Silver Lies Page 17

  Cat glided up to Angel, grabbed her arm, and pulled her off the platform to face Inez. "I told that sorry excuse for a seamstress to make the bodice lower. Like so." Cat tugged down on the tight-fitting gown.

  Mrs. Hoffman jumped as if Angel’s breasts had spilled out the top. "That’s indecent!"

  "The idea, Mrs. Hoffman, is to display the wares to their greatest advantage so the buyer knows what he’s getting."

  Mrs. Hoffman’s pointed nose quivered. "I will not tolerate—"

  Cat laughed. "Oh, for the right money, you will." Her gaze shifted to Inez. "Money talks. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Stannert? It buys a percentage in a silver strike or a choice lot in the business district. Without it, you better have something else. A highly prized face and body, for instance." Her gloved hand slid up the young woman’s bare arm, lingered at the neck, brushed back the long black hair.

  "That’s enough!" Inez found her voice and her feet. She walked up to Cat, forcing her away from Angel. "You have no right to speak to Mrs. Hoffman or treat this girl that way. She’s not your property."

  Cat laughed in delight, a descending scale of notes. She snapped her fan open and closed, seemingly relishing the exchange. "Why, you’re quite wrong. She is my property. Angel, why don’t you tell Mrs. Stannert how I saved you from becoming meat for the maggots. No? Then I will."

  Cat faced Inez with a vengeance. "I found Angel in a Denver alley. Fucking for crusts of bread."

  Mrs. Hoffman sucked in her breath. Cat ignored her.

  She lightly tapped Angel’s breast with her closed fan. "That pile of rags in the gutter beside you. Your brat? You never did say. Well, it was dead. But you lived. Thanks to me and me alone. Oh yes, I own you, body and soul."

  Cat slapped the closed fan against her open palm. The crack sounded like a whip in the dressmaker’s shop.

  "It works both ways, Mrs. Stannert. I give Angel shelter, food, beautiful clothes." She indicated the elegant dress. "Put her in a position to be adored by men of wealth, position, and power. And she gives me…" Cat tipped her head, red lips thinning into a smile. "We’re back to money. Think, Mrs. Stannert, if your recently departed husband had left you with no bank account, no property, where would you be now? Who knows? You might be working for me."

  "You’re despicable!" Inez forced her still raw voice into service. "It’s clear you take advantage of this girl and take pleasure in speaking in a particularly foul manner. You don’t shock me. I’ve heard those words before and more. And, one more thing."

  Inez moved forward into Cat’s lilac scent, close enough to see the face powder caked into creases around her painted mouth.

  "We’re not the least bit alike, Mrs. DuBois," she whispered. "You don’t know me. No more than you know what lies in Angel’s heart."

  Inez turned to Angel, who stood, lips parted, following the exchange. "Should you ever decide to leave the trade, remember the Silver Queen Saloon, corner of Harrison and State. I’ll help you find another way, a way that allows you to keep your dignity."

  Cat sneered. "Don’t give her any grand ideas. Angel’s just a whore, like the rest of us. Not worthy of your attention. Angel, get your cloak!"

  Cat pulled bank notes from her purse and threw them down. The paper money scattered around Mrs. Hoffman’s long skirts like leaves. "For the dress. At this price, I expect alterations with no whining. Ladies, we are the same, in this way: We provide services for money. Mrs. Hoffman, I suggest you provide those services with a smile."

  The door slammed behind Angel and Cat. Mrs. Hoffman collapsed onto the platform and drew a handkerchief from her sleeve. Inez started forward, but Mrs. Hoffman held up a hand. "No, please, it’s just that woman." She spat out the word as if it were spoiled food. "If pride goeth before a fall, she’s headed straight for perdition."

  "It’s not pride that drives Mrs. DuBois," said Inez. "It’s ambition."

  Mrs. Hoffman dabbed at her eyes, then stooped to gather the currency. "I would never have taken her business, only most of the decent women left town for the winter and won’t return until late spring. I need the money."

  Inez recognized the tone of dread, the unspoken fear of not being able to cover the business costs and grocer’s bills.

  When Mrs. Hoffman returned from putting the money away, the handkerchief was back up the sleeve, and her face was composed. "I’m sorry you walked in on that. Now, what can I do for you, Mrs. Stannert?"

  Inez also tried for a normal tone. "I’m looking for something suitable for the soiree. Nothing flashy," she added hastily, remembering Angel’s skin-tight, revealing dress.

  Mrs. Hoffman nodded. She ran her eyes over Inez’s figure, as if extracting a mental file of pertinent measurements. "It’s too late to sew up anything." Her face brightened. "But I have something that might do."

  She hastened to one of three massive oak wardrobes and pulled out a dress. Laying it on her worktable, she said, "I made this for Mrs. Smythe, but she left town. It’s a lovely mix of greens."

  Mrs. Hoffman smoothed the satin insets on the velvet overdress. The material fairly begged to be touched. "And, if I’m not mistaken—" She held it up to Inez. "Perfect for your complexion." Her expression became thoughtful. "Ruffles at the hem and sleeves for length." She glanced at Inez’s waist. "You’ll have to lace tighter."

  "Mrs. Hoffman, please, I want to be able to dance without falling over in a faint." Inez looked down at the dress, tempted, but still doubtful. "I’d like to be able to wear it on other occasions as well."

  "The underdress with your black cashmere would work for Sundays and special occasions." She faced Inez, the underskirt bunched in one hand. "Given that the twenty-

  seventh is less than two weeks away, it’s the best I can do."

  "How much?"

  She told her.

  Inez swallowed hard. At two hundred, I had better find many occasions for wearing it. She removed a glove and ran a hand over the different textures and shades. "Very well. I’ll pay half now. But I’ll need one more alteration. A pocket. A little deeper than—" She held her hands apart, the length of her pocket Remington.

  Mrs. Hoffman squeezed her eyes shut, looking like a child that had just been offered a spoonful of cod liver oil. "This, this is an evening dress."

  "You’re a marvelous seamstress. I’m certain that, when you’re done, the pocket will be invisible. Now, when should I come in for a fitting?"

  "The twenty-third." Mrs. Hoffman watched Inez count out coins and currency. "That gives me a few days if I need to make further alterations. I would have it ready sooner, but…" Her expression fell.

  "The twenty-third is fine." Cat will probably have her jumping through hoops until Christmas.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sun slanted down Tiger Alley, lending a false warmth to the early morning air. At the back door of the Silver Queen, Inez scraped snow off her sturdy walking shoes. Her gaze traveled down the path where State Street’s buildings revealed their less public aspects. For a moment, she imagined Joe walking the alley in the dead of night. She shook her head to banish Joe’s ghost and went inside.

  Abe was finishing off a fried breakfast steak.

  "Good morning, Abe, Bridgette."

  Abe speared another chunk of meat and offered it to the calico meowing at his feet. "Mornin’ to you too, Inez. You’re soundin’ almost normal today." A quick snap of feline teeth, and the cat vanished into the storeroom with her prize. "Meant to ask, Inez, have you seen my knife past few days?"

  "No." She dumped Joe’s notebooks and ledger on the table. "Oh Abe, not your knife. You’ve carried that since the War. How long has it been gone?"

  "Since Monday." Abe absently thumbed the edge of the cutlery knife. "Didn’t want to mention it, you bein’ so busy settlin’ Joe’s business."

  "Those men, the Exodusters, slept here Saturday and Sunday. You were with them. Could one of them have…?"

  Abe set the knife on the plate. "Well, if one did, he probably needed it more’n m
e. I’ll just get another. How’s it comin’ with Joe’s books?"

  "Done." She sat down across from him. "I tried to return them to Emma. She said, ‘What good will they do me in California? Throw them out.’" Inez sighed and flipped the ledger pages. "All I’ve left to do is return Chet’s bags and the five dollars he gave Joe to perform the last assays."

  "Reminds me, Chet was here last night lookin’ for you. He’s been holed up on his Fryer Hill claim with the twins. Turns out, they’ve broken through into one of Silver Moun-tain’s drifts. They’re hunkered underground, eyeball to eyeball with Harry’s boys, shotguns at the ready. Chet figures Harry’ll make an offer pretty soon. He wants to be there so’s the twins don’t give it away."

  "I imagine Harry’s not too happy about that."

  Abe rocked his chair back on two legs. "Best thing in my opinion, not that you asked, is you hand over those bags to me and I take them on up the hill to Chet. Sounds pretty tense up there."

  "I’ll go. Lucy can use the exercise. Besides, I have questions for Chet." Inez poured coffee for herself and Abe, taking care to leave the broken egg shells in the pot.

  "Thanks, Inez." Abe’s chair thumped back down. "You heard about Emma’s good fortune, the loan bein’ paid and all."

  "Mmm-hmm." She sat again. The heat from the stove warmed her back though her fingers still tingled with cold. "How did you hear?"

  "Your reverend. He dropped by last night about midnight." Abe sipped his coffee. "I think he was a mite disappointed you weren’t here."

  Inez bristled. "He’s not ‘my’ reverend."

  Abe took his time brushing a few crumbs from his silver and black vest. "Sure he is, Inez. It’s your church, right?" He looked at her, his brown eyes steady. "It’s interestin’, though. You get in trouble and he’s right there, turnin’ up at just the right time. I reckon he must have a direct line to the Almighty, so he knows just when to show."

  Bridgette bustled over and grabbed Abe’s empty plate. "A man of God’s supposed to look out for his congregation. That’s his job." She waved the plate under his nose. "Another steak? To keep some meat on those long bones of yours?"

  "No thanks, Bridgette." Abe examined Inez much as Mrs. Hoffman had the evening before. "So, Inez, what about you? Gonna have somethin’ besides coffee for breakfast? It’ll just eat a hole in you, sloshin’ around on its own."

  "I’m not hungry." The thought of a heavy lump of meat grinding around in her stomach was not appealing.

  "Hmmph. You still look a mite peaked from that knock on the head."

  "Lack of appetite can be a sign of many things," chirped Bridgette. She swished a towel around the table and returned to the stove, humming.

  Inez decided to ignore Bridgette’s remark.

  "Abe, about December twenty-seventh. That’s a Saturday—"

  "Right, I know it’s Saturday—"

  "She means," interrupted Bridgette, "it’s the night of the big do. And Mrs. Stannert, she’s going and will need the night off."

  "Bridgette!" Inez sputtered. How did she find out? She faced Abe. "I plan on canceling the game unless you want to take my place."

  "Come on, Inez. Those boys don’t show up for the better part of a Saturday night to play poker with a nigger. And I can’t leave Useless at the bar by hisself. Now, am I supposed to guess who asked you to this fandango?"

  "No need to guess," interrupted Bridgette with the air of a satisfied matchmaker. "It’s Reverend Sands of course."

  Abe crossed his arms and watched Inez flush scarlet. "Like I said. Your reverend. You sure you know what you’re doin’, Inez?"

  Inez stood with all the dignity at her disposal. "Don’t start seeing things that aren’t there, Abe. That goes for you too, Bridgette. I’m off for Fryer Hill. I’ll be back by noon."

  999

  Once in the office, Inez pulled out the two burlap bags from the safe, opened one, and peered inside. Rocks. Rocks that could signal a fortune.

  An inner voice, which sounded suspiciously like her mother’s, demanded to know what she thought she was doing as she removed a couple of fist-sized chunks from each bag. What if, Inez argued silently with the voice, Joe cut a deal with Chet and bought a percentage of the claim with the loan money. If I get these rocks assayed, and if they fit the results in Joe’s assay notes, and if I can find proof of an agreement, Emma and Joey stand to benefit.

  A lot of "ifs" and a shaky legal position, at best. But the voice in her head had no doubt about the moral position of her actions. "Put those back!" it hissed. "Ladies do not steal! Ladies are the moral standard."

  Inez had practice ignoring that voice. She placed the rocks in two small flour sacks, pushed the sacks into the safe, and clanged the door shut. Now for a ride up Fryer Hill.

  999

  Inez always marveled at the anonymity a set of clothes brought her. Wearing Mark’s old sheepskin jacket and canvas pants, a slouch hat pulled down low and a neckerchief pulled up tight, she was just another b’hoy, shotgun slung by the saddle, riding up to Fryer Hill.

  Once past the Silver Mountain turnoff, she veered onto a less traveled road winding around the shoulder of the hill. Evidence of mining activity appeared: skeletons of timber headframes black against the snow, mounds of tailings, and hastily constructed shanties, apparently empty. She puzzled at the inactivity, then remembered. Ah yes. Harry owns all this now. He’s probably busy extending Silver Mountain’s underground workings.

  They rounded a snow-capped bend and Inez reined Lucy to a stop. They’d almost plowed into a rig, its horse hitched to a rickety shanty. Chet’s roan and two shaggy ponies stood

  nearby. Probably the twins’. Now where have I seen this rig before?

  Inez admired the sleek black horse before tying off Lucy by the rig. The wind shifted, and a voice from beyond the cabin said, "…last offer. Harry’s being more than generous. His offer’s twice what the claim’s worth, even if the assay results prove valid."

  Inez glanced again at the handsome horse, chewing on its bit. Cooper’s rig. He must be trying to cut a deal for Harry.

  "Haw!" That was Chet’s characteristic snort. "I got Harry by the short hairs. Them assays are good. He can drag his feet all winter, takin’ samples and splittin’ assays. Our price’ll just keep goin’ up."

  The wind shifted, swallowing Cooper’s reply.

  Inez inched around the back of shanty, squeezing between the log wall and a towering ice-crusted snowbank. If I can reach the far corner, I might be able to hear better.

  Cooper’s voice returned. "Thirty thousand. Take it or I wash my hands of this deal. I’ll not be a party to what Harry’s got planned for you and your partners if you turn it down."

  "Haw!" This time, Chet’s guffaw was triumphant. "Shake on it, Cooper! Hey Zeke! Come on down! We got a deal with that devil Gallagher!"

  Inez almost missed the last sentence as snow avalanched down over her hat. That shower was nothing, however, compared to the heavy weight that hit her shoulders and drove her to the ground. She yelped, getting a mouthful of crusty snow for her efforts. She started to push herself up only to feel the unmistakable bite of a gun muzzle in the back of her neck.

  "Don’t move or I’ll ventilate ya, ya varmint!" Zeke’s nasal whine shook with indignation. He jerked her to her feet, then marched her out into the open. "Chet! Lookit this! Harry sends his fancy-pants lawyer to sweet-talk us into a deal, and one of his damn flunkies to bowdlerize us, if ’n we don’t agree."

  Chet and Cooper swung startled faces toward Inez. Looking ready to explode, Chet snarled, "Talk fast, mister lawyer."

  He reached for the gun under his tattered jacket. Cooper held out his hands—whether to show he wasn’t interested in a gun battle or to show his confusion, Inez didn’t wait to find out.

  "You idiots!" she shrieked. "I am not one of Harry’s flunkies!"

  The pressure disappeared from the base of her skull.

  Zeke spun her around. His face, slack with surprise, showed white where
sweat streaked the grime. "Jumpin’ Jehosephat, he’s a female!"

  "Let go of me!" Inez spat.

  Zeke let go and stepped back, gun hanging from one hand.

  She turned to Chet. "If I’d any intention of ‘bowdlerizing’ you, I would’ve come armed." She yanked open her coat to show that she had no gun. "My shotgun is on my horse. Along with the sample bags you’ve been hounding me about."

  Cooper, who had regained his composure, bowed slightly and lifted his hat in courteous irony. "Mrs. Stannert. An unexpected pleasure."

  "Huh. Pay her no mind," Chet growled. "Ya got your deal, Cooper. I’ll even throw in the burro." He twitched his head toward the dispirited beast, which was nosing halfheartedly at the hardpacked snow by the windlass.

  "I’ll relay your generosity to Mr. Gallagher," said Cooper.

  "Hey Zeke, go holler down the shaft to that no-account brother of yours. We’re gonna celebrate, yessiree. So when do we get the money?" Chet zeroed in on Cooper.

  Cooper shrugged, elegant in his fur-trimmed cashmere coat. "Today, if you wish. The paperwork’s in the rig. I fill in the amount, you three sign, and I get Harry’s signature. I’ll complete the necessary paperwork for the property transfer in town. I don’t imagine," he added, sarcasm sliding through his words, "that you’d agree to abandon your post before you have the finished documents in hand. And the money."

  "Damn tootin’. Zed and his shotgun stay underground ’til we get the dough."

  "Before sunset, then."

  Chet’s brown teeth snagged on a maniacal grin. "Thirty thousand smackeroos! Look out ladies of State Street!"

  Cooper turned toward Inez. "Mrs. Stannert, would you like me to accompany you back to town after I get these gentlemen’s signatures?"

  Inez nodded. No way did she want to be left alone on that solitary hill with Chet and the twins. Particularly with her shotgun still hanging on Lucy.

  They all crunched through the snow to the horses. Reaching into his rig, Cooper pulled out a portable writing desk, paperwork, pen, and ink.