A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) (18 page)

She nodded. “I’ll do the receipts. Gabriel should be here in half an hour. Are you going to change now?”

I glanced at my orange chiffon, feeling slightly reluctant to put on the quasi-medieval, floor-length black gown that Kris had brought for me to wear during the party. It was chilly, though, and the velvet would be much warmer.

“Might as well,” I said.

“I’ll lace it up for you,” Kris said, following me across to my suite, where the gown was hanging in my closet, silently arguing with my collection of Victorian styles.

Actually, I thought as I moved it from the closet to one of the posts of my canopy bed, it fit more with my bedroom décor than the Victorian dresses. My suite was more Renaissance; the Victoriana lived downstairs in the tearoom.

“Underdress first,” Kris said, reaching beneath the black velvet to extract a swath of shimmering gold. The fabric was light and silky but opaque, a dark gold with an almost-metallic sheen. She gathered it up while I took off my chiffon. I stepped out of my shoes, and Kris slipped the underdress over my head. It slid coolly over my arms and shoulders, falling to brush my ankles. The sleeves were long and close-fitting, with points that came down past my wrists.

“Now the gown. You might want to put the slippers on first.”

I stowed my work pumps in the closet and took out the black velvet slippers, embellished with a pair of gold Celtic knotwork pins, that Kris had helped me find for the occasion. The gown was hers, but we didn’t wear the same size shoes, so I had sprung for the slippers and Kris had provided the pins from her jewelry collection.

Properly shod, I held out my arms and Kris slid the sleeves onto them. The velvet was rich and warm. I stood still while Kris tightened the lacing in the back, which started at the waist and went up to the neck.

“Not too tight,” I said.

“No, but if it’s loose you’ll be uncomfortable.”

“How do you manage to get in and out of this by yourself?”

“I’m not usually by myself,” Kris said, and left the rest to my imagination.

After a few minutes of tugging and tucking, she pronounced me dressed, except for the hair. I took down the Gibson-girl style and brushed it out, then Kris tied a gold ribbon that matched the underdress around my forehead. A small, jeweled pin sat centered over my brow. My phone fit into a clever pocket in one of the sleeves that Kris showed me.

“Oh, and the kirtle.” She produced a length of gorgeous brocaded trim, gleaming with gold thread in a knotwork design, and tied it low around my hips, with the ends dangling in front.

“Perfect,” Kris declared, and stood me in front of my full-length mirror.

A fairy-tale lady gazed back at me: not a princess, but a woman of warmth and mystery. The simple hairstyle made my eyes look big. Instinctively, I raised my chin and straightened my shoulders.

“Do you need help getting into yours?” I asked.

“Not yet. I’m going to help decorate first.”

We left my suite just as Mr. Quentin was collecting his belongings. He paused to admire my attire as Kris ducked back into her office to collect her decorations.

“We are stepping even farther back in time, I see,” he said.

“It’s for a private party,” I said.

“You look very fine.”

“Thanks. How did the talk go?”

“Pretty well. That witch was a little unnerving. She looked familiar. Not like Margaret Hamilton, but like I’ve seen her before.”

“You have,” I said. “She’s a regular customer, and she took the tour more than once.”

“Ah. That accounts for it.”

Briefly, I struggled with myself. The Bird Woman would have wanted me to remind him of her phone number, but with the memory of her witch costume uppermost in his mind, it might not be the best timing. Before I could resolve the question, Mr. Quentin made it moot by departing.

Kris emerged with a shoulder bag and a small rolling suitcase, and we went downstairs. She headed into the main parlor and I paused in the hall, waiting for Willow who was herding her stragglers out of the dining parlor. Rosa stood at the front door, seeing the tour party out and listening to the Bird Woman, who had buttonholed her.

I looked at Willow. “Congratulations. The tours were a huge success.”

She smiled, taking her coat off a hook. “Same to you.”

“I bet you’re looking forward to a break.”

“I am. And also to exploring Hidalgo Plaza with you.” She put on her gloves. “Have a wonderful evening. You look splendid.”

“Thanks.”

I watched her go up the hall, but not feeling inclined to face the Wicked Bird Woman of the West, who was still talking Rosa’s ear off, I didn’t accompany her. Instead I retreated to the pantry. Dee passed through with a tray full of china from the tour group. Grabbing another tray, I went into the dining parlor and gathered the rest of the china, being careful of my gown.

“Let me do that!” Dee said, returning.

“Don’t you need to change?”

“It won’t take me long.”

She shooed me out, and I wandered into the main parlor to help Kris. She had her suitcase open on the piano bench and was removing large pieces of gorgeous fabric: brocade, jacquard, silk. My inner dressmaker drooled.

“Shall I start taking out the knickknacks?” I asked.

“Sure. But leave the tributes to Vi. Gabriel wants to see them.”

I nodded, and began collecting ornaments from the alcoves in the main parlor. Vases, statuettes, table lamps, and lace were all to be banished, along with the low tables and the smaller chairs, which would line the main hall and provide places for the guests to wait for their turn to go through the seven chambers. Fortunately, the hall was wide enough to accommodate the furniture without violating fire code.

Rosa stepped into the parlor. “You look beautiful! Do you want me to help?”

“No, I can manage, and you already stayed late. Thanks for listening to Mrs. Olavssen. Did she drive you crazy?”

A slightly pained expression crossed Rosa’s face, then she shook her head. “I think she’s just lonely, you know? She was talking about going to the mall to scare the kids trick-or-treating.”

And I bet she will, too.

I thanked Rosa again and sent her home. With my arms full of Victoriana, I made my way slowly upstairs, careful not to trip on my long skirt. I set my burdens on the credenza in Kris’s office, then collected a couple of empty boxes for the next batch.

Dale and Cherie arrived and started moving the small furniture while I continued to gather the Victorian décor. I was beginning to feel amazed at just how much of it there was. It had accumulated gradually over the last few months.

As I was starting up the stairs with a full box, Cherie stopped me. “Here, this will help.” She caught up the sides of my skirt and tucked them into my belt, raising the front hem several inches above the floor. “Now you won’t have to worry about tripping.”

“Thanks,” I said, heading upstairs with an easier step.

When I returned, Gabriel had arrived. I found him closing the drapes over the windows in the main parlor. He paused to admire my dress, smiling appreciatively.

“Now
that
looks magnificent. You should always wear your hair down.”

I gave a nervous laugh. “Thanks.”

Over the next hour, the tearoom was gradually transformed from its customary cozy Victorian norm into an eerie, quasi-Gothic labyrinth. Kris’s fabrics draped cleverly from the picture-rails to suggest high walls, passages, and arches, and defined the colors of the “chambers.” Gabriel had brought a multitude of folding stools that stood four feet high and took up very little space. Some became stands for the colored glass lanterns in each of the chambers, while others were topped with trays to hold the platters of food that Julio was preparing.

The dining parlor was the designated beverage room. Here, too, the lace was banished in favor of a brocade tablecloth and more of the candle lanterns. There was a giant, shallow steel bowl in which a smaller bowl had been frozen, with an inch-thick layer of ice between them.
That
was a nifty trick and I wondered who had done it; it must have taken a big freezer. The inner bowl held a chilled, non-alcoholic punch, with a pear cider base. Another bowl that looked very much like a cauldron sat on a rack over a trio of tea-lights, not yet lit. It was destined, Kris told me, to hold mulled wine, which was heating in the kitchen.

In between these two, centered on the dining table beneath the chandelier, was an incongruous bit of Victoriana. It looked like an oddly-shaped epergne, or an elaborate lemonade server, comprising a silver footed stand holding a beautiful glass jar with four little faucets around the sides. It was filled with ice and water.

“Pretty fancy water dispenser,” I said to Kris as we set out two dozen gorgeous glass goblets etched with filigree designs.

“It’s a fountain. For the absinthe,” she said, laying out a row of tiny, silver, slotted spatulas.

“I thought there wasn’t going to be absinthe.”

“Cherie insisted. But the drink at the end is still cinnamon schnapps.”

She brought out an ornate silver bowl supported by three winged fairies, filled it with lump sugar, and set a pair of tongs shaped like bird’s claws on top.

“The sugar is for the absinthe?” I asked.

Kris looked at me, tilting her head. “You’ve never had it?”

“No.”

She picked up one of the goblets and pointed to where the etched design stopped, about an inch above the bottom of the bowl. “Fill with absinthe up to here. Then lay a spoon over it.” She picked up one of the little spatulas and set it across the top of the goblet, then placed the whole under one of the spigots of the fountain. “Sugar on top, and trickle water through until the sugar dissolves and the glass is full.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Who filled it?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. “I did. I brought the sugar cubes too.”

I nodded and smiled, though my brain was busy imagining ways that the sugar, or any of the open liquor bottles, for that matter, could be compromised.

“Want to try it?” Kris said.

“I do, but I’d better not tonight. The dress is enough of a challenge.”

Her eyes narrowed in amusement as she returned the spatula-spoon and the goblet to their places. I heard the back door open and went out to see who had arrived.

Ramon, in black jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, stood holding the door open for Margo, whose arms were full of shopping bags. She, too, was in all black with jeans. I started to feel like I was surrounded by stage crew. In a way, I supposed it was true.

“That wind sucks,” Margo announced as Ramon closed the door behind her.

“Don’t you mean it blows?” Ramon said with a deadpan expression.

That made me laugh despite my concerns. Margo raised her chin and headed into the dining parlor. The joke lessened my pique that Ramon was allowed to wear blacks when I had to dress up. This vanished altogether when Gabriel came down the hall toward us.

“There you are!” he said to Ramon. “I have your houpelande in the restroom.”

Ramon held his guitar case out to me. “Could you watch this for a minute?”

“Why don’t I put it by the stairs?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Dale had already set up a discreet microphone and a brocade-draped folding chair against the south wall near the foot of the staircase, and Gabriel had brought his small mic to amplify my mantel clock in the main parlor. Dale had magically hooked up both to the house stereo. Point in his favor, if I wound up offering him a job. Someone who knew his way around a sound system would definitely be an asset.

I set Ramon’s guitar case on the floor beside the draped chair, then peeked into the main parlor. Draperies formed a tunnel from the hall to the center of the room, where four archways gave access to four of the colored chambers. The orientation was not that different from the normal arrangement of the alcoves, but the atmosphere was completely changed. Even with the canister lights still on—and they’d be off during the party—the chambers felt mysterious.

Lily was now swathed in white, with glints of silver here and there. Next to it, Jonquil was draped in orange. Iris was now lush violet, with Kris’s “Death’s Head” skull placed defiantly on top of the piano.

Rose was draped entirely in black. I stepped in, and noted that Gabriel had moved the mantel clock from the center of the mantelpiece to the end that was part of Rose. It was just visible past the edge of the drapery passage connecting the two chambers. The candle lanterns, not yet lit, were very red. A black brocade drapery arch framed the door into the dining parlor, which was usually kept locked but was open for this party.

Hearing a step, I turned to find Kris looking in. She smiled.

“What do you think?”

“Very effective. I wonder why Poe didn’t have a yellow chamber, though.”

Kris shrugged. “Or why he had both purple and violet, but not indigo. There are lots of theories, but they’re really just blowing smoke. Poe didn’t say, so we’ll never know.”

The sound of Ramon’s guitar being tuned wafted in from the hallway, muted by all the cloth.

“Why is Iris the violet chamber, instead of Violet?” I asked.

“Because of the sequence,” Kris said. “The violet chamber is next-to-last, and we wanted Rose to be the black one.”

“We couldn’t have them east-to-west, unfortunately,” Gabriel said, joining us, “but that’s a minor detail. Where’s Dee?”

“Helping Julio,” Kris said.

“I’ve got her costume, and I need to do her face.” Gabriel turned to me. “I don’t suppose you have a vanity in the house?”

“No, but there’s my bathroom.”

“Excellent! If you don’t mind?”

“Just let me tidy it up a little.”

I hurried upstairs to make my suite presentable and lock up my purse. It wasn’t that I distrusted Gabriel, but this way I wouldn’t worry if I was called back downstairs. There were already people I didn’t know well in the house, and soon there’d be a lot more.

Dee came up, still wearing her lavender dress and the cat’s ears. She had taken off her apron.

“Gabriel said I should change up here.”