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

favorite artists in the show to recommend?” I asked Gabriel.
    “Well, you must see Roberto’s work, of course. He’s two rows down.” he gestured, and as far as I could tell his smile was sincere.
    “Thanks. Are there others?”
    “Let me mark them on your map.”
    “Perfect! Thank you.”
    I took off my lanyard and handed it to him. He slipped the map out, produced a pen, and began circling numbers. Loren had turned to watch, and I gestured to him.
    “Kris, you remember Loren,” I said.
    “Yes, of course. And Shelly. We were all chatting at the wedding yesterday.”
    Shelly was staring at Gabriel, eyes wide. I wondered, uncharitably I admit, whether she was one of those women who specialized in falling for other women’s partners. In my private thoughts I figured she’d be better off mooning after Tony than after Gabriel. Not that I wished her to do either.
    Gabriel seemed to become aware of her regard, and an interesting shift occurred. He turned to face her, and his smile expanded. A new radiance rose around him.
    “Are you fond of art, Shelly?” he asked.
    “Kind of,” she said lamely, taking a step back.
    “Let me guess. Peaceful landscapes are more to your liking,” he said, with a soft laugh.
    Magnetism. That’s what it was. No wonder he’d slept with whole roomfuls of women.
    “These aren’t easy to look at,” she said, gesturing to his paintings.
    “That’s true,” he said. “I didn’t intend them to be easy.”
    “Peaceful landscapes sound nice,” I said. “Think I’ll see if there are any here.”
    “Oh, there are,” Gabriel said, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Here are my suggestions, but you probably won’t find peaceful landscapes at any of them.”
    “Thank you.” I nodded as he handed back my lanyard. “Best of luck with the show.”
    “Mark them for me, too!” Margo said, holding out her own lanyard to Gabriel.
    “Good idea,” Dale said, taking his off his neck.
    I turned toward the next booth, and found myself facing Cherie. In a black velour dress with a plunging, lace-bordered neckline over net stockings and knee-high laced boots, eyes heavily lined with kohl, she looked more ready for a nightclub than an art show. Her sly smile acknowledged my reaction. She gave me a nod, then glided past me.
    “Gabriel,” she called. “I made it! Be proud of me.”
    Gabriel handed Margo’s badge back to her and glanced at Cherie as he slid Dale’s map from his badge. “Astonished, but proud.”
    “Tsk. What are you doing? Signing autographs?”
    “Giving advice about what to see in the show.”
    “Ah!” She produced her own badge and held it out to him. “Por favor.”
    Their fingers met on the badge holder, and a tiny tug-of-war ensued. Cherie released it with a grin, and Gabriel grinned back.
    I shot a swift glance at Kris. She was watching, standing back. Eyes cold, not smiling.
    I stepped toward her, instinct prompting me to shield her, though there was no practical way that I could. She looked at me, then turned toward “Calculation.” I stepped up beside her.
    “Don’t,” she whispered. “I don’t own him.”
    I pressed my lips together, swallowing my sympathy. Kris calmly fielded a question from an older gentleman in a tweed coat, providing him with one of Gabriel’s business cards from a tiny ebony table.
    My interest in antique furniture made me look closer at the exquisite little piece, no more than two feet by eight inches. It bore a filigreed rack holding Gabriel’s cards, and a scattering of other business cards, presumably left by visitors. One of them drew my attention.
    The card was plain white stock. It bore no type, only a hand-drawn image of a skull and crossbones.
    I picked it up, looking at the back side. Nothing. The edge felt rough, as though it had been hand-cut. When the older gentleman left, I caught Kris’s attention.
    “Who left this?”
    She took the card, looked at the blank back, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Some baby