”
He glanced at the table where the caterer was still pouring. “Sure.”
He picked up a flute, and we both stepped aside as a trio of guests moved in on the wine and cheese. I struggled for something to say that would be sincere and not inane.
Tony beat me to it. He looked around the room, then said, “So this is Gabriel’s art.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I don’t do art.”
“It’s OK,” I said, then added, “Here’s to Gabriel.”
He joined my toast, though his expression said he thought it was all crazy. The champagne fizzed in my brain along with a bubbling spring of hope.
“Come and see this,” I said, stepping toward the next room.
Tony followed me to “Ophelia,” and I watched him take it in, a couple of waves of surprise crossing his face.
“This is good,” he said finally. “Too bad it isn’t finished.”
I thought the painting’s state was perfect, given Gabriel’s demise, but I didn’t say so to Tony. Instead I gestured toward the last room.
“Dee’s costume is in there. It was his final work. Do you want to see?”
Tony shook his head. “I spent enough hours staring at that, thanks.”
I nodded and sipped my champagne. “I’m glad you came. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
He leveled his gaze at me and was silent for two breaths, while I took about five.
“I’m working on it,” he said.
I swallowed, then managed a smile. “Let me know if I can help.”
He knocked back his champagne, and I winced, thinking I’d said the wrong thing. But the next moment he took my free hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “You want to go for coffee?”
“Sure,” I said, my heart taking wing.
Sugar Skulls
(for el Dia de los Muertos - edible, but I don't)
Ingredients:
2 c granulated sugar
2 t meringue powder
2 t water
3” skull mold
4x6” index card
or stiff plastic card
cardboard
Preparation: Mix dry ingredients together. Sprinkle water and mix until consistency of moist sand (not soppy). Pack into skull mold, place index card at back and quickly flip over, slide onto cardboard and slide out index card. Tap mold to make sure it’s loose, then lift carefully. Let dry for at least 24 hours, then decorate. Makes about four skulls.
Royal Icing
Ingredients:
2 c powdered sugar
1.5 T meringue powder
¼ t almond, lemon, or vanilla
¼-½ c warm water
food coloring
Preparation: Blend ingredients with mixer until peaks form. Separate into small bowls and add coloring, then spoon into plastic bags and make tiny snips in corners (or use piping bags). Keep sealed and refrigerated until use.
Copyright © 2016 by Patrice Greenwood. All rights reserved.
Pan de Muerto
This recipe is for buns (yields approximately twelve). Traditionally, pan de muerto is made in larger loaves. If you choose to make loaves, this recipe will yield two.
photos by Chris Krohn
Ingredients:
For the bread
½ c whole milk
5-½ T unsalted butter, chopped
zest of 1 orange
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 T orange blossom water (or plain water)
--------------------------------------------
1 ¼-oz. packet active dry yeast
¼ c lukewarm water (90-110°F)
--------------------------------------------
3-½ c unbleached all-purpose flour; more as needed
¼ c granulated sugar
1 t sea salt or kosher salt
Vegetable oil as needed
For the topping
4 T unsalted butter, melted
1 t orange flower water
2 T powdered sugar
--------------------------------------------
granulated sugar for sprinkling (½-1 cup)
In small saucepan, stir milk, butter, and orange zest over medium heat until butter melts, 2-3 minutes. Remove from the heat cool until warm (10 minutes). Add orange blossom water and eggs, whisk until blended.
Dissolve yeast in ¼ c lukewarm water and let stand 5 minutes.
Mix flour, sugar, and salt in large, shallow bowl. Make a well in the center. Mixing gently with your hand or a silicon spatula, gradually alternate adding yeast mixture and milk mixture into the well. Knead about 10 minutes until dough is smooth and slightly sticky. Add more flour if needed.
Round up dough in a large, lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap or a towel, and leave in a warm place (about 70°F) until doubled in size, 1 to 1-½ hours.
Shape the buns
Preheat oven to 350°F. Cut off a third of the dough and set aside for decorations. Divide the remaining dough in half, divide each half into thirds, and divide each third in half to create twelve buns. Round up on a lightly floured surface and place on two parchment-lined baking sheets. Press down on each bun with your palm to flatten it – about ¾” to 1” thick. Cover both sheets and let the bread start to rise while making decorations.
Note: these are the traditional Dia de los Muertos “bone” decorations, which are more stylized than realistic. On a larger loaf, there are usually three strips of “bones” rather than two. The top ball represents a skull.
The dough will be sticky and stretchy. Have a small dish of water on hand and a small pile of flour at the edge of your work surface. Dip fingers into one or the other as needed.
Decorate six buns at a time
From the reserved dough, take twelve pinches each about ½” in diameter. On a lightly floured board, roll each pinch into a ball. Take one ball and press in the center with a finger.
Begin to roll it out, leaving a knob at each end. Add a second finger, then a third, gently stretching as the “bone” elongates. Roll until about 4” long and about ¼” in diameter with knobbed ends.
Optional Extra Knobbiness
When all twelve bones are shaped, take a sm
all pinch of reserved dough and roll it thin, to 2 mm thick. Pinch off lengths of about ¾”. With a fingertip, dampen the back of each length with water and wrap around a bone about 1” from the end. Press the outside edge of the small strip with a fingertip to make a dimple. Add another strip to the other end of the bone. Repeat for each bone. (Note: if you are dexterous, you might simply roll extra knobs into the bones as you are stretching them out. However, I’ve found it easier and faster to do it this way.)
Take 6 pinches of reserved dough each ½” in diameter. Roll into balls for the “skulls.”
Uncover one sheet of buns and use fingertips to dampen each bun before decorating it. Lay one bone across bun and press against the bun slightly to make sure it sticks, especially at the ends. If the bone is too long, pinch it together in the middle, which will be covered. If it is too short, stretch it. Dampen the center point of this bone and lay a second bone across it to form a cross shape.
Dampen the point where they cross, and gently press one of the skulls onto that point. Repeat for each bun.
Cover and let rise while decorating second tray (note the time: this tray should rise about 45 minutes). You may have enough dough left from the reserve to make an extra bun for a total of lucky thirteen!
Baking and Sugaring
With a rack in center of oven, bake the first tray until the loaves have an even golden color, 20 minutes. Cover loosely with foil and bake 5 minutes more. Bottoms should be browned and sound hollow when tapped.
While the bread is baking, melt the 4 T butter in a small saucepan. Add orange flower water and powdered sugar, stir until blended, remove from heat.
Set a wire cooling rack over a shallow pan or baking sheet to catch excess butter and sugar.
When first tray of buns is done, remove from the oven and place second tray in (set timer). Place the baked buns on the wire rack and brush with the melted butter mixture. Sprinkle sugar all over the tops, tilting the buns slightly to coat them evenly. Let cool, then remove to plate. Repeat with the second batch of buns.
The bread is best eaten within a day of baking.
Copyright © 2016 by Patrice Greenwood. All rights reserved.
A Note from the Author
Thank you for reading A Masquerade of Muertos! I hope you enjoyed it. Please consider:
1. Signing up for my newsletter! You’ll get early notice of new releases, and other tidbits now and then, but not a flood of emails. Promise.
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4. Visiting my website, patricegreenwood.com, where I occasionally blog about tea or whatever else catches my fancy.
If you haven’t read the rest of the series, be sure to read the free sample of A Fatal Twist of Lemon, book 1 in the Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries. Just turn the page...
—Patrice Greenwood
Sample from A Fatal Twist of Lemon
1
The first day my tearoom opened was wonderful—mostly. Funny how life can go swimmingly one moment, and fall to pieces the next.
The sun was starting to dip toward the west, filtered by the wisteria vines on the front porch, as I bade my guests farewell. My thank-you tea party had been a success, and the butterflies in my stomach had mostly settled down. After months of hard work, the Wisteria Tearoom was ready for its official grand opening celebration in two days.
“The tea was marvelous, Ellen! Come for dinner tomorrow,” said my aunt Nat, giving me a big hug.
“Oh … I’ve got so much to do—”
“And you won’t get it done if you don’t take a rest now and then. Say ‘Yes, thank you,’ like a good girl.”
“Yes, thank you,” I said meekly.
Nat smiled. “Six o’clock.”
I waved farewell to her and her perennial beau Manny Salazar, whose produce business was one of my suppliers. With a grateful sigh, I went inside and started toward the kitchen.
Claudia Pearson—a tall, older woman with snowy hair drawn into a tight bun and an aristocratic Roman nose, who always reminded me of Georgia O’Keeffe—stood in the hall putting on her gloves. She and Sylvia Carruthers, both from the Santa Fe Preservation Trust, were my most important guests at the thank-you tea. In fact, I’d come up with the party as a way of acknowledging them. Without their help, I wouldn’t have been able to open the tearoom.
“Did Mrs. Carruthers go already?” I asked Claudia, who seemed in no hurry to leave.
“No, she hasn’t come out.”
We both looked toward the private dining parlor at the back of the tearoom, which doubled as a conference room and was where the tea had taken place. Vi, one of my servers, a stunning Juno of a girl with a tumble of flaming curls barely confined by a lavender ribbon, stepped out of the pantry across the hall, carrying an empty tray.
“Maybe she forgot something,” I said to Claudia. “I’ll go and see.”
I went to the dining parlor door with Vi close on my heels. Dusk gathered at the windows and French doors, pushed back by the golden pool of light from the chandelier. I stopped short just inside the doorway.
Sylvia Carruthers lay sprawled on the floor beside the table, her huge heishi necklace tight around her throat, eyes bulging and her face a livid purple.
My heart gave a terrified thump.
“Vi, call an ambulance! Hurry!”
Vi made a small, startled sound, then disappeared. I rushed to Sylvia, dropping to my knees.
I lifted her by the shoulders and pulled her necklace loose. It wasn’t easy—the heishi was practically embedded in her neck. As I tugged at it, some of the strands broke, sending tiny yellow beads dancing across the wood floor, a delicate waterfall of sound.
Sylvia didn’t breathe. She didn’t move. I tried to find a pulse, but there was none.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
Things seemed to happen in flashes after that. I remember Claudia Pearson standing over me, saying something wry, then taking out her cell phone.
I did what I could to revive Sylvia, but I knew in my heart it was hopeless. Paramedics arrived in mere moments and confirmed that Sylvia was beyond help. I felt guilty and appalled and terribly, terribly sad. I also felt apprehensive, especially when the police began to invade.
Thank you for a wonderful afternoon.
Sylvia’s last words to me echoed in my mind. I’d intended to honor her with this celebration. Instead…
The police wanted to talk to everyone. Vi and the other two servers, my chef Julio, and dishwasher Mick gathered in the kitchen where I asked them to wait. All young—college age—and looking rather shocked. I was not their peer, but I felt more divided from them than ever now as they clustered together, talking in low voices. I wished I could think of something to say to reassure them, but I was feeling none too assured myself.
Claudia remained, having called to cancel the meeting she and Sylvia had been headed for. I took her to wait in the Iris alcove in the tearoom’s main parlor. With a resigned expression, she made herself comfortable in a blue velvet wing chair by the embers of the fire.
“Would you like tea, or have you had your fill?” I asked her.
“A pot of tea would be welcome, since I’m likely to be here a while.”
“I’ll get it. Oh—should I call Donna?” I said, remembering Sylvia’s daughter, who had also been at the party. The thought of calling her dismayed me, but it could be considered my duty as hostess.
“I’ve already done so,” Claudia said.
I breathed relief. “Thank you. I’m afraid I’m a bit distracted.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow. “You’ve had a shock. Why don’t you sit down?”
“I will, as soon as I…”
I stepped out into the hall and nearly collided with a police officer. She shot me an irritated glance, then headed toward the dining parlor wi
th heavy, clumping steps.
Flashes of red and blue light spun down the hallway, reflecting on the polished oak floor. I felt a wave of dread for what this might do to my business.
I went to the kitchen. Julio had made a pot of coffee, normally anathema in the tearoom, but I was in no state to object at the moment.
The staff were all sitting around the small wooden table at the back of the kitchen with mugs in their hands. Vi huddled forward, cupping both hands around her mug, looking shell-shocked. Julio got up and reached for a fresh mug when he saw me come in.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m going to make some tea.”
Dee, one of the servers, jumped up, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’ll make it. What kind?”
“Assam,” I said, choosing a tea with a warm and malty flavor, one I associate with comfort. “And two cups, please. Bring them to Iris.”
Dee hurried to the butler’s pantry. Her brother, Mick, the dishwasher, got up and followed her. Iz, the third in my trio of servers, a shy and soft-spoken Indian girl from Tesuque Pueblo, looked up at me, then laid a hand on Vi’s back and started rubbing it.
“We going to be here a while, boss?” Julio asked. He was still in his white chef’s jacket, but had unbuttoned the collar and freed his curling black hair from the hairnet and his customary colorful cap.
A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) Page 26