A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) (22 page)

“No, thanks,” Dee said. “I don’t want to have to take all this off to go to the bathroom.”

“I hope Gabriel’s paying you.”

“He paid me some for modeling,” she said, confirming my suspicions. “He doesn’t have a ton of money.”

“Don’t let him shortchange you.”

She raised a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m learning stuff. It’s interesting.”

If she was smitten with the alluring Gabriel, she was hiding it well. I stepped over to hand my plate to Mick, glancing out the south window at the gyrating tree shadows outside before fetching myself a cup of cider and heading back to the party.

The guitar cut through the chatter of the guests, playing a waltz that sounded familiar. I edged my way through the now-crowded hall to get closer to Ramon. Between the shoulders of a tall and scantily-clad fairy and a stocky, bearded gentleman in a tuxedo and goat’s horns, I saw a whirl of white near the front door.

The waltz was in a minor key, a classical piece. The white, as I got to where I could see better, turned out to be Gwyneth.

Gwyneth and Gabriel, to be more precise, waltzing in the small clear space near the entrance. They looked ghostly and beautiful.

To get a better view, I went up a couple of steps and sat on the stairs. Ramon glanced at me, but was busy with the waltz, which was fast and complicated. What was it? “Danse Macabre?” No, though that was also a waltz.

From my vantage I could see not only Gabriel and Gwyneth, but the people watching them from the sidelines, including the other “guardians.” Kris, leaning against the doorway into the main parlor, was smiling slightly but I couldn’t tell the mood behind the smile. Her half-mask hid her feelings from me.

Had Gabriel danced with her? I sure hoped so. If not, he’d better ask her next.

Roberto’s mood was more obvious, despite his mask. Body language: he stood with arms crossed, feet planted, at the front of the audience, almost intruding on the dancers’ space. Margo hovered in the doorway to the gift shop, swaying from foot to foot in time with the music, hands crossed over her bosom.

Cherie, in a wing chair against the side of the hall not far from Kris, was leaning forward to watch, a glass of something pale green in her hand. Dale lounged against the wall beside her chair, also with arms crossed but looking more relaxed than Roberto. Remembering the sugar skulls he’d added to the décor of the chambers, I resolved to ask him who had made them.

The music slowed to a finish, and Gabriel bowed deeply to Gwyneth, who sank into a graceful curtsy. I stood and stepped up to Ramon’s chair.

“What was that piece?” I asked over the applause.

Ramon flashed me a grin, picking up his water glass. “Masquerade.”

Khachaturian, of course. “Perfect choice. Need more?” I asked as he drained the glass. He nodded and handed it to me.

Gabriel rose and, keeping hold of Gwyneth’s hand, led her to where Roberto stood. “Lord Orange, I return the White Lady to you,” he announced, bowing slightly, and laid Gwyneth’s hand in Roberto’s. Gwyneth looked both pleased and disappointed; her eyes followed Gabriel as he turned away and headed straight for Kris.

“My lady.” He knelt before her, holding out his hands in a beseeching gesture. Kris’s smile grew a little warmer as she laid her hands in his. He couldn’t kiss them because of the mask; instead, he pressed them to his chest.

“My heart is yours,” he said simply.

“Oh! I’m so hot,” Gwyneth said, and began edging her way through the crowd toward the dining parlor. Roberto followed, looming over her protectively.

Gabriel stood, keeping hold of Kris’s hands. “Not only lovelier, you are by far the wiser.”

Roberto’s head turned. Gwyneth sped down the hall with swift, small steps, the crowd parting before her. Roberto followed her.

Cherie rose from her chair with lazy grace and handed her empty glass to Dale. “She heard that,” she said to Gabriel. “Come to think of it—I’ve heard it before, too. You really should come up with some new lines, dearest.”

She strolled down the hall after the others, her heels clicking on the wood floor. Dale exchanged a long look with Gabriel, then followed.

Ramon struck up another piece on the guitar. Kris crossed the hall and went into Poppy, brushing past Margo in the doorway. Gabriel followed her. The others began to mill and talk. The show was over, so I went to get more water for Ramon, pondering why Gabriel had indulged in that little scene. Maybe he liked playing with fire.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon, mushrooms and cheese. Julio looked up from stacking fresh
pan
on a platter. I went to the fridge to fill Ramon’s glass with filtered water. A titter of laughter—I suspected Gwyneth—reached us from the hall.

Dee was standing by her brother, talking quietly. Mick had agreed to stay to the end of the party, mainly to wash glassware and serving things (overtime was such an attractive enticement). I was glad that he’d be available to escort Dee home.

“Could you put this in the dining parlor?” Julio said, laying a final
pan
on top of the platter.

The clock started chiming the three-quarter hour. I glanced up, then nodded.

“Sure. Heading home?”

“In a bit. I’ll clean up a little first.”

I bit back an admonition to leave it. Julio was strict about cleanliness in the kitchen, which was probably why we didn’t have a lot of pest problems.

“OK. If I don’t see you, have a good night.”

He yawned, nodding. I left Ramon’s glass on the counter and picked up the tray, carrying it slowly so as not to unleash an avalanche of
pan
. Navigating my way through the pantry and the short hall (where there was still a line for the restroom), I crossed to the dining parlor and set the tray in the empty space on the sideboard.

Cherie and Roberto had their heads together by the fireplace, talking in low voices. Gwyneth was laughing at something the long-haired woodland spirit had just said to her. Smiling, but the muscles in her throat were taut. Her cheeks were high in color, and her eyes looked a little manic.

Having succeeded at being invisible, I retreated to the kitchen and retrieved Ramon’s water. He nodded thanks as I set it beside him, but didn’t speak as he was concentrating on another waltz. This time it
was
“Danse Macabre.”

A tall woman—a dead ringer for Morticia Adams—was dancing with a hunchback who looked suspiciously like Riff Raff. They were nowhere near as graceful as Gwyneth and Gabriel, but they were clearly having a grand time. I watched them for a bit, then decided I should go around and check on the fireplaces and the food again.

Hyacinth was deserted. Only a few mushrooms left, so I fetched the fresh batch from the kitchen, then built up the fire. Heading for Violet, I met Kris coming out, and since the passage was too small for two abreast, I stepped back into Poppy to let her pass. I smiled, but she looked in a hurry and didn’t stop.

Peering into Violet, I saw Gabriel by the fireplace, looking down at the coals. I stepped in, picking up a log from the holder to add to the fire.

“Everything all right?”

His head turned toward me, the golden mask hiding whatever he was thinking. Without answering, he stepped past me and out.

Apparently not.

Sighing, I built up the fire, then glanced at the offerings on the mantel. The votive was flickering, burning low. A half-empty glass of wine stood beside the photo of Vi; I left it, not sure whether it was an offering or someone’s forgotten drink.

The food was all right. I looked into Dahlia to check the food there. The tray was half-full. Margo stood between the two green candle lanterns, one hand on her stomach.

“You OK?” I asked.

She flashed me a smile, nodding. “Fine.” As if to prove it, she picked up a glass from one of the lamp stands and drank. Dale’s sugar skull grinned beside the lantern.

I crossed the hall to check on the alcoves there. The food was holding up; everyone must be getting sated. Lily and Jonquil were occupied by people talking and nibbling. Kris was back in Iris, conversing intently with Maleficent. She acknowledged me with a brief nod and went on talking.

Bending to tend to the fire, I was surprised by a low voice—Gabriel’s, I thought—saying, “What do you want?” I glanced at Kris, but apparently she hadn’t heard.

I glanced into Rose and saw Gabriel standing there, but no one else. He wasn’t looking at me, so he must not have been talking to me. I slipped through the archway into the dining parlor.

Cherie was trickling water into a glass from the absinthe fountain. Intrigued, I watched her sugar cube dissolve as the water passed through it into the green liquor below. The drink went pale and cloudy, and Cherie shut off the fountain, gave the mixture a stir with the spatula-spoon, and sipped.

“Want some?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” I bent to build up the fire. The clock began to chime. When I stood up again, Cherie was watching me.

“You should try it,” she said with a languid smile.

“I will, some day.” I smiled back, then headed out to the hall.

The back door opened as I arrived, and Roberto and Gwyneth came in. Gwyneth’s hair was windblown and her headpiece was a little askew. Roberto straightened it as the clock started tolling the hour.

Everyone fell still; I turned toward the stairs, wanting another break, but waited for the clock so as not to break the mood. On the eleventh toll, a small cry made me look back just in time to see Gwyneth slump to the floor.

¹²

R
oberto caught Gwyneth in time to keep her from cracking her head on the hardwood floor. I rushed to help him, taking one of her hands in mine. It was ice cold.

Everyone in the hall crowded toward us. “Give us some room, please!” I said. Looking up at Roberto, I added, “She’s freezing.”

“I told her she should wear her cloak!” He sounded panicked.

Cloak—good idea! I grabbed the garment from the nearest coat-hook, which turned out to be a purple velvet cape. Bundling this around Gwyneth, I took the opportunity to check for a pulse. I found it—a bit fast, but reassuring. Glancing over my shoulder, I looked for a familiar face.

“Ramon! Get a cup of that cider from the kitchen, please.”

He nodded, eyes wide, and ducked into the pantry. I heard a door bang shut.

“Sit her up,” I told Roberto.

By the time we got her propped against Roberto’s chest, she showed signs of life, much to my relief. Ramon arrived with the cider and I held it for her.

“Sip this,” I said.

She obeyed meekly, and after a couple of sips reached up to take the cup. I wrapped her icy hands around it and steadied them until I was sure she could hold it.

Roberto looked up at me, eyes wide behind the mask. “Thank you.”

I nodded and stood, turning to the spectators. “She’s all right. Make some room for us to bring her to the fireplace, please.”

The crowd obligingly parted, and Ramon picked up one of the smaller chairs from the hallway, carrying it into the dining parlor. I knelt down beside Gwyneth again.

“Can you stand up, or should Roberto carry you?”

“I...um...”

Roberto solved the question by removing the cider from her grasp and handing it to me, then gathering her in his arms and lifting her with apparent ease. I led him into the dining parlor and indicated the chair. He set her there quite tenderly, and arranged the purple cape around her.

“So stupid,” she said through chattering teeth. “I just wanted to l-look at the moon.”

“You’ll be all right,” I told her, handing her back the cider. I added another log to the fire and replaced the screen.

Roberto cast me a glance as he stood behind her chair, hands on her shoulders. His eyes showed his gratitude, even through the mask.

A murmur of voices penetrated my awareness. Looking toward the door, I saw Dale standing guard, keeping people out. Beyond him, someone complained, “I just want a drink!”

“Give us a few minutes,” Dale said in a calm voice, earning my silent gratitude.

Thinking Gabriel should know about Gwyneth’s collapse, I went through the archway into Rose. It was empty. I walked through to the intersection in the middle of the parlor and looked into the other three chambers. They were empty, too.