A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) Read Online Free PDF

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