A Dying Note Page 15

  Giving Inez and her ward a wide berth, de Bruijn crossed the floor and let himself out. The bell stayed dumb.

  Chapter Twenty

  It had not been a good night for Inez.

  First, there had been the long discussion at the kitchen table upstairs with Antonia. Inez had set aside her hairbrush along with her initial impulse to mete out punishment. Instead, she fixed Antonia some warm milk, and herself a cup of tea. Then, she sat down across from Antonia and began with the most difficult topic, de Bruijn’s surprise appearance.

  “I know meeting him was a shock, Antonia,” Inez said. “In truth, when you first told me about this mysterious ‘Mr. Brown,’ who your mother said would show up and rescue you both, I doubted his existence. After all, you only heard of him and his visits from your mother and never actually met him. I thought perhaps she had invented him to give you hope of a better future as she struggled to make a life for the two of you. However, from what he told me just now, it sounds like he truly cared for your mother and had no idea the two of you had come to such a sad state of affairs in Leadville.”

  Antonia had stared into her mug, sloshing the liquid so it swirled inside.

  Inez tried again. “Mr. de Bruijn says the letters and money he sent to your mother were never delivered. The hotel clerk where you initially stayed—”

  “Stop!” Antonia clapped her hands to her ears. “I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t believe anything he says. He’s a liar! Why is he even here?”

  Inez abandoned her tea to give Antonia a hug. After the girl calmed down Inez returned to her chair. “To answer your question, Mr. Gallagher hired him to find his son Robert Gallagher, the man we knew as Jamie Monroe.”

  Antonia cupped her hands around the mug. “What does Mr. Brown care what happened to Jamie? Who is he?”

  “He’s a…” Inez hesitated, “…a sort of detective.”

  “A policeman? But he doesn’t wear a uniform.”

  “No, not a policeman.” Inez hesitated again. “He works for private hire. Wealthy people such as Mr. Gallagher hire people like him to investigate, ferret out the truth, find things and people.”

  Antonia sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Well, he must not be very good if he couldn’t find me and Maman in Leadville, and if it took him this long to figure out that you and I came here.” She glanced up at Inez. “You trust him?”

  “He is invested in finding out what happened to Jamie. As long as our interests align, yes, I trust him.”

  “Some people will believe anything a con artist tells them,” Antonia muttered.

  Inez leaned over her cup of tea. “What did you say?”

  “It’s just when you’re on the streets, like Maman and me were in Leadville, you learn not to believe everything you hear.”

  “I know a thing or two about confidence artists, cardsharpers, and flat-out liars,” said Inez. “And yes, I trust him. To a point. Beyond that, well, we should reserve final judgment.”

  Antonia slumped in her chair. Inez placed a gentle hand on hers. “Antonia, long ago, I said I would take care of you, and I will. He cannot change that or anything else between us.”

  Antonia’s clenched hand relaxed under Inez’s fingers.

  Inez continued, “However, you are to be civil to him. And no more cutting school, sneaking around, or eavesdropping. What possessed you to go directly to Mr. Gallagher with what you heard?”

  Antonia squirmed. “You sounded like you were in a fix. Mrs. Sweet wasn’t gonna help. I thought I could. I figured I’m just a kid, a girl. I figured Mr. Gallagher wasn’t going to do anything to me.” She looked down at her mug. “I guess it wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “We are in agreement on that point. So, do I have your promise? No more truancy or eavesdropping?”

  “I promise. I won’t cut school, and I won’t go listening at doors or peeking through keyholes.”

  Her earnestness only increased Inez’s suspicions. She vowed to herself to watch what she said and check the various entrances and exits before holding any sensitive conversations in the back room.

  Which raised another concern.

  If she was going to put a considerable effort into finding out what had happened to the young Mr. Gallagher, she would have to be away from the store for portions of the day. Nico could not be counted on to cover for her. And John Hee, although he was quite knowledgeable about a variety of instruments and the various Oriental curiosities they had for sale, was strictly backroom. Most of the clientele had no issue with who might be behind the curtain doing repairs, but to have a man of Chinese extraction visible and acting as an expert or store manager would not do.

  So, she needed to find someone to fill in for her, a temporary assistant manager, as it were. Someone trustworthy, who knew the musical world, preferably a pianist such as herself. Someone immediately available. Someone like Thomas Welles. Welles had a family to support. He didn’t have a day job at the moment. And, a big plus, Nico knew and trusted him. She resolved to talk to Nico about it first thing in the morning.

  Finally, there were the questions: Who had killed Robert Gallagher or, as she thought of him, Jamie Monroe? And why? Those questions, more than all the rest, kept her tossing on her feather bed and staring at the shadows on the wall.

  Thus, the bells seemed particularly hellish when they erupted the next morning before sunrise. Inez dragged herself out of bed, completed her toilette in record time, and nudged Antonia through their morning routine. The girl looked as if she’d slept no better than Inez.

  “Do I need to walk you to school this morning to be certain you arrive?” Inez asked pointedly.

  “No’m.” Antonia ducked her head over the morning porridge Inez had prepared.

  “Good. I look forward to hearing how your lessons went today. I may be out when you come home, but will be back in time for us to go to Mrs. Nolan’s for supper together.” Inez added, “I am going to see if Mr. Donato will allow me to hire Mr. Welles for a week or so to mind the store.”

  Antonia paused, spoon hanging mid-air. “Why? Are you going to look for who killed Mr. Monroe?”

  “First, I need to see where Mr. Monroe was found and see if I can determine where he died. The last may take some time.” But not too much time, I hope. We have none to spare.

  Antonia descended the stairs and Inez followed, intending to wait for Nico in the office. To her surprise, Nico and a laborer in a paint-splattered apron and peaked cap were standing out in front of the store. Nico, dressed in a stylish morning suit, was gesturing at the sign above the door. He spoke in rapid Italian to the painter, who was nodding vigorously and saying intermittently, “Sì, sì, Signore.”

  Nico broke off to say, “Ah! Signora Stannert. What do you think? Should our sign be in gold and black, same as on the window? Or should we try for something different? Perhaps blue? Or red? Or silver and gold?”

  Inez realized that there was no reversing course now. Nico was bound and determined that “Donato and Stannert” should be emblazoned, varnished, and swinging in the breeze for all to see. Oh, what does it matter? My efforts to stay anonymous are obviously for naught, at this point. “Black and gold are much more elegant if we are trying to attract an upscale clientele.”

  “Of course, of course. You are right, as always.” He addressed a few more fluid words to the painter. The man nodded, tugged on his cap deferentially, and said to Inez, “Buon giorno, Signora,” before hurrying away.

  “Mr. Donato, may I have a word with you inside?”

  “Of course, of course!”

  As they walked toward the rear of the store, Inez began, “You have always said that I have complete management of the store in how it is run, correct?”

  He looked at her curiously. “But of course. That is our agreement. And you have done marvelously, as I have said.”

  “Good. Because I w
ould like to hire Mr. Welles for a short while, just about a week or so. I understand he is short of work right now. Having him stand in for me for part of the day would work to everyone’s advantage and allow me the time I need to take care of some personal business.”

  Nico stopped walking, and Inez was forced to halt as well.

  The puzzlement on his face was marred by caution and question. “You need an assistant?”

  Inez continued in her most persuasive tone. “It would be good for the store as well to have a responsible person available. And you, well, you are so busy with all your appearances and so on. Welles, as a married family man and a pianist, would be a good choice. Perhaps we might even think of employing him permanently, half-time, if it works out as well as I think it will.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he objected or demanded to know more.

  Instead, he said in a peculiar tone, “Well. If you feel you must. As I said, you have complete management of the store. I trust you to do what is best. Thomas would be a good choice, as you say. May I ask, does this important business have to do with Signore Gallagher, the gentleman I met yesterday?”

  She stared at him, wondering if he knew about Jamie Monroe being Harry’s son.

  “I understand you know each other from before. He told me he knew you from Colorado. He was at the Floods last night.”

  Inez held her breath. She now recalled suggesting to Harry that he show his son’s photograph to Nico. If Nico mentioned this, or remarked on the resemblance of Robert Gallagher to Jamie Monroe, she would have to reconsider what to say to Nico about the entire situation and what to withhold. But if he did not mention it, neither would she.

  The silence stretched between them until he added hastily, “Scusatemi, I do not mean to pry where it is none of my business.”

  She realized Nico was asking in a circumlocutory manner whether there might be a more “personal” connection between her and Harry. “No! It is not that at all. It’s just…” Inez hesitated, wondering how much to divulge. She decided to err on the side of caution, even if it meant inventing excuses. “Mrs. Sweet has decided she wants her daughter taught at home. Others have expressed a similar interest in having me provide private lessons in their residences. This development could ultimately bring more business to our store. I thought it would be a reasonable avenue to explore, and since Mr. Welles is currently at loose ends…”

  The tightness in Nico’s face smoothed away. “Ah! That is most entrepreneurial of you, Signora Stannert. Certainly. One week, that is not much to ask, and as you say, will help Signore Welles and the store as well. Excellent idea.”

  “I am glad you agree that Mr. Welles is a satisfactory substitute for the time being. If I could ask a favor of you.” She ventured to lay a hand on his sleeve. “I have no idea where Mr. Welles lives. Would you see if he is available to start today, or tomorrow at the latest? It would be such a help to me, if you would.”

  “Certamente. I will talk with him. I am sure he and I can come to an agreement.”

  Inez noted how smoothly he had slipped the responsibility of handling the arrangements out from under her, but decided, in this case, she would let it go. “Thank you, Mr. Donato.” She gave his arm a small squeeze and withdrew her grasp.

  “I am always available to help. You need only ask.” He glanced toward the back of the store, somewhat wistfully, she thought, before adding, “I hope your morning brightens from here, Signora.” He bowed and headed toward the exit.

  She went into the back and stopped, staring about. Several big, bristling bouquets dotted the area. One sat on top of the student piano in the lesson room, another in the center of the large round table, and yet another perched in her office on a small black pedestal table, extracted as she recalled, from the showroom. No card, but it was clear to her that Nico was behind the ostentatious display.

  What was he up to, that he felt it necessary to bury her in an avalanche of blossoms? She couldn’t imagine that he was concerned that she might leave the business. Although, if he thought there might be a romantic possibility between her and Harry, and that Harry might lure her back to Colorado, that could account for the sudden effusiveness.

  A knock at the back door brought her out of her musings, and she hurried to open it. Otto Klein stood on the other side, sweating and looking harassed. A cart, horse, and driver lingered in the alleyway behind him. “I am sorry to come calling at such an early hour, Frau Stannert, but I wondered if you could help me. Yet again. It has to do with Jamie Monroe.”

  The cart, she noticed, was piled with several trunks and musical cases. She also saw a music stand poking up out of the chaos. Otto continued, “You see, I have not been all truthful with you. Two weeks ago, Jamie and I had a falling out over the rent. I was having to foot the bill. A while ago, I said, ‘No more’. Last night, Isaac Pérez told me there was a room to let in his boardinghouse. It is less expensive, with many of our friends there. I had to decide quickly. I paid the rent and I am moving out today. I have most things, one more trip. But you see, there is Jamie’s trunk.” He glanced at the cart. “He has not come back. I do not think it proper for me to take it with me. Perhaps you could keep it, until he returns? If he does.”

  Inez’s mind was already working over the possibilities. If she could get into that trunk, who knows what she might find. “Certainly. You can put it upstairs, in the storage room.”

  “That would be wonderful!” He looked quite relieved.

  Inez pointed to the seldom-used, outside staircase clinging to the backside of the two-story building. “That way would be best. I’ll unlock the door at the top.”

  Otto and the driver struggled to pull a large trunk out of the cart and up the rickety stairs. Inez went up first, sorting through her keys until she found the one that fit the back door at the top of the stairs. She unlocked the door and entered, peering about the dim interior, finally pointing to the wall by the dusty window that overlooked the alley. “Right here would be best, where it is out of the way.”

  She frowned. The sash window was pulled up a couple of inches. Had it been that way for a while? She seldom came into the storage room and couldn’t recall if perhaps she’d opened the window to air things out and forgot to close it.

  Once the trunk was placed, the window closed, and the back door locked, they all headed down. Back in the alley, Inez asked Otto, “Do you recall anything about the longshoreman who knows Monroe and came to your boardinghouse? His name? Where he works?”

  Otto mopped his brow. “Sven Borg. Said he worked the lumber trade on the docks.”

  She tucked the name away for future reference.

  “He told you he recognized Jamie from his activities in the labor movement?” she asked.

  Otto nodded, looking at the cart. The driver was whistling softly. “I believe so.”

  “She ventured another question. “Was Jamie working in that area? Do you know?”

  “Ach.” Otto looked distressed. “He has been working late nights into early mornings. Not so unusual. But he didn’t like to talk about where. I think it was perhaps somewhere on the Barbary Coast. Or perhaps by the wharves at Mission Creek, where the body was found.”

  “It is not a good place down there at night,” he added. “I hope you do not plan to go there looking for this Herr Borg, Mrs. Stannert.”

  Inez nodded, thinking back on what Jamie had written in his note to Carmella and what Carmella had said in the carriage. “I heard he had a new job lined up. Do you know anything about that? You say he hasn’t been paying the rent. He doesn’t have a source of regular income?”

  “Ach. He is a musician. As with most of us, regular income is a dream. Why do you ask? Has someone identified the body? Is it Jamie?”

  “I hope we will know soon.” Inez was not ready to announce to the world that Jamie was the unfortunate victim. Not with things as tangled as they were. She would have to sa
y something eventually, but not yet. Not now.

  He looked as if he had more questions, but the driver called out, “Mr. Klein, if this hire takes longer than we agreed upon, it’ll cost you more.”

  Inez walked Otto to the cart. “If you come up with anything that might help determine Jamie’s whereabouts and activities, savory or unsavory, please let me know.”

  “Very well.” He didn’t sound happy. “But, Mrs. Stannert, there may be things that would not be fit for a lady’s ears.”

  She smiled grimly. And those are exactly the things that I need to hear.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  De Bruijn looked across the table, littered with the remains of breakfast, at his two female dining companions. They could not have been more different in their attentiveness. Mrs. Stannert, who had arrived late, looking harried but determined, had closely attended to his each and every word. He also gathered she was watching him closely for signs of…pretense? Weakness? Her powers of perception had been remarked upon by Mr. Gallagher as well as by others in Leadville who knew her, so he was prepared to be on his guard when dealing with her face to face.

  Mrs. Sweet, on the other hand, had barely seemed to register their conversation. Her wandering eye was more engaged in examining the dining room and casting appraising glances at the nearby men—solitary or otherwise, she did not seem to discriminate. Whereas Mrs. Stannert had eschewed all but coffee for breaking her fast, Mrs. Sweet had ordered widely from the menu and attacked the rolls and butter with the voracity of a laborer who expected it to be his only meal of the day.

  The room was filled with hundreds of diners, and the ensuing din made conversation difficult. The clash of cutlery and china, mixed with the loud voices, was not conducive to meetings of a sensitive sort.

  He leaned forward. “I propose that our next meeting take place elsewhere. Some place private.”

  “Up in the suite, perhaps?” suggested Flo, sending a flirtatious sideways glance to an impressively mustachioed gentleman two tables away who, de Bruijn noticed, didn’t seem to mind in the least.