Silver Lies Read online

  "Mark my words." He tweaked his cuffs before opening the bank ledger. "Leadville has only begun her ascent in the silver firmament. Just between us, confidentially and all that, if you ever consider expanding your enterprise, you can count on us for financial backing. Astute businesses stand poised to profit enormously in Leadville."

  "As do astute institutions such as yours." She accepted the note of deposit. "Now, the second matter." Inez laid Emma’s letter on his desk. "I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Rose, concerning her husband’s business. He was also one of your best customers, I believe."

  Nigel took on a properly somber air. "Ah yes. A tragedy." He glanced down at the letter, absorbing the impact of her words. "Oh, I say, you’re here on behalf of the widow?"

  "I’m settling Joe Rose’s affairs. I need to know the status of his business and personal accounts so Mrs. Rose can plan accordingly."

  She stopped. Nigel was not reacting as anticipated. Instead of nodding solicitously and saying soothing things, such as "We’ll have those records straightaway," he was silent. He touched the note on his desk as if it might erupt in flames. Or poison him.

  Inez heard the murmurs of bank clerks and customers out front and the squeak of nearby floorboards as Useless shifted from one foot to the other.

  Nigel cleared his throat. "I say, perhaps we should discuss this privately."

  Inez frowned, puzzled, then turned to Useless. "Why don’t you wait in the lobby."

  Once the door clicked shut, Nigel refolded Emma’s note in careful quarters and pushed it gingerly across the desk to Inez.

  "I can pull the records for you, Mrs. Stannert. But Mr. Rose closed his accounts with us about a month ago. I conducted the transaction personally."

  Inez sat utterly still, not touching the folded note before her. Her starched lace collar scratched her neck as she swallowed. "Joe left your bank? Do you know where he moved his accounts?"

  Nigel’s pencil-thin mustache twitched above his compressed lips. "He cashed out. The whole bloody lot. And there’s more."

  He stopped. Then pulled a pipe from his frock coat and twirled it aimlessly between his fingers. "He took out a substantial loan with his business as collateral. Our manager, Morris Cooke, handled that. I don’t know the details." Nigel looked supremely unhappy. "I hardly need say that, unless there are funds elsewhere, we will have to foreclose."

  Nigel repocketed his unlit pipe. The lace scratched mercilessly at her throat, like fingernails searching for a hold. Finally, she asked, "Anything else, Mr. Hollingsworth?"

  "I think that’s probably quite enough. Don’t you?"

  Inez shut her eyes. I hope Emma has more than pin money tucked away for a rainy day. Because the skies just opened up.

  999

  "I hardly knew how to tell Emma." Half an hour before opening time, Inez held up the clean shot glass, inspecting it for spots. Not that the customers ever notice.

  A warped image of Abe behind the bar wavered through the double thickness. "Did you tell her we’d tide her over, help her get settled?"

  "I did. But she refused to listen. I think she’s too distraught to think straight."

  Emma had stared right through her when Inez tried to explain about the closed accounts, the loan. She’d whispered, "The wages of sin."

  "What?" Inez had leaned forward in the window seat of Emma’s parlor, not certain she’d heard correctly.

  "Harry Gallagher. He ruined us."

  "What do you mean, Emma?"

  She’d turned away, pulled a black-bordered handkerchief from her sleeve, and dabbed her eyes. "Joe told me. Mr. Gallagher said terrible things about Joe, then took his assaying business elsewhere. He killed Joe just as certainly as if he’d shot him."

  At Emma’s mention of Harry, Bridgette’s words drifted through Inez’s mind like wisps of smoke. On impulse, Inez asked, "Emma, did you meet with Harry Gallagher? About a month ago in his hotel?"

  Emma looked at her as if she’d gone mad. "I won’t even honor that with an answer."

  Beneath her chagrin, Inez grew nettled. "Emma, I wasn’t suggesting you had an assignation with Harry Gallagher."

  "Well, I hope not. You know, Inez, I always defend you when people talk." Her mouth trembled. "I know you’re a Christian woman, a devoted wife and mother. If you hear rumors about me or Joe, vicious, untrue lies, I hope you defend us as well." She turned away. "There’s no value in pursuing Joe’s death. Just straighten out his business affairs. Work with the bank on the loan. I’m sorry I reacted as I did. But Joe, Mr. Gallagher…it’s over. And I’m leaving Leadville forever."

  In the saloon, Inez’s mind wandered tentatively over Emma’s words and tone, like hands picking out a piece of familiar music on an unfamiliar keyboard.

  I don’t believe I’d ever heard Emma lie before, but I’m certain she was lying then. She did meet Harry. But I’ll learn nothing more about it from her.

  Inez sighed and slid the glass under the counter.

  She decided against relating the rest of that painful conversation to Abe. Instead, she remarked, "Normally, I would send an anonymous donation to the church’s Widows and Orphans’ Fund and earmark it for Emma. But I don’t trust Sands."

  Abe grunted, methodically drying glassware. Useless bent over a nearby crate, adding bottles to the backbar.

  "Nigel said he’d ask Morris Cooke about Joe’s loan. I still can’t believe Joe emptied his accounts and took out a loan without telling Emma. And there’s no sign of the money. What did he do with it all?"

  "You talking about Joe’s widow, the pretty lady with the red hair?" Useless hugged his empty crate. "She in trouble?"

  Inez winced. I should be careful about what I say and where. "Please don’t repeat any of this, Useless. I must count on your discretion, since mine has fled."

  "Rose have gambling debts or something?"

  Inez paused, glass in hand. "You saw Joe gambling?"

  "I’d seen him around," Useless hedged. "Shoot, everyone in Leadville gambles." He squeezed around Abe and tried to pass Inez. She barred his progress with her arm.

  "Where, exactly, did you see him?"

  Useless bumped her arm once with the box, then resigned himself to an interrogation. "Uh, the Board of Trade. Red Garter."

  "The Red Garter?" Inez was incredulous. "That dive?"

  Gold and silver clinked as Abe counted coins into the cash box. "Inez, the boy’s right. It don’t mean much that Joe picked up a hand of cards here and there. I saw Joe myself at the Crystal Belle a few times."

  "Cat DuBois’ place?" Inez felt a stab of betrayal. Abe looked neutral. Useless looked guilty. "Useless, you too?"

  "Well, sure," Useless said defensively. "I go there sometimes for a drink and to talk with the girls."

  The notion of tongue-tied Useless chatting it up with Cat’s women was hard for Inez to picture.

  "Now, Inez." Abe added two more glasses to the growing line in front of her. "Checkin’ out the competition’s a good idea. I do it m’self. Leastwise, at those places that’ll let me in the door. Speakin’ of doors…"

  Abe walked to the entrance and unbarred the door, opening it to the harsh white light of winter and the first drinkers of the day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mornings, Inez reflected, were her favorite time of day. When

  she wasn’t hung over or hadn’t been working until dawn.

  She clucked and shook the reins. "Come on, girl."

  Lucy swiveled her ears in response and quickened her pace, her winter shoes flinging bits of crusty snow into the cutter.

  They headed west. The smelters, the town, Fryer Hill, and Mosquito Range receded, while Elbert and Massive loomed ahead. Inez took a deep breath of cold air, reveling in the silence and wide open spaces.

  The previous night had been exceedingly profitable. Patrons of Leadville’s new opera house had swelled the after-midnight crowds until the saloon was bursting at the seams. She and Abe had discussed fixing up the second story to house ga
mes of chance. Hiring a dealer or three. With the profits they were seeing, it could happen by summer.

  Inez touched the pocket holding her copy of Paradise Lost and recalled the directions to Llewellyn Tremayne’s workshop she’d wrung from Useless an hour before.

  Llewellyn’s certainly on the outskirts of town. Of course, given the price of real estate, maybe it’s all he can afford.

  Finally she spotted the place Useless had described: two log outbuildings with a more finished, slab-sided structure facing the road. The sign above the front door proclaimed "Portraits, Engraving, Signs."

  After hitching Lucy to a post, Inez brushed her cloak free of icy clumps and entered. A tarp curtain divided the space into a small reception area and a larger workshop in the rear. The curtain hung askew, revealing a stove and a long table. Moving closer, she spotted a covered easel positioned by a north-facing window, paint jars and tins of various sizes. The diminutive painter was nowhere in sight.

  "Mr. Tremayne?"

  No answer.

  Inez skirted the half-counter and ducked under the tarp. The worktable held scattered papers, copper plates, and various sharp implements used, she assumed, in the engraving trade. A small printer’s press squatted to one side. Turpentine tinged the air, strong enough to make her scrunch her nose. Some of the scraps sported intricate designs that reminded her of the borders on her Silver Mountain stock certificates.

  The rear door opened, and Llewellyn entered, wiping his hands on a rag. The fancy duds were absent, replaced by an ink-smirched leather apron, a worn woolen shirt, and canvas pants.

  Llewellyn halted, his expression anything but welcoming.

  "Mrs. Stannert. What are you doing here?" He hurried to the table, dropping the rag over the copper plates.

  She held up Paradise Lost. Seeing his blank expression, she added, "For the painting."

  He looked at the volume, then down at his inkstained hands. "I’ll wash up. We can talk out front."

  Inez glanced again at the table. A small engraving of a woman, dressed in classical garb, holding shield and sword. A pencil sketch of a pair of double-Xs—one with flourishes, one plain—lay side-by-side with a small-scale line engraving of the same. The images seemed familiar. Llewellyn moved forward, blocking her view and gathering the sheets together. "Please, Mrs. Stannert." He nodded pointedly at the curtain.

  Once he’d joined her at the counter, she pulled a sheet of writing paper from the book. "I noted pages you might peruse for a sense of Milton’s Heaven and Hell."

  Her eyes strayed over his head to the hidden workroom. "I didn’t realize you do engraving."

  He reached out to take the book. Ink still stained his cuticles. "A sideline. My bread-and-butter is signs for the new businesses in town." He gestured at a stack of boards leaning against the wall. The one on top read P.T. WARNER BOOKS & STATIONERY. The scent of varnish melded with that of paint and new wood.

  "I’m hoping my recent notoriety in portraiture will make the sign-painting unnecessary. Although I’d sooner paint signs or whitewash fences than go underground with the other Cousin Jacks."

  Tremayne, Trelawney, Treleaven, Trevelyan. Inez recognized Llewellyn’s last name as one more note in a litany of Cornish surnames that flooded Leadville’s city directory. The Cousin Jacks came to work the mines, leaving behind Nevada’s silver, the Midwest’s lead and coal, and Cornwall’s tin. "Mining’s not for you, hmmm?"

  Llewellyn’s eyes were black pools, iris to pupil. "A blast in a Pennsylvania coal mine killed most of my family. I vowed I’d never join them. Now, let’s see your book."

  999

  Back in Joe’s office, again. Inez pinched her nose, still numb from the ride back to town. All I do these days is trudge in circles. With little or no result, it seems.

  The office door opened and Abe walked in. "Mornin’ Inez. How was your ride?"

  "Cold. Took me half an hour to get there." She picked up the lamp and followed Abe to the laboratory.

  Abe dropped a scuffed saddlebag with a clank.

  Inez eyed the bag. "You haven’t explosives in there, have you?"

  "Nope." Abe hunkered down in front of Joe’s safe. In one fluid motion, he pulled out his knife, flipped it, and caught the blade. He tapped the safe’s front panel with the hilt. The metal rang.

  "Bring that light over, Inez." He examined the safe. "Ordinary plate iron. I can do this fast, if you don’t plan on sellin’ it. Or see if I can work out the numbers."

  "I don’t care about the safe, only the contents."

  Abe opened the saddlebag and removed a pick and a jimmy. "Take me ’bout twenty minutes."

  It took him fifteen.

  She looked at the ripped-out iron panel, pried-back bolt, and broken lock. "That was fast."

  He stood, brushed off his trousers. "Guess I still have the touch. Not that I plan on revisitin’ that line of work."

  Holding the lamp high, Inez stooped and peered into the maw of the safe. A stack of mottled notebooks lay beneath two dusty canvas bags tied with frayed ropes. "Joe didn’t hide his fortune here."

  "Too bad." Abe loaded the tools back into the saddlebag.

  Inez pulled out the notebooks and the sacks. She held the lamp as close to the safe’s interior as she could. Floor, wall, ceiling: empty.

  Well, what did I expect? Greenbacks and double eagles stacked to the top? Much as she hated to admit it, that was exactly what she’d hoped for. Or at least some clear indication of where the money from his accounts and the loan had gone.

  A peek inside a sack revealed a jumble of fist-sized rocks. She took out one. Sharp-edged, black and brown, with pinpricks of silver catching lamplight. Its secrets, she knew, would only be revealed by the application of chemicals and intense heat of the assay process. She put it back with its brethren and retied the bag. The rope looked familiar. Like Chet’s belt.

  She hauled experimentally on one bag.

  "Here, Inez. I’ll take those." Abe reached for the two sacks.

  "They’re probably Chet Donnelly’s samples. Put them in our office safe for now." She glanced at the broken iron box before them. "Not that it would keep out anyone who’s really determined."

  Abe hefted the bags. "You comin’?"

  "Soon."

  "Suit yourself."

  After he’d left, Inez opened the top notebook. The pencil marks on the pages might as well have been a secret code. Rows of numbers, interrupted by cryptic notes and what looked like chemical notations, ran from first page to last. She recognized abbreviations for commonly assayed metals: Ag for silver, Au for gold, Pb for lead, Cu for copper. Finally, she spotted a date: 9 April 1879. "Where’s November and December?" she said aloud in frustration.

  "Hello!" A cultured voice sang out from the front. "Mrs. Stannert?"

  Jed. "In the back."

  Inez shoved the notebooks into a nearby drawer as the gate squeaked a warning.

  Jed Elliston walked briskly into the laboratory, crossing the room in four long strides. "Any luck with the safe?" He threw an indifferent glance at the wreck in the corner. "Empty. Pity. Now, look at this!"

  Elliston opened the ledger to a page marked with a grosgrain ribbon. He cracked his knuckles, radiating energy and impatience.

  "What is it?" Inez brought over the circle of light.

  Elliston stabbed a finger at the columns. "The initials C.D. show up June and August. Nothing in July or September. Mid-October, he’s back again. What do you think? Could that be that fellow Chet Dunney?"

  "Donnelly. When’s the last C.D. entry?"

  Elliston paged forward. "Mid-October, there’s several more. And that’s it. But we don’t know what’s on the missing page. I’ve checked out these last few entries before his death. Local mines. Standard stuff."

  "Sounds like I should talk with Chet." Inez gazed down at the ledger.

  "Or I could." Elliston sounded hopeful, with an undercurrent of obstinacy.

  "I think not."

  "But—"
/>   "Jed, if you start hounding Chet with questions, he’ll break your nose and make himself scarce. Or get so drunk we’ll never get any sense out of him."

  Elliston glowered. "You’re going to cut me out."

  "Not at all. I’ll just approach him when he drops by for a drink. Idle bar chatter. He won’t suspect a thing. Good God, Jed. You run a newspaper. He’s not going to sit down for a friendly chat with you."

  Jed’s lower lip began to jut in a juvenile pout. She sighed. I can just imagine Jed at five years old when someone took away a favorite toy. I’ll have to give him something else to occupy him.

  She laid a placating hand on his arm. "While I’m waiting for Chet to get thirsty and make an appearance, why don’t you check the Recorder’s Office? You can track down the claims Chet’s recorded since spring, his partners, whom he’s sold to and for how much. See what he’s been up to."

  "In other words, run down the paper trail." His eyebrows drew in over his eyes.

  Sensing a tantrum was imminent, Inez hurried on. "He’s been throwing a lot of money around recently. Perhaps he’s sold off some of his workings. That should be listed as a change in ownership, right? Might be interesting to see who the buyers are. See if they were Joe’s clients as well." She breezed along, making up the melody as she went, but she could see that Elliston was responding to her invention.

  The pout receded and his brow cleared. "Hmmm. Perhaps some of the major mining interests are involved. Tabor, Gallagher, Chaffee, and the rest are gobbling up property as fast as they can. Won’t be long before they own it all, if they don’t already."

  He began to look cheerful. "I could pose a question here or there. Find out what new ventures are surfacing."

  She pasted on an expression of encouragement. "Wonderful idea. And with your access to the rich and famous—"

  "Well, family connections and the male prerogative." His superior air returned. "Yes, you’d best wait for that Chester fellow to show up. You can verify whatever I uncover. We’ll compare notes in a few days."

  "Ah, Jed. Remember Miss Carothers." He blinked. "She could be most helpful with this." His face cleared. "Oh. Of course. I’ll find some suitable