Free A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) by Patrice Greenwood Page B

the Palace of the Governors, where tourists bent to admire the wares of the Indian vendors despite the weather. The last couple of blocks I kept my gaze on the sidewalk except where I had to cross streets, and went up the back way to my house as it was closer.
    Wind and rain had set the lilacs thrashing. I scurried up the driveway to the back door.
    Safe inside, with the door locked behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief. Quiet enfolded me, the rain a distant patter on the upstairs roof.
    The hall was shadowed; storm-darkened daylight coming in the little windows called “lights” that surrounded the door was inadequate to penetrate more than a few feet. I flipped on the switch for the hall lights, welcoming their brightness.
    The dining parlor door stood open on my right, taunting me. Nat and Manny’s wedding gifts: I had meant to take them to Nat’s house that day. Not going to happen in this storm, though. It would have to be Monday.
    Could I do it in one trip? I stepped into the parlor to try to estimate whether the presents piled on the table would all fit into my car. There was enough daylight coming through the French doors that I didn’t bother turning on the chandelier, but I did glance up at it.
    A single crystal drop swung, and a glint of light from the hall shone out from it.
    I stood stock still. That was the light that I’d seen in Hidalgo Plaza.

 
     
7
    C aptain Dusenberry had been sending me glints of light as I walked around Santa Fe. I hadn’t known he could do that. And as far as I knew, he’d never left the house before, at least not since I had bought it.
    “Why?” I whispered, watching the crystal’s swing grow smaller and smaller until it stopped.
    Had he been trying to tell me something about Maria? Pointing out some feature of Hidalgo Plaza? But I was pretty sure the upper story where I’d last seen the light hadn’t existed in his day.
    The crystal was now perfectly still. A gust of wind spattered rain against the French doors.
    I needed tea, and some time to sit and think.
    Upstairs, I shed my wet coat and hat and left the umbrella in the hall to dry while I put on my kettle and lit every candle in my suite. A fleeting wish for a warm chimney was doomed to be unfulfilled; I didn’t feel like going downstairs to build a fire. Instead I switched on the little electric space heater I’d bought the previous winter and put on my favorite raggedy sweater and my sheepskin slippers.
    Sheepskin. Reminded me of the fuzzy woman, the gallery owner who had approached Roberto. He had kept cool, but Gwyneth’s excitement had betrayed how much the opportunity meant to him.
    The kettle whistled, interrupting my musings. I set the tea brewing and leaned against the counter in my kitchenette while I waited, enjoying malty whiffs of Assam.
    The lights in Hidalgo Plaza troubled me. The feeling that it was important, that Captain Dusenberry was trying to tell me something, stayed with me. Maybe I should consult Willow about it.
    Except that was a slippery slope that I had managed to avoid. Mostly. Talking with Willow about the captain, I had so far maintained the stance of listening to her opinions with an open mind, but not committing to much myself.
    Captain Dusenberry was the ghost—or spirit, as Willow always said—of the man for whom my house had originally been built. I had acknowledged that much. He had made his presence known in the house ever since I had opened the tearoom. He could move crystals on the chandelier in the dining parlor, which had been his study and was the room where he had been murdered. He could turn on lights and the stereo system. He had, a couple of times, played music on the piano.
    This was the first time he had followed me out of the house, and the first time he had manifested light out of nothing, as far as I knew. Somehow he had recreated the glint of light on a chandelier drop. Very clever of him.
    But why?
    I was no closer to answering that question. If I asked