A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) (29 page)

“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.”