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

A gust of wind swept something—rain, or more likely leaves—against the west windows as I crossed the hall. I glanced that way in time to see a large, pale bird flying past in the moonlight.

An owl? It was gone before I could be sure.

Owls symbolized wisdom. Did they also symbolize death?

I decided not to look it up.

Saturday morning dawned cold and damp, with rags of cloud in the sky. I hurried down to put the “Closed for Private Party” sign on the front door. There was another one for the front gate, and as I hung it there I couldn’t help thinking of Bilbo Baggins.

It was chilly, but the lack of clouds over the
Sangre de Cristo
Mountains made me hope for fair weather later. I paused to admire the dew glistening on the chrysanthemums along the white fence, then went back to my suite for a quick breakfast of tea, soft-boiled eggs, and a small mound of buttered toast.

When I came downstairs again, Julio was in the kitchen working on the food for the wedding. Nat and Manny had decided on a New Mexican buffet—quite a change from the tearoom’s dainty fare—and Julio was plainly having a blast putting it together. He had two slow cookers full of
tamales
on the counter; rice,
refritos,
and red and green chile sauces on the stove; and on the work table, giant bowls of tortilla chips, plus a tray of cherry and apricot
empanadas
. As I came into the kitchen he was dancing to salsa music while he peeled avocados for guacamole.

“Morning,” I said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nope. Want some
huevos?
”

“No, thanks. I already ate.”

“Bueno.”

I eyed the
empanadas
, then resolutely turned away and went to the main parlor to start rearranging furniture, dismantling the four alcoves that were our normal setup and returning the parlor to being one open room. As I moved the lighter chairs, small tables, lamps and ornaments to the walls, I thought about Gabriel’s plan to turn the alcoves into the colored chambers of Poe’s story.

A Goth masquerade in my living room. Now that was a different way to spend Halloween.

I paused with an end table in my hands, realizing that it was almost exactly a year since I’d purchased the house. A year ago, all this had been a dream.

I set the table down and gazed around the room: a few beloved family pieces like my mother’s piano and grandmother’s mantel clock, the rest carefully chosen for nostalgia and comfort. We had worked so hard, Nat and I, my friend Gina, and others. So many people had helped make the dream a reality. I was so deeply grateful.

The morning went by with only three phone calls from Nat. The clouds blew away on a brisk breeze, and sun shone down, raising my hopes that the lawn would not be soggy. The flowers arrived, the cake arrived, and Mick arrived to help me move the heavier furniture, handsome in a dress shirt, dark vest, and tie, blond hair sleeked back into a neat ponytail. We lined up the credenzas along the wall of the main parlor for the buffet.

In the garden, the guys from the rental place were back, laying a portable dance floor under the tent. The roses had put out a late burst of bloom, a final glory before winter’s sleep. The wisterias were turning, leaves mottled green and gold. Pansies clustered in the flower beds, and the dahlias, too, were still blooming.

On impulse, I picked a handful of pansies and put them in a tiny vase on the mantel in Violet, where a fresh votive candle was burning. Julio again, I thought, smiling.

Rosa and Iz arrived, wearing their lavender dresses but without the white aprons, as Nat had requested. They looked beautiful with their hair caught back in matching barrettes that Iz had beaded.

“You’d better change, Ellen,” Rosa reminded me, pointing at the clock in the gift shop.

Half an hour. I dashed upstairs to put on makeup, brush hair, and don the traditional blue velvet dress that Nat and I had made. I added the concho belt that my father gave me for high school graduation, and my mother’s squash blossom necklace. I paused to take in the effect of the full ensemble, which I hadn’t worn before, in my bedroom mirror.

Very New Mexican. The blue complemented my complexion, heightening the color in my cheeks and making my hair seem a richer brown. I tried on a smile, then hurried downstairs.

Nat came in the back door as I reached the hall, already wearing her dress, patterned like mine but in dark red velvet instead of blue. She took off a scarf that protected a picture-perfect hairstyle.

“You look smashing!” I told her.

“Thank you, darling!” she said, giving my cheek an air kiss. “Did the cake arrive?”

“It’s in the dining parlor. Julio and Mick will put it out when the ceremony begins.”

Claudia Pearson came in behind Nat, classy as always in a tangerine sheath and matching pillbox hat with a net veil.

“I parked in the back,” she said. “Is that all right?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thanks for giving Nat a ride.”

“My pleasure.”

“Go on upstairs,” I told them both. “There’s a pot of tea waiting for you in the sitting area. I’ll come get you at ten minutes to one.”

“Bless you,” Nat said, heading for the stairs.

I found Manny out front, chatting with the minister and his best man. He grinned at me, dapper in his tuxedo.

“Hey,
chica azul!
Where’s my
chica rosa?”

“Upstairs, getting zen. You look grand, Tio!” I said, giving him a hug.

He chuckled. “You know Louie Cordova, right?”

“Of course! Nice to see you again,” I said, shaking hands. “Can I get you gentlemen some tea or coffee?”

They declined, so I fetched their boutonnieres from the kitchen fridge, and returned to find Kris chatting with them. She was sleek and sultry in a plum-colored satin dress and a picture hat that would have done Scarlett O’Hara proud. I was silently thankful that she hadn’t worn black.

The mariachis were tuning up on the back
portal
. Rosa was at the front gate, greeting the early arrivals and directing them to the tent. Butterflies began fluttering in my stomach, though I knew everything would go fine. My watch said twenty to one.

The roar of a motorcycle made me look up the street. The sight of a man in a suit on a bike is fairly rare; my pulse jumped a notch as I watched the black bike glide to a parking place near the corner. The rider got off, removed his helmet, and ran a hand through dark hair. Yes, it was Tony.

⁴

T
here’s your heartthrob,” Kris said.

I shot her a glance, but she was already sauntering away toward the tent. Tony, helmet in hand, approached with a smile.

“Can I stash this inside?” he asked.

I smiled back, glad to see him. “Of course.”

We went into the gift shop and I tucked his helmet behind the counter. His suit was the one he’d worn on our first disastrous dinner date a few months earlier. Probably the only one he owned; his regular wardrobe leaned more toward jeans and a leather jacket.

“You look elegant,” I told him.

“You look beautiful,” he said, sliding his arms around my waist. “Mmm, nice velvet.”

“Thank you.” I rewarded him with a lipstick-preserving peck, and gently disengaged from his embrace. “I have to go get Nat. It’s almost time.”

“OK. Dinner after?”

“Um...sure, if you don’t mind waiting while I wrap up the party.”

“I don’t mind.” He nuzzled my neck, which tickled. I pulled away with a nervous giggle.

“Go find a seat,” I said, squeezing his hands.

I couldn’t believe I had actually giggled.

He went outside while I hustled to the kitchen to fetch the bouquets. Julio was moving
tamales
to a serving pan.

“Are you going to watch the ceremony?” I asked him, my arms full of flowers.

“Yeah, as soon as we have the buffet set up.”

Upstairs, I handed Nat her bouquet of fiesta-colored roses: red, orange, and gold. “Time for a final beauty check. Do you want to use my mirror?”

She stood and took a deep breath. “You’re my mirror. Anything out of place?”

I smiled. “You’re perfect.”

My watch said six minutes to one, so I ushered Nat and Claudia down to the Dahlia alcove, left my bouquet with them, and stepped outside, sidling over to where Manny and Louie were waiting behind a wisteria vine at the corner of the house. A light breeze stirred the mostly-golden leaves of the cottonwoods and pulled a few into the air to drift down atop the tent. Gina stood there, talking with Katie and Bob Hutchins and a man who looked vaguely familiar—probably Gina’s current beau.

At a table inside the tent entrance, Iz stood supervising the guest book and a growing stack of presents. I stifled a small sigh, wishing more people knew the tradition of sending gifts to the couple at home rather than bringing them to the wedding, where the bride and groom would have no chance to deal with them. It was old-fashioned, I knew, but sometimes old fashions make sense.

As the mariachis began a slow march, Manny turned to Louie. “That’s our cue, man.” They bumped fists, then started for the tent.

I went in to fetch Nat and Claudia. We paused behind the wisteria until the mariachis struck up “Mexico Lindo y Querido,” which Nat had chosen in preference to the customary march from
Lohengrin.
One last kiss for luck, and we walked out between the roses and into the tent. Claudia slipped into a seat while I continued down the aisle ahead of Nat.

Behind Manny, Louie, and the minister, rose bushes bloomed joyously against a taller row of lilacs. We stepped into place, the music ended, and the minister opened his book.

The service was generic, short and sweet. No elaborate phrases were needed; their delight in each other shone in their faces. It all went perfectly, and festive music accompanied us as we filed out to form the receiving line.

Loren Jackson and his sister Shelly were among the first. I liked him a lot, but not quite as much as he liked me. He was a counselor, and had helped most of my staff after Vi’s death. He had honored the wedding with a nicely-tailored dark suit and a pastel green tie that matched his eyes. He lit up with a smile as we shook hands.

“You look wonderful, Ellen!”

“Thank you. So do both of you.”

Shelly beamed beneath her pale blue picture hat. “That was a beautiful ceremony,” she said. “Did you help write it?”

“No, no. They did it themselves.”

My gaze traveled to the next guest, who was Tony. He looked a bit broody.

“Tony, have you met Loren Jackson?” I said.

“We’ve met,” Loren said, turning toward him and smiling. “Good to see you again, Detective.”

Tony hesitated, then shook the offered hand.

“And this is Loren’s sister, Shelly,” I added. “This is Tony Aragón.”

“Hi,” she said, a little wide-eyed. “You’re a detective?”

“Yeah.” Tony turned to me. “Can I talk to you?”

“After I’m free here, of course,” I said. The line started moving again, and Loren gave Nat a hug.

“Is something wrong?” I said softly to Tony.

He shot another glance at Loren, then stepped closer, still holding my hand. “Why did you invite him?” he muttered.

“My
aunt
invited him to
her wedding.”