Free A Fatal Twist of Lemon by Patrice Greenwood

black.”
    I sighed. “I’d better talk to her. Would you take this up to Kris, please?”
    I handed Nat the bank bag, then went out into the hall and to the front door. The woman Nat had described was standing outside.
    She was indeed all in black, an elegant wool dress and suede boots. Her hair was a carefully cut waterfall of platinum. She wore gold wire-framed glasses, and a necklace of turquoise beads interspersed with tiny bird fetishes set off her outfit nicely, a touch of Santa Fe style without going overboard. Not, however, something I would have chosen to wear if I were in mourning.
    I unlocked the door and opened it a crack, peering past her looking for reporters. “May I help you? I’m afraid we don’t open until eleven.”
    â€œGood morning.” Her voice was surprisingly low. “Are you the owner? I’m Virginia Lane, but please call me Willow. Everyone does.”
    Someone named Willow.  I summoned a smile. “How do you do? Yes, I’m Ellen Rosings.”
    â€œI heard about last night, and wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”
    â€œThat’s kind of you. Thank you.”
    â€œIt’s quite ironic. I’ve been so anxious for you to open. May I come in?”
    â€œWell … certainly.”
    She stepped inside, and while I locked the door again she stood gazing around the hall and up at the ceiling. Her black ensemble tempted me to invite her upstairs to meet Kris, but I figured neither of them would appreciate the joke.
    â€œI’ve wanted for years to see Captain Dusenberry’s house,” she said, stepping to the door of the main parlor and looking in.
    Captain Dusenberry was the army captain for whom the house had been built in the nineteenth century. I’d learned about him from the folks at the Santa Fe Preservation Trust. Since the house was historic, I’d had to sign a preservation easement that specified I couldn’t alter the character of the building. It had made remodeling a little tricky.
    â€œWhen it was a law firm they didn’t allow visitors,” Willow said, “but now that it’s open to the public—well, here. Let me give you my card.”
    She opened her small shoulder bag. I glanced surreptitiously at my watch, then accepted a glossy black business card with silver lettering: Spirit Tours of Santa Fe.
    â€œOh. You’re the guide for the ghost tour.”
    â€œNo,” Willow said with a dismissive gesture. “That tour is aimed at tourists. Famous landmarks around town with spooky stories thrown in. My tours are focused on the spirits themselves. We visit places where they are verified as active, and have known histories.”
    Ooookay. I smiled politely, wondering how to escape.
    â€œThat’s why I wanted to meet you,” she continued. “Of course, now that … well, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do this right away, but eventually I’d like to include Captain Dusenberry in my tour.”
    â€œWell, I…”
    â€œThis is a bad time, I know. I don’t want to intrude. Would you mind my just taking a look at his study?”
    â€œStudy?”
    â€œYes. That’s the room where he was killed.”
    My heart skipped a beat. “How interesting,” I said faintly.
    â€œHas he manifested for you?”
    â€œAh … no.”
    â€œYou do know that he haunts the house,” said Willow, looking at me over her glasses with a very serious expression.
    â€œDoes he? I hadn’t noticed.”
    â€œMay I look at the study, Ms. Rosings? You needn’t escort me, I know which room it is.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œI won’t disturb anything, I promise.”
    She looked at me expectantly. I gazed back.
    â€œCertainly,” I said slowly.
    She smiled, and walked down the hall. I followed, feeling like I was floating through a bad dream. Willow went straight back to the dining parlor, stood in the doorway for