Bread of the Dead: A Santa Fe Cafe Mystery Read Online Free PDF

into the wingback chair, the cookbook sprawled across my chest.
    â€œMom!”
    I woke with a start. The fire had turned to glowing charcoal. I had no idea what time it was. For a moment I wondered if I’d dreamt my daughter’s cry.
    â€œMom, help!”
    The cry was real and coming from outside. Shaking off sleep confusion, I dashed out the door. Stones and twigs jabbed my socked feet as I sprinted through the dark.
    â€œCelia! Honey? Where are you?”
    A response came from up the hill. I ran toward the main house, where a jacked-­up orange Jeep idled next to Victor’s VW.
    â€œOver here, Mom, look!” Celia and a twenty-­something woman I didn’t know pressed their faces to the picture window that looked into Victor’s sunroom and beyond to his living room. I joined them, smooshing my nose against the already steamy glass.
    â€œOh no, no . . .” I grabbed my daughter and twisted her away from the view.
    â€œGod, Mom,” Celia sputtered. “Be careful.”
    I didn’t have time to deal with her manners or what might have been a whiff of alcohol on her breath. I pounded at the window, praying that Victor would get up, even as I knew he wouldn’t. He was slumped in the flickering lights of the altar candles, a wreath of marigolds around his chest, a gun in his hand and blood trailing down his temple.

 
    Chapter 4
    W e’ve gotta call Dad.” Celia punched numbers into her phone.
    My mind spun. I couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened, but I knew I couldn’t cope with Manny. Not now, not for Victor.
    â€œNo!” I said, too loudly, and then registered the hurt and anger on my daughter’s face. “I mean, call 911, honey. The dispatcher will send an ambulance and whoever’s on duty. It’s fastest.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Cel,” the young woman standing beside us said. A streak of blue ran through her cascade of shiny black hair. A tiny jewel sparkled on her left nostril and a curvy tattoo peaked out from her cleavage. “I just texted him.”
    She texted Manny? Manny texts? What sort of person texts a suicide? Suicide. My whole body trembled. Poor, dear Victor. I should have checked on him after the argument. Gabriel outright told me that Victor was depressed. Why hadn’t I checked?
    â€œGo over by the car,” I urged Celia and her text­ing companion. “Keep together and wait for the police.”
    My daughter narrowed eyes lined in thick, Egyptian mummy-­style makeup. “Where are you going?” she demanded as I started toward Victor’s door.
    â€œI’m going to check on Victor . . . I have to check.”
    â€œThere’s nothing you can do, Mom. I should have called Dad first.” Celia’s shoulders heaved in the motions of exasperation, but her voice cracked and tears glistened behind her harsh eye makeup. She and Victor had talked art together. He encouraged her to paint, morose fairies or anything else she wanted to. She’d be crushed by this.
    I hesitated, torn between helping my daughter and helping a friend who was likely beyond help. I had to know for sure. Hoping that my sock feet wouldn’t land on a cactus, I cut across the rocky garden to Victor’s front door. It was locked, as I expected, but I twisted the knob and pounded the wood anyway until my palms throbbed.
    Then I remembered Gabriel. Maybe he could get in. When I reached his side, I rapped the metal knocker and held down the doorbell, pausing occasionally to listen for movement inside. I heard none. What if something had happened to Gabe too? Thinking of Broomer and his threats, I banged harder, gripping the metal door handle to brace myself. Surprisingly, it moved, and not merely a wiggle. The latch opened and the door swung inward silently.
    â€œHello?” I called, stepping into the foyer. “Gabriel?” When no one answered, I tried the door to Victor’s