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

hallway. It was locked, but why was the front door open? Had someone broken in? Fear buzzed through my body. It wasn’t the only buzzing. From the other side of the foyer came the fuzzy sound of an off-­air TV station.
    I followed the noise across the living room and down a hallway to a closed door. Although I tried to tell myself that Gabriel probably fell asleep with the TV on, my brain churned awful possibilities, especially when I cracked the door and peeked inside. I could make out a bed and on it a figure that had to be Gabriel. He was flat on his back, arms straight down at his sides as if laid out in a coffin. The blur of noise harmonized with the blood swooshing through my head, and I fumbled to find a light switch. Finding none, I took a deep breath and tiptoed toward the bed, stealing myself to feel cold, unresponsive flesh.
    Tentatively, I reached for Gabriel’s neck to check for a pulse. To my relief, he turned out to be very much alive. To my horror, I’d discovered that he slept with a white noise machine and a gun on his nightstand.
    At my touch, he jolted upright. His hands flailed, pushing me away as he yelled like a zombie Clint Eastwood. “I’ll shoot! Holy Mary, Mother of our Lord, I’m armed!”
    I fell backward, grasping for the nightstand. Instead, I latched onto the noise machine. I punched its buttons, frantic to turn it off. Not a good idea. The white noise changed to the roar of a flooding stream and screaming crickets.
    â€œGabriel, it’s me—­Rita, your renter,” I yelled above the raging chirps, pressing more buttons. Crashing ocean waves filled the room. Another press brought the thump of a single heartbeat. Dum dump, dum dump, dum dump. My sister had used a mechanical heartbeat to soothe her newborns. Here, it sounded like the dreaded heart of Edgar Allan Poe.
    My own heart outpaced the mechanical one. In the din, I imagined I heard the cocking of the gun. I screamed and scrambled toward the door. Despite the darkness, I squeezed my eyes shut, dreading the imminent blast, thinking of my daughter. Would she have to find my body too? Would she paint I told her so on my grave? She’d have the right to. If I got out alive, I vowed I’d be a better, unshot mom.
    â€œRita, you fool, what were you thinking?”
    Blinding light and a hand came from above. A handsome face frowned down at me. It wasn’t a heavenly helper with a five o’clock shadow. It was my ex and he wasn’t happy.
    Manny dragged me upright as his partner, a muscle-­bound woman named Bunny, calmed and disarmed Gabriel.
    Gabriel was swearing and demanding answers as he yanked pink foam plugs from his ears and mercifully pulled the plug on his infernal noise generator.
    â€œGabriel, I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s Victor, he’s—­”
    Manny clamped a hand over my mouth. The hand smelled gross, like fried food, a major component of Manny’s diet.
    â€œQuiet,” he demanded. “Stay out of this.” To indignant, sputtering Gabriel, he said, “Sir, I apologize for this woman. There has, however, been an incident involving your brother.” That said, he pushed me out the bedroom door. “Go outside and don’t even think about meddling. I’ll take your statement later at the station.”

    F lashing lights illuminated the pathway and Celia, flanked by a small cluster of hand-­wringing neighbors. She wiped her eyes quickly when she saw me coming and stiffened when I hugged her.
    â€œDad’s here,” she informed me, unnecessarily.
    â€œYeah, I saw him.” I dreaded seeing more of him. I released her, feeling my limbs sag, heavy from the realization that Victor would never serve cookies or make beautiful art again.
    â€œOh Rita!” Dalia Crawford, a neighbor from across the street, stepped up and enveloped me in a bone-­crushing hug. She didn’t let me go until I’d sobbed