Silver Lies Read online

  Inez spoke first. "Mark never mentioned being involved in counterfeit. Abe, you never told me."

  Abe sighed, looking older than his forty-five years. "All this time, I thought you knew."

  She leaned forward. "Tell me."

  "After the War, Mark and me rambled up and down the coast, playin’ cards, bettin’ at races. When our luck ran bad, we carried boodle for a couple coney brokers, mostly distributin’, sometimes shovin’. Last time was New York. That’s when he met you, at some high society party, right? Well, while you two were makin’ eyes at each other, I was hoofin’ bogus bills upstate." He rubbed his eyes. "Until I got caught."

  "You got caught?" She stared at Abe’s face. A face she thought she knew as well as her own. "But I remember meeting you after…" After I eloped.

  "Yep. I was lucky enough to get caught by a marshal who wasn’t averse to takin’ money, good or bad, and lookin’ the other way. Just like local law around here." Abe hiked his head in the direction of the city marshal’s office. "Anyhow, I gave him a couple names and handed over the boodle. He turned his back long enough for me to leave town. That and your daddy gave us all plenty reason to head West."

  Inez leaned an elbow on the desk and looked down at the framed photograph of her son. She couldn’t stand the sight of his innocent face. She closed the photocase and pushed it into a pigeonhole.

  "I had no idea, Abe."

  Abe exhaled hard. "The only way you could of not known was if you didn’t want to. Mark and I, we talked about the old times, the coney gangs, the shovin’. If you didn’t hear, it was because you turned a deaf ear."

  "But, counterfeiting. That’s illegal!"

  "Inez, come on." He sounded exasperated now. "Even us three weren’t always on the right side of the law. Remember New Orleans? St. Joe? Hell, what about Dodge, that business at the Lone Star—"

  "Stop." She looked out the windows at the mountains.

  "You dealin’ seconds under Bat Masterson’s nose. Damn near gave me a heart attack. I mean, he was runnin’ the place and undersheriff of Ford County, no less. You might of pulled the wool over those cowboys’ eyes, but I still believe he was on to your shenanigans. Think he just let it slide, since you were smilin’ sweet at him and he was supplyin’ the brandy. Not to mention later that night, when you both disappeared—"

  Inez rounded on him ferociously. "I said stop!"

  "Look, I’m not layin’ blame. I’m just sayin’ you didn’t mind livin’ life on the edge of the law while we were on the move. Then, we got here and stopped movin’. Got the saloon. You and Mark started a family." Abe shook his head. "Everything changed."

  Inez stared at the business ledger on the desk and forced her thoughts back to the present, away from the Lone Star Dancehall and Bat Masterson. She could not, in good conscience, enter concrete numbers in the deposit and profit columns until she heard back from Cooke. What a mess.

  She drummed her fingers on the ledger. "Well, what difference could all that coney business make now. It was ten years ago. I can’t imagine Cooke or anyone else in Leadville knows."

  Abe sat back. "You’re right, it was long ago. But Cooke did give us the cold shoulder. And him sayin’ he might, might not get the Treasury or Secret Service involved. That’s bull. No banker’s gonna sit on a pile of coney. He’s got to notify the government. I don’t like this a-tall."

  I don’t like it either. Cold fingers slid up her spine. "Abe, does the name Frank Vintree mean anything to you?" Abe’s brow furrowed. "Vintree. Jesus, that was Philadelphia. Big-time coney ring. Where’d you hear about him?"

  Vintree. Philadelphia. Sands. And there was another connection, one she couldn’t remember. Something else about Philadelphia. A measure still missing, the tune half done.

  Abe waited for her response. She realized, having said that much, she couldn’t very well wiggle out of answering. Inez took a deep breath to overcome her reluctance at betraying what felt like a confidence. Or a confession. "Reverend Sands said he knew Vintree after the War. Briefly."

  Abe grunted. "I suspected somethin’ but wouldn’t’ve picked him as a coney man. Don’t it strike you mighty strange that all this comes up and your reverend admits he was mixed up with a coney ring?"

  "No stranger than finding out my husband and my business partner, both people I thought I knew fairly well, were dropping counterfeit money up and down the East Coast. Perhaps at the same time as Sands."

  "Let’s not fight about it," said Abe tersely. "The big question is, were we just unlucky or were we targeted?"

  "Targeted?"

  "Saloons are a good place to pass bad bills. Lots of money changes hands. No one looks too close. Sometimes, the saloon owners are part of it."

  "Not us." Inez was indignant.

  "Yeah, but Cooke’s suspicious. Maybe someone wants it that way."

  "Who? Why?"

  Abe spread his hands on his knees. "Who’d profit if we went down for passin’ bogus?"

  She thought a moment. "We’d have to sell the saloon. Who’s eager to buy?" She ticked them off. "Harry Gallagher. Cat DuBois. Jed Elliston? I don’t know. He loves the newspaper business. Cooper acts interested. I always assumed he was inquiring for Harry, but maybe not."

  "Straight-and-narrow Cooper? He don’t seem the type to run a gin mill."

  Inez stood and straightened her skirts. "At this point, no one is what they seem." Not even you and Mark.

  999

  Downstairs, the saloon had opened for business. While Abe and Useless provided early arrivals with the means to toast the coming holiday, Doc swirled the brandy in his glass and meditated on the faceless mural.

  "Magnificent, my dear." He wrinkled a smile at Inez. "Your artist," he indicated Llewellyn, who sat nearby devouring a bowl of Bridgette’s stew, "told me you’re selling spots in Elysium. As well as in the underworld. Of course, any battle, celestial or otherwise, should have a physician in attendance. How much to paint my visage on the fine fellow at the far right? And change his sword to a caduceus?"

  Inez, bemused, examined the muscular physique of the warrior angel on the wall, so at odds with Doc’s stooped form. "So you’d like to be field physician to the Lord’s battalions? An eagle buys you immortality."

  Doc dug out the ten-dollar gold piece and dropped it on the bar.

  Inez pocketed the eagle and led the physician to Llewellyn’s table. "We have our first taker. Doc Cramer has chosen the angel on the far left, with a few modifications."

  Llewellyn wiped his mustache on the sleeve of his painter’s smock and jumped up to shake Doc’s hand. It looked like a formal introduction between an aging Paul Bunyan and an elf. "You’ll not be disappointed." Llewellyn gestured to an empty chair and picked up a sketch pad. "I need a three-quarters view, so if you’ll turn your chair a bit to the left."

  Doc adjusted his chair and bow tie, before raising his chin to strike what, Inez assumed, was supposed to be a heroic pose. Llewellyn sketched in rapid, flowing strokes. "A quick likeness now, and I’ll begin painting after Christmas. By New Year’s you’ll be in Paradise for a mere ten dollars."

  Another gold coin arced through the air and plunked onto the table.

  "Were it truly so easy to enter Heaven." The reverend smiled amiably at Doc and touched his hat in greeting to Inez.

  Llewellyn froze in place, pencil stilled. "Talk to Mrs. Stannert if you want a spot in the mural, Reverend. She has final say on its design. I’m merely the artistic executor."

  "Are you." The reverend regarded him with little warmth before grabbing a nearby chair, pulling it to the table, and straddling it. "How are those marriage certificates coming along? A crack engraver like yourself should have them done by now. Especially since the design is nothing new to you."

  Llewellyn’s pencil point wavered above the paper. He stared at Sands, dislike and unease chasing across his face. "I warned you that I had other commissions before yours."

  "So you said." Reverend Sands stood his ten-dollar gold piec
e on edge and gave it a spin. It gyrated merrily across the table. "It appears you’d rather be painting Mrs. Stannert’s epic picture."

  What’s going on between these two? Inez leaned over and stopped the spinning coin. "Reverend Sands, since you’re interested in being portrayed, do you choose to fight on behalf of darkness or light?"

  She’d asked the question in jest, to lessen the tension. When Sands looked up, his eyes, shadowed by his hat, looked gray and somber. They lightened briefly as he smiled. "I choose to fight by your side of course, Mrs. Stannert. So tell me. Which side is that?"

  "I wasn’t intending to be in the mural."

  "I see. Like most generals, you remain apart from the battlefield, plan the strategy, and direct the troops."

  The reverend abandoned his chair to survey the painting. "Hell looks like a cold, uninviting place. Heaven doesn’t look much warmer. The Garden is the only hospitable spot on the wall." He glanced at Inez. "Where did you get this vision?"

  "From John Milton and Leadville."

  Doc twitched in his chair. The noble pose vanished. "Surely you don’t need to ponder, Reverend. You’re a man of God and you fought on the side of might and right in the War. Pick the winning side, man."

  "In my experience, even the winners end up losing something." Reverend Sands strolled to the bar to inspect the painting up close. "Right or wrong. Win or lose. Black or white. Life’s seldom so simple. In my experience, most choices end up shades of gray."

  Inez moved to stand beside him. "In this case, though, there are only two possibilities. Heaven or Hell. No shades of gray."

  He walked back and forth, examining the scene. "I’ll be Abdiel. Always faithful to God, yet followed Satan. At least until he defied Satan in the heavenly war."

  Llewellyn interjected, "An angel who sneaks into the enemy’s camp? Sounds like a common spy to me."

  Sands looked at him. "I see him as delivering the Word to those most in need."

  Doc harrumphed. "During the War, those who infiltrated the secessionists’ camps and won their confidence provided an invaluable service to their country." He craned his neck to look at the sketch. "Finished, Mr. Tremayne? I must resume my rounds."

  Reverend Sands retrieved his ten-dollar gold piece and returned to Inez. He took her hand, dropped the coin into her palm, and closed her fingers around it.

  Still holding her hand, he added, "A pity you won’t consider gracing an angel with your likeness. I can imagine you as one of God’s chosen, sword in hand, secure in your convictions. You’d be most persuasive. I, for one, would follow you without question." He lowered his voice. "Recovered from Saturday?"

  The pressure of his hands sent a delicious warmth shooting about inside her and encouraged unangelic thoughts. "Quite, thank you." She cocked her head, eyeing his face for bruises. "And you?"

  "Never better. Well, my head is still sore from the pounding on the floor. But I’ve been worse." His hands tightened a moment, before letting go.

  She slipped the coin into her pocket. At least it’s gold and not paper.

  Sands continued, "It shouldn’t interfere with the Christmas Eve service. Will you be there?"

  Inez nodded.

  "Excellent." He rubbed his face where the mustache had once resided, then stopped, mid-gesture. "Remind me never to play cards with you. I’d give myself away in a second. What I was working around to, is, I hope you’ll allow me to walk you home afterward."

  "I’d be delighted."

  He tipped his hat and turned to Llewellyn. "It’s settled then. Abdiel has a face, and Heaven will have one of her own in the enemy camp."

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Christmas Eve service was a tapestry of candlelight, joyful voices raised in familiar song, and the sharp scent of pine boughs. Through it all, Reverend Sands’ smooth voice wove in and out, speaking of the promise the next day would bring.

  After the service, Susan Carothers turned to Emma, Joey, and Inez. "Are you sure you won’t come caroling? There are plenty of armed and sober men. It should be safe."

  Inez waved her away. "Have a good time, Susan. See you tomorrow."

  Reverend Sands strolled up, looking genial and thoroughly in the spirit of the season. He winked at Inez before addressing Emma. "Mrs. Rose, do you need an escort? Mrs. Stannert and I are walking your way."

  "No, thank you, Reverend. Mr. Gallagher offered to drive us home."

  "And you accepted?" Inez interrupted incredulously.

  Emma’s hand strayed briefly to the lap of her coat. "I’ve no energy for walking tonight." The skin around her eyes looked bruised, as if sleep eluded her. Inez remembered her own exhaustion in the early stages of pregnancy and refrained from further comment.

  Emma turned to Sands. "Will you join us for supper tomorrow? It will be our last with our Leadville friends. Inez, Susan, and Mr. Jackson will be there."

  "I’d enjoy that. Thank you."

  Harry approached. "Are you ready, Mrs. Rose?"

  Joey spoke, sounding petulant. "I want to walk home with Reverend Sands and Auntie Inez."

  A few words into his protest Emma’s hand fell on his small shoulder. Inez could see those gloved fingers tighten in a tactile rebuke, even as she spoke to Harry. "He’s tired and forgets his manners, Mr. Gallagher. We are, of course, grateful for your offer."

  Harry’s cold gaze lingered speculatively on Inez before moving to Reverend Sands. It was as if he was summing up earnings and liabilities, expecting a profit, and had discovered a disturbing debit instead.

  With worshippers gone, candles extinguished, and church doors locked behind them, Inez and the reverend stepped to the street. "Silent Night" drifted to them, along with the distant tootle of a brass band. Reverend Sands looked up at the ink-black sky, pricked with light. "A beautiful night with a million stars. Any of them bright enough to be the star of Bethlehem."

  Inez raised her face to the night, more aware of the vastness of the sky than its beauty. "I’ll miss Emma. I worry how she will manage."

  "It’s hard to see friends move on. Rest assured, friendly people await Mrs. Rose at the end of her journey. California will be good for her. A new start." His voice sounded comforting in the dark.

  As they stepped into the Harrison Avenue intersection, Inez bent her head to concentrate on her footing. The smooth soles of her Sunday shoes skated on the treacherous ice, throwing her momentarily off balance. She was more than willing to lean on Sands while negotiating the uneven terrain.

  With her eyes lowered and the hood of her cloak muffling her ears, she didn’t see or hear the horse careen around the corner at full speed.

  "Look out!" Reverend Sands shouted.

  He tried to yank Inez across the intersection. Her shoes slipped and she fell to one knee, cushioned by petticoats and skirts.

  Inez looked up.

  For a heartbeat, she saw the horse rearing above her, moonlight glinting off the pointed studs of winter horseshoes.

  Sands wrenched her across the jagged surface, sharp as broken glass. Her shoulder felt as if it was being pulled from the socket. She regained her footing, and they scrambled to the safety of the boardwalk. Sharp cracks rang out behind them. The peaceful spell of Christmas Eve shattered along with the ice in the streets.

  "You nearly killed us, you damn fool!" The reverend’s voice was rough with anger.

  "Reverend Sands, is that you?" Cat DuBois’ distinct contralto slid across the night air. "My apologies. I’d hoped to run into you after the service, but not quite this way." She reined in the large horse as it pranced in excited circles, smashing broken ice to slush.

  Inez gasped freezing air into her lungs, her limbs trembling with a tardy surge of adrenaline.

  The horse danced sideways and blew clouds of condensation. Mrs. DuBois, covered neck to ankle in a long fur coat, peered out from under a matching Cossack-style hat. Her eyes reflected the nearby street lamp. Inez was reminded of a winter forest creature—A fox. Or a weasel.—peering from its den and
sizing up another animal as a possible meal.

  "My, my, is that Mrs. Stannert with you? She looks shaken." Cat leaned forward. "You’re not going to faint, are you, Mrs. Stannert?"

  How I loathe that woman.

  Cat returned her attention to the reverend. "I’m sorry the girls and I missed the service, but we’re very busy tonight. All the poor men so far from wives and sweethearts on the holiday. We do our Christian best to offer them comfort and solace." She pulled a small white envelope from her coat and

  held it out to Sands. "For you."

  He didn’t move. "What is it, Mrs. DuBois, a Christmas card?"

  "A Christmas card? Oh, how droll!" Cat’s laughter climbed up and down the scale. "No, no, my dear Reverend Sands. It’s a special invitation, extended to a very select few. A small party’s planned for midnight tonight with refreshments and entertainment. We hope you’ll attend. Special rates for the clergy. And, I should tell you…" Her tone dropped, becoming as intimate as the touch of a satin sheet. "After your last visit, the girls were so impressed they voted you their most favorite man of God."

  "If I impressed all you ladies so much, I hope to see more of you at church services in the future." His tone walked the line of studied courtesy.

  "Join us tonight and I promise you’ll see much more of us." Her eyes measured him approvingly, as she tapped the envelope against her lips. She finally tucked the invitation back inside her coat. "Well, no need for this. When you come, say that I extended an invitation to you. In person."

  With a final glance at Inez, Cat DuBois reined her horse about and trotted back down Harrison.

  Inez couldn’t help but think of the bedraggled appearance she presented next to the elegant Mrs. DuBois, who was riding away as sedately as an Englishwoman to the hunt. She finally became aware that Sands was repeating "Are you all right?"

  "I am not about to faint, if that’s what you’re thinking." Her palm stung. She flexed her gloved hand, trying to dispel the twinge.

  "I wasn’t thinking that at all. I was concerned about your shoulder. Sorry about dragging you across the road. But I figured that was better than the alternative. Did you hurt your hand?" He took her hand in his.