Silver Lies Read online

  "Reverend, Joe didn’t leave Emma a cent. Even worse, he put his business up as collateral for a large loan. Now, I’ll ask again. What’s the hurry?"

  "Joe Rose took out a loan? Do you know why?"

  Now he’s interested. She crossed her arms and remained silent.

  The reverend studied her. "My turn to raise, call, or fold, hmmm?"

  The flag of truce dipped. "You fold, so help me, I’ll shoot you as you walk out the door and claim that you brought it on yourself. And it would be the honest truth."

  Reverend Sands laughed in genuine amusement. "You’d shoot a man of God in the back? By Jove, I believe you would. Well, Mr. Jackson did say you were a dangerous woman." He pulled out his silver pocketwatch and flipped open the cover. "There’s no time now for the kind of conversation we need to have. Forgive me, but I’m going to call your bluff on this one, Mrs. Stannert." He stood and held out his hand.

  "In that case, Reverend Sands, I’ll grant you a reprieve. But we must have that conversation. And soon." She took his proffered hand and rose.

  He smiled. "I think we’re beginning to understand each other. And I’m glad we had a chance to talk." His tone imparted more significance to that last word than she would have imagined possible. "Perhaps," his warm clasp tightened slightly, "since you extended the invitation, I will drop in tonight. Perhaps we could talk further, after your game."

  The implied question hovered in the air between them.

  Inez’s flustered gaze fell on the desk and the blank assay certificate from Joe’s office. A memory clicked. "I knew it!" She pulled her hand from his grasp and pounced on the paper. "There’s one more person for you to meet. A painter, who’s doing some work for us. I think he did work for Joe as well."

  Downstairs, Llewellyn was covering his caulking tin and preparing to leave.

  Inez set the certificate on the bar. "You did these for Joe Rose."

  He looked at the paper as if it might bite him.

  "It’s your work. I saw this very design on a scrap of paper in your workshop."

  "I’m sorry, Mrs. Stannert. Jobs come and go. Assay certificates, bank drafts, stationery—"

  "May I?" Reverend Sands picked up the certificate. "Nice work. Very professional. So, painting and engraving. Printing too, perhaps?"

  "And signs," Inez added.

  "Hmmm." Sands’ expression reminded her of his remark on sheep and wolves. "I need some marriage certificates. A design like this will do."

  Llewellyn stuffed caulking tools into his satchel. "Engrav-ing’s only a sideline."

  Sands leaned over the bar. "But you do it often enough to forget the clients, right? This," his finger jabbed the paper, "is exactly what I’m after."

  Llewellyn shrank back, then regrouped. "Of course, Reverend, if you insist. But I probably won’t get to your certificates right away. I’ve got Mrs. Stannert’s project, I’ve got other commissions—"

  "I’ll come to your workshop. We’ll talk business."

  "I’m not always in."

  "I’ll find you." Llewellyn paled at the ominous tone. Sands addressed Inez. All courtesy. "May I keep this?" "Suit yourself." "Thank you." It disappeared inside the black overcoat.

  "Until later, Mr. Tremayne." He smiled at Inez. Winter

  retreated. "See you tonight, Mrs. Stannert." Llewellyn watched Sands leave. "Who did you say that was?" "Reverend Sands. The interim reverend for our church." He shouldered his ladder and bag. "The less I have to do

  with him the better." Inez leaned her elbows on the bar and watched Llewellyn hurry out. Abe appeared and lifted the cat from her curled-up comfort on the bar. "What was all that about?"

  "The reverend wants some marriage certificates done up. I think Llewellyn’s got himself another customer. Not that he’s very pleased about it."

  "That’s not what I meant." She sighed. "Reverend Sands wants a truce. For the Roses’ sake." "Hmmph. You tell him about Nils?" "No. Of course not." "Glad to hear. Just because he packs the Good Book don’t

  mean he’s honest." Abe put on a clean apron. "Fella puts on some outfit that makes him into someone folks trust: an apron for a bardog, a black suit for a minister. Mix a bit of truth with the lies, real smooth, no one knows what’s what. Just remember, he ain’t here permanent. Six months, mebbe sooner, he’s gone. He’s got no real stake in the Roses, Leadville, or you."

  The words unexpectedly stung. "Don’t preach, Abe. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, if we’re going to sidestep all who aren’t what they seem, that’d be nine-tenths of the town."

  "Yeah, but pourin’ drinks, fixin’ wheels, or pullin’ teeth is

  a damn sight different from doctorin’ folks’ souls." "Well, we’ll see if he’s up to more than preaching." "You can bet he is."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Inez adjusted the small silver butterfly perched on her chignon as she conducted a quick visual inspection of the spittoons in the card room. Her lapel watch showed a quarter to eight. Her players would be arriving soon.

  She glanced around. Comfortable upholstered chairs snugged up to a round mahogany table, parlor stove spinning out warmth. The rug underfoot echoed the leaf pattern of the gold-flocked wallpaper. Ornate bronze lamp sconces cradled lamps set high to banish shadows. All reflected Mark’s vision of elegant interior decorating, conducive to the masculine pursuits of whiling away time and money.

  A staccato roar of voices cut off with the click of a closing door. Turning from the sidebar, Inez saw Useless holding a box of high-grade liquor. "Over here, Useless." She shifted the crystal glasses to one side.

  When he didn’t respond, she looked up.

  He stood, trapped behind the box, staring at the square low-cut neckline of her dress. The words that finally ground out were innocuous enough. "You sure look nice, Mrs. Stannert."

  Inez looked down, brushing the watered silk maroon bodice. "I haven’t worn this since summer." Since Harry. Earlier that evening, she’d pulled the shimmering dress from the depths of the upstairs wardrobe on an impulse. An impulse engendered by the reverend’s lingering hand clasp that morning and his promise to "drop in."

  She continued, "This was one of my husband’s favorites. He always said, the lower the neckline, the less attention men pay to the cards. I swear, if he’d had his druthers, he’d’ve had me prancing around looking like one of Cat DuBois’ boarders."

  "You’re purtier than them girls," Useless choked out. "Before you hired me, I used to come and watch you work the bar. I remember seein’ you in that dress. Makes your skin look like, like…"

  Bottles of bonded Kentucky bourbon and Portuguese port clinked and tinked as his shaking hands gripped the rough corners of the box.

  Inez frowned at the turn of conversation, his odd deportment. Useless needs lessons in decorum. No wonder respectable women like Susan and Emma shy away.

  A shadow zipped out from under the sideboard and veered away from her. The rat zigzagged toward the door where a sizeable gap between sill and frame promised escape.

  Inez gripped her skirts with both hands. For an insane moment, she visualized pulling out her gun and ending the rodent’s mad dash to freedom. "Do something!"

  Useless moved faster than she’d ever seen him move. He reached the rat and stomped with a force that shook the boards beneath her feet.

  The rat’s ear-piercing screech blended with Inez’s shriek.

  "Useless! Jesus Christ!"

  Useless looked down. He lifted his boot. Bits of gore dripped from the sole, plopped to the rug. The tail, the only part that remained unmashed, twitched once.

  "Oh my God! What possessed you!"

  "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, shrinking. "I, uh, didn’t want to drop the box."

  Rat fur, guts, and splattered blood glistened on the carpet, imposing a mangled pattern on the maroon and gold wool leaves.

  Inez thought she would lose the contents of her stomach on the spot.

  The door cracked open and the cacophony of the saloon washed o
ver her. Jed Elliston hesitated, looking first at Useless, who’d hastily hidden the rat remains beneath his boot again, then at Inez. "Mrs. Stannert, a word with you. It’s about Joe Rose."

  Inez forced out a response in a tone approaching normal. "Certainly. In the office."

  Jed turned around and headed toward the stairs.

  As she passed Useless, Inez hissed, "Clean it up. Now! The others will be here any minute. Good God, Useless. You really lived up to your name this time. If the carpet’s ruined, you’ll pay for it out of your wages."

  Revulsion added intensity to her tongue-lashing. Useless ducked his head, but not before Inez saw a sullen anger in his eyes.

  Climbing the stairs, she fought to bring her twisted insides under control. I need a drink. Soon as this chat with Jed is finished.

  In the office, she turned to Jed, eyebrows raised in question.

  Careful grooming aside, there was something beaten in his carriage. He looked like a dog that had been whipped and kicked into the street. Elliston coughed and addressed a point high over her left shoulder. "I’m dropping the paper’s inquiry into Rose’s death."

  "You’re dropping—" She stopped. What would convince a bulldog like Jed to drop a story?

  Then she knew. "What did Gallagher say to you?"

  Elliston jerked his head back, as if she’d whacked his nose with one of his own rolled-up newspapers. "Harry Gallagher? Ha ha! No, no. This is strictly a business decision. I asked around. But there’s no story. It’s…" He ran out of steam. "Miss Carothers has the ledger," he finished lamely.

  Inez sighed, too drained to push him any further. She led him to the door, saying, "Well, you tried. Don’t think any more on it. A nice evening of cards is what we need. And a drink. We both need a drink."

  They found Doc outside the card room, brandy in hand. "Ah, a quorum is developing. And here’s Bob."

  Inez flashed her hostess smile at Bob Evan, owner of the biggest mercantile in Leadville. Evan had arrived early in town, hoping to strike it rich. Story was, while hacking through the rocky subsoil of his claim, he’d broken the shaft of his pickaxe. He’d vowed then and there to make his fortune not from silver but from shovel handles, drill bits, rifles, wool socks—whatever was needed by the miners. He played cards like he ran his business: with careful calculation, but without disdaining an occasional risk.

  The four of them entered the card room. Useless stood at the sidebar, setting up the bottles. Inez glanced down at the rug. The stain looked innocent. As if it could have been caused by a spilled drink, a mis-aimed squirt at a spittoon.

  Jed Elliston headed straight for the liquor. Useless picked up the box, which now held rags bunched around a suspicious lump. He hurried out, avoiding Inez, just as David Cooper arrived, brushing snow from his fur coat.

  "I see I’m not late after all." Cooper smiled at Inez, every inch the East Coast lawyer. His successful Leadville practice rested on settling claim disputes. He had an uncanny ability to guess which way judge and jury would lean. His mannered speech didn’t reflect an unfortunate tendency to yield to impulse on the cards.

  "Pick your poison, gentlemen." She settled in her chair, feeling the bulky train of dress flatten beneath her. Glancing about the table, she noted Nigel and Harry were missing. The others took their seats as Inez broke the seal on the cards.

  Evan adjusted his brown corduroy jacket. "You look very fashionable, Mrs. Stannert. Lovely, as always." He squinted. "New dress?"

  "Thank you, but no. Just one I haven’t worn in a while." Inez suspected that Evan’s concept of women’s fashion was hampered by his main customers, miners and roustabouts. She privately bet he had a wardrobe full of corduroy, his fashion mainstay.

  "Ah, here’s Harry." Doc beamed. "Business hold you in abeyance?"

  Harry removed his overcoat, still dusted with snow. "An overturned sledge on Stray Horse Gulch held up traffic." His eyes settled on Inez. "Evening, Mrs. Stannert."

  "We’re waiting on you, Harry." Cooper waved at the empty chair by Inez.

  Inez tapped the deck of cards on the table. With Harry seated, she shuffled the stiff cards with an expert hand. "Ante up, gentlemen."

  Quarter eagles rained onto the table. All murmuring ceased as she dealt out cards, one at a time, five cards face down. The players picked up their hands.

  As was her habit, before looking at her own cards she scanned the men’s expressions and postures. To her immediate left, Elliston’s grim face looked a shade grimmer. Nothing there. Next to him, Doc straightened up a bit, no longer so snoozy. Possible pair? Doc takes even two deuces as a good omen. Evan peered through metal-rimmed glasses at his hand, noncommittal. Hard to say. We’ll see when the betting starts. Cooper eased back in his chair, getting comfortable. Settled in for the long haul. He must have something worthwhile. Nigel’s empty chair. Then Harry.

  Harry was watching her. His gaze traveled leisurely down to encompass her gown. The color flew to her cheeks. Perhaps it was a mistake to wear this dress. She examined her own hand. Pair of queens. Jack, seven, five.

  Elliston said, "Pass."

  "Time to get the evening rolling." Doc threw in a quarter eagle.

  Evan’s coin chinked onto the pile.

  "Oh, we can do better than that." Cooper added a half eagle.

  Everyone stayed in. Cards were discarded, replacements dealt. Inez found no improvement to her pair of ladies. When Harry doubled Cooper’s twenty-dollar bet, Inez groaned inwardly and stared at Harry, trying to divine his mind. No nervous ticks or mannerisms showed. Just a knowing smile that irritated her beyond belief. She hated backing down to him. However…

  "I’m out." She closed her hand.

  "Well, my dear, the house wins every time, in any case." Doc’s consoling smile lifted the loose wrinkles around his jowls.

  She reached for her coffee cup. Doc was right. The house got its cut from each pot. Her personal objective was to neither lose nor win an extravagant amount. Lose too much, it wiped out the house’s take. Win too much…well, the customers didn’t like losing. Especially to the house. And, despite all their gallantry, especially to a woman.

  Elliston threw down his cards. "Out."

  Doc shook his head. "Until more citizens pay their medical bills—"

  "Guess they’re paying me first." Evan added forty dollars.

  Cooper stroked his close-cropped beard, examining Harry as if he was a potential juror of unknown quantity. "Raise you sixty."

  Harry didn’t even bother to look at his hand. "Double it."

  Cooper said, "Call, Harry, you old devil. What’ve you got?"

  Harry spread out a king-high straight.

  "I’d’ve sworn you were bluffing." Cooper chucked his hand. Evan followed.

  Doc swirled the brandy in his glass, "So, Harry, I hear you’re headed east this spring. Doesn’t our Chestnut Avenue measure up to Philadelphia’s? Or are you in search of more capital?"

  Harry counted his winnings, slid the house’s portion toward Inez. "Philadelphia for family business. Then New York, Boston. Eastern capitalists are all afire about Leadville. I don’t want that heat to go to waste. As for Chestnut, Leadville will never be the Philadelphia of the West."

  "I dunno." Evan laced his hands over his brown waistcoat. "There’s talk that Leadville might steal the title of capital city from Denver."

  Harry raised an eyebrow. "Leadville needs more than gaslights, a telephone exchange, and an opera house to qualify as a capital. More law and order, for example."

  "But a railroad." Evan’s face glowed, as if he contemplated the Holy Grail.

  Cooper nodded. "The Supreme Court should decide on the Santa Fe and D&RG case soon. I’m betting we have a line by summer."

  A murmur of agreement circled the table. Folks took a serious interest in the legal and occasionally armed disputes between the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe and the Denver and Rio Grande railroads. While the court debated which would have right-of-way up the narrow Royal Gorge canyon to
Leadville, both railroads continued to sabotage each other’s tracks.

  Harry leisurely lit a cigar. "Once a railroad, any railroad, sets up business, freighting costs will drop. I’m betting on D&RG, myself."

  Everyone present knew that Jed’s family fortunes rode on the Santa Fe.

  Jed’s face darkened. "Now that you’ve consolidated the claims around Silver Mountain, with Cooper’s help, I’ve heard you’re opening an assay office at the mine. Guess local business wasn’t up to your standards, Harry."

  Silence descended. No doubt all were remembering, as was Inez, Joe Rose’s accusations the previous Saturday. And that Rose now lay buried in Evergreen Cemetery.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Unperturbed, Harry rolled his cigar ash into a crystal ashtray. "The mine’s big enough to support a company assayer."

  "Sounds like Silver Mountain is prospering, if silver prices are any indication." Doc, like many others in town, bought shares in the local mines and avidly followed production figures and the silver market.

  "I’ll put it this way, gentlemen. And Mrs. Stannert. Don’t sell your shares of Silver Mountain yet."

  "The way real estate’s appreciating, Mrs. Stannert’s sitting on a bonanza right here on Harrison and State. Last I heard, business district lots were going for ten thousand dollars." Cooper’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at Inez. "Had any buyout offers lately?"

  Inez cut the deck and watched Jed deal. "The saloon’s still not for sale."

  At the midnight break, Inez stopped by the bar. Abe poured an inch of brandy into the bottom of a coffee cup and handed it to her, then glanced at a nearby knot of dark-skinned men with somber faces. "More Exodusters. Don’t know what they expected to find here that isn’t in Kansas. More snow. More cold. Only work is underground. Most were dirt farmers from the South. A damn shame."

  He capped the brandy and nodded toward the card room. "You might have a taker for that empty seat."

  Reverend Sands stood inside the room, surveying the décor. He turned at Inez’s approach and nearly sloshed his coffee onto the carpet at her feet. "Pardon me, Mrs. Stannert. I was just admiring the room." His gaze, which he valiantly attempted to keep at eye level, kept straying to her dress. "Exquisite. The décor, I mean."