Silver Lies Page 27

  Inez anchored the saddlebags full of counterfeit under her cloak and grabbed the shotgun she’d brought from home. She turned to Bridgette. "While I’m gone, keep Joey with you. No one takes him anywhere."

  "Not even the reverend?"

  "If he shows up, ask him to wait. I shouldn’t be long."

  At the Carbonate City Bank, Inez greeted the teller and gazed at the portrait mounted over his head. The smell of paint and linseed oil lingered in the air. A gathering of dark-coated, somber men stared down. Harry, she thought, was well captured, from the silver gleam in his hair to the intensity of his expression.

  "I’m curious about the painting, it looks new. I recognize Mr. Gallagher. The other gentlemen are…?"

  "It went up last week when the portraitist finished adding Mr. Harry." The teller said "Mr. Harry" reverentially, as if referring to God. "Shows our board of directors. Most are from Philadelphia, related to the Gallaghers in some way. We’re lucky Mr. Harry takes such a personal interest in the family’s businesses and investments out West. Most of the Gallaghers won’t set foot outside Philadelphia, New York, or Boston."

  "So, Mr. Gallagher recently joined the bank’s board?"

  The teller twisted around to look at the painting. "His father stepped down. His health. Mr. Harry’s turn now, I suppose. We’ll probably be seeing less of him in Leadville, what with the added responsibilities."

  But he’ll be watching from the wall. Inez gazed at the painting a moment longer, thinking on what Abe had said the day before.

  She finally turned to the teller. "Thank you. I’m here to see Mr. Cooke, no need to announce me."

  "Of course, Mrs. Stannert. You know the way."

  Inez moved around the teller’s cage, picking up speed as she neared the manager’s office. She opened the door without knocking and walked in.

  "Mrs. Stannert!" Cooke rose, eyes fixed on the shotgun.

  Without a word, she set the shotgun down, unslung the saddle bag, and dumped half of its contents over his blotter and papers.

  He looked at the bundles scattered on his desk. "A deposit?" He sounded uncertain.

  She threw the half-empty saddlebag on the visitor’s chair. "Counterfeit."

  He glanced at her over half-spectacles. "All of it?"

  "Probably." Inez thought on the previous night: Bringing her china washbasin to the parlor. Pouring in the leftover glasses of brandy. Picking a random stack of fifties, taking a note from the middle, and dropping it into the brandy. Watching the bill float, the printing on the surface blur. Stirring with a finger and watching the ink swirl off the paper like smoke in the air. Five notes from five different stacks.

  "Where did you get these, Mrs. Stannert?"

  She placed her hands palm down on his blotter and leaned forward, nearly touching his nose with her own. "Let’s trade, Mr. Cooke. You tell me what you know about the coney ring in Leadville and I’ll tell you where I found these."

  "I can’t do that." "Yes, you can." He hesitated. "We don’t know the ring is centered in

  Leadville. There’s some evidence it’s being run from Denver, that certain materials are shipped from here and finished bills are shipped back."

  "What materials?" Stubborn silence. "All right. A deal’s a deal. I’ll tell you where I found this.

  In a rocking horse." "In a what?" "A toy. A gift from a loving father to his son." Understanding dawned on his face. "Joe Rose." "Correct. Now, shall I guess who’s part of this treasure

  hunt? Let’s start with you. Harry Gallagher. Hollis, but on the periphery. Maybe Cooper, with ready advice on what one legally can and cannot do. Who else?"

  Silence. "Who’s the expert Harry brought in?" Cooke started, then regained his voice and composure. "I

  think we’ve traded enough." He gathered the bundles, avoiding her eyes.

  "In that case, here’s a bonus." Inez held up a brown paper packet. She unwrapped it, and with exaggerated care set the stack of crisp twenty-dollar notes on Cooke’s blotter next to the bogus fifties. On the top twenty, Alexander Hamilton faced away from the neighboring stack, as if affronted to be in such company.

  "My God!" The words burst from him before he clenched his jaw shut.

  She watched Cooke with interest. "You’re surprised. So, no bogus twenties before now? The ink didn’t run. But I found them in the same place."

  He cleared his throat, as if testing his powers of speech. "In the horse?"

  "Perhaps your ring is diversifying, hmmm? First fifties. Now twenties. With better ink."

  Cooke pulled out a linen handkerchief and dabbed his forehead as if the very thought caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

  "Remember, Mr. Cooke, I brought these bogus notes to the bank’s attention. I’ve cooperated fully. Pass that along to Mr. Gallagher, the marshal, your ‘expert,’ and whoever else is part of this merry chase. And tell them this. Abe and I are not counterfeiters or shovers."

  He paled. "Mrs. Stannert, I never thought—"

  "Of course you did. But you won’t any more, will you." She retrieved her gun. "Tell Mr. Gallagher to put his energies to better use. Tell him to find the person or persons who attacked Emma Rose."

  She walked out of the bank, feeling Harry’s painted eyes on her back.

  999

  Inez entered the back door of the Silver Queen. Bridgette, Joey, and Reverend Sands looked up expectantly.

  She took a deep breath. "Reverend, may I have a word with you."

  He turned to Joey. "When Mrs. Stannert and I are through, we’ll go to the stables and visit Mrs. Stannert’s horse. Deal?"

  A very small smile quivered on Joey’s face. "Deal."

  Inez gritted her teeth, hating what she was about to do.

  In the office, she sat on the sofa. No sooner had Sands settled beside her than she jumped up and began pacing. "Last night, I found Joe’s legacy—bundles of counterfeit hidden inside Joey’s rocking horse. So, you were right. Joe was involved with a bad element. Maybe he stole the bogus notes from them and that’s what they’re after." She looked out the window at the snow, arms crossed, holding herself and her questions in.

  "What did you do with it? Is it here?"

  "I delivered it all to Cooke this morning."

  "Did you find anything else?"

  She thought about the plain silver key. "No."

  She turned to see him settle back on the sofa. "Good. You did exactly what I would have done."

  "There’s more." She moved forward, stopping in front of him. "This hunt for the counterfeiting ring. Cooke is in on it. Harry too." Her mouth dried. "Now, I must ask. And you must tell me the truth. Are you part of this in some way? Part of the ring?"

  He reached up and extracted a hand from her crossed arms. "I can set your mind at ease. I am not a member of a coney ring."

  Having him deny her worst suspicions left her feeling weak with relief. But she wasn’t finished. "Are you on the side of the law, then? Harry’s ‘expert’? A Treasury agent? Pinkerton, maybe?"

  He pulled her onto his lap. "Not Treasury. Not Pinkerton."

  She sagged against his chest, allowing herself to relax at last. "I remembered you mentioned Vintree, from Philadelphia. The bank and Harry have Philadelphia connections. When I came to on the bank floor and there you were with Cooke…It seemed like too many coincidences."

  "I was at the bank because Cooke had arranged for me to talk with Nigel about Joe’s loan. I thought the church could help. I have a professional interest in Mrs. Rose and her son, and I have a very personal interest in you." His hands moved slowly up and down her back. "As for coincidences, life is full of them. For instance, Abe, your missing husband, this current situation. Looks odd, don’t you think? Which, of course, is how the marshal sees it. Then again," he lowered his voice, "some of life’s events are nothing short of miraculous. For me, meeting you was one of those." He hooked a finger under the velvet ribbon circling her neck and brought her face down to his.

  They kissed. She sli
d her arms under his coat, picturing the layers separating her hands from his skin. Waistcoat. Shirt. Undervest. Three too many.

  He pulled back, keeping his arms around her. "Why don’t I arrange for Bridgette to take Joey. I’ll be at the church, working on next week’s sermon. Meet me when you’re done. Afterward, we’ll pick up Joey with the rig."

  She took his face in her hands. "How could you have become so much a part of me in so short a time?"

  He drew a line down her bodice, echoing the trail of fastenings from her evening dress of Saturday. "Another of life’s miracles."

  Her lips brushed his. "We must go down." She stood and tightened her hairpins. One kiss and they all seem to loosen of their own accord.

  999

  Useless was late. Again.

  Where the hell is he?

  Inez poured drinks, smiled, chatted, and kept checking the kitchen door. Reverend Sands took Joey on the promised visit to the livery. Bridgette took orders for stew, biscuits, mince pie, and coffee. Abe was not due in until later, when the changing shifts at the mines and the dinner rush would swell the saloon’s crowd.

  Doc arrived from the hospital. "Her bleeding’s stopped. Your prayers must have been heard. Have you seen Reverend Sands today?"

  Inez wiped up a spill. "He took Joey Rose out for a while."

  "Fine, fine. I’ll wait." He accepted his brandy and limped to a table by the kitchen door.

  Jed Elliston came in, with an appetite for something besides biscuits. He set his pad and pencil on the bar. "I heard you’re adding new faces to your mural. I might start a running piece on this in the paper. Free publicity for you, human interest for me. We both profit. Any truth to the rumor you’re going to put Harry Gallagher up there as Lucifer?" His eyes shone with anticipation.

  "You can just wait and see with the rest." She tossed an empty bottle under the bar and retrieved a new one. "After that piece about the dance, you have some nerve coming in and asking me anything."

  He looked surprised. "I thought you’d get a kick out of it. Puts Harry in a bad light, and I know there’s no love lost between you two. I didn’t even identify you by name. Kept it anonymous."

  "Cat DuBois and I are the only two women who own saloons on State. Any idiot knows that Cat’s not going to bite one of the wealthiest hands that feeds her."

  "I thought you’d like it." Jed took his drink to a side table to sulk. Inez stared at the back door. Mentally willing Useless to appear.

  A voice from a distant time and place broke her concentration. "Well, if it isn’t my favorite lady gambler. Long time no see, Mrs. Stannert."

  Inez turned in shock. There was no mistaking the good-looking, compactly constructed man leaning on the bar. Under the derby hat, distinctive, heavy black eyebrows arched upward over pale gray eyes that were keen, intelligent, perceptive. Beneath the black mustache twitched a barely suppressed smile.

  "Bat Masterson!" Her heart skipped a beat. "What are you doing here? Last I heard, you were recovering from the Ford County sheriff ’s election."

  The smile faded a little. "Damn Kansas politicians. Pardon my French." He spat into a spittoon. "Thought I’d hit the gambling trail and see if Leadville lives up to its wild reputation."

  "When did you arrive?"

  "Late last night. Been catching up with old friends. Jeff Winney at California Concert Hall, Bailey Youngston and Con Featherly at Texas House. Heard your husband’s gone missing, Inez." His voice shaded into sympathy.

  "Yes, well." She set a bottle and shot glass before him, "Mark’s been gone a long while now. Abe Jackson is part owner, so it’s not as if I’m running the place by myself. Do you remember Abe?"

  Bat nodded. "Steady sort. Straight shooter at the tables. Leastwise, I never caught him dealing seconds. So, was I slow or he honest?" He winked, excusing her from answering. "Sure, I remember Abe. Mostly though, I remember you." His gaze brushed her mouth, traveled down her bodice—as if counting the buttons—then returned to her face. He smiled. "Heard you’ve got a game on Saturday nights. Any chance I’d be welcome?"

  "Absolutely. Poker, no limits, high rollers with deep pockets. You’d like it. Profit from it too, I’m certain." An idea emerged from a welter of chaotic emotions. "Bat, are you thinking of settling here a spell?"

  "Anything’s possible now that I’m not wearing a badge."

  "Come work for me."

  "That’s the third offer today."

  "Well, I’ll double whatever anyone else says and throw in an extra percent of the house take. Come spring, we plan to finish the second floor for games of chance—faro, poker, the usual. We’ll need someone to run it."

  Bat laughed. "You sure know how to tempt a gambling man, Inez."

  He turned and scanned the barroom. As he did, Reverend Sands came out of the kitchen. Doc caught his sleeve. Sands smiled at Inez and nodded at Bat in a polite half-salutation before sitting down with Doc.

  "I’ll be damned." Bat stared. "I thought Leadville gave its low life the heave-ho in November." Bat’s gaze shifted to Inez, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown. "That being the case, what’s the Sandman doing here?"

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Mystified, she looked where Bat Masterson was staring. "Reverend Sands? He’s our new minister. What did you call him?"

  "Reverend. Ha." Bat didn’t sound amused. "If Justice B. Sands is a reverend, then I’m Jesus Christ. I remember him in Dodge in seventy-seven. Worst of the worst."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, his moniker says it all. The sandman in kids’ fairy-tales puts them to sleep, right? You can run, but the sandman catches up with you sooner or later. Justice Sands was the same way. If he had your number—you got on his bad side or he was paid to hunt you down—there was no escape. Only the sleep he brought was the permanent kind. No waking until Judgment Day."

  Inez gripped the edge of the counter to hold herself upright as Bat downed his drink. This can’t be true. Her heart felt as though it had been used for target practice.

  Bat wiped his mustache. "The other reason he’s called Sandman—" he stopped, as though suddenly remembering to whom he was talking.

  "Go on."

  "Well." Bat coughed and had the grace to blush. "Sands had a way with the ladies. He’d just tip his hat and they’d, ah, fall into bed. With gusto." Envy tinged his words. "Anyhow, that charm was his downfall in Dodge."

  Her knuckles turned white. "In what way?"

  "Oh, it’s old news, Inez."

  "You’ve told me this much. Tell me the rest."

  Bat hesitated. "Let’s just say that ‘lady-killer’ fits him more ways than one. And I’m talking about a decent, married woman. Not some dance hall girl. Sands’d do well to leave Dodge off his preaching circuit. Folks there still remember." He stared at Inez’s drained face. "Inez, am I talking out of turn? You haven’t, I mean you and Sands aren’t—"

  She gripped the bottle and poured Bat another shot, not daring to look toward Doc’s table. "What else do you know about him?"

  "Well, I know more than a few so-called ‘bad men.’ Some friends, some not. But Sands is nastiest bastard I ever met. Especially when drunk." His jaw worked as if he’d bitten into an apple, only to discover it rotten to the core. "Gotta confess, when I saw him walk into your place I almost didn’t recognize him. He used to have a—" he described a vague arc above his upper lip, "bodacious mustache."

  Inez sank against the bar, grabbing the corner for support. A far-away crash and the pungent odor of expensive whiskey told her she’d knocked the bottle to the floor. When she dared look toward the back table, Sands and Doc were gone.

  Bat appeared alarmed. "Well, now, men do change. If Justice Sands is your reverend, proper credentials and all, maybe he’s had some sort of spiritual conversion." The doubt in his voice shouted out, loud and clear.

  He bent to pick up the larger pieces of bottle glass, voice drifting up to her. "After all, you haven’t had any lonely wives turn up dead in Leadville
since he’s arrived, have you? No murdered husbands?"

  He missed the expression on Inez’s face as he straightened and placed the knifelike shards on the bar top.

  "Uh, Mrs. Stannert, uh, I’m sorry I’m late, y’see—"

  "Useless!" She whipped around, fumbling with the strings of her apron. "You’re in charge. I’ve something to do that cannot wait."

  She turned to Bat. "Could you stay for an hour or so? Abe will be here by then or I’ll be back. I’ll feel better knowing Useless has backup, especially if it’s you. While we’re at it, let’s get you some free publicity. Have you talked to any newsmen since you arrived?"

  "Can’t say that I have."

  "Well, I’ll introduce you to the editor of The Independent and make sure everyone in town knows you’re here and anxious to test the gaming skills of the best." She steered him toward Jed Elliston’s table. "Jed—" He looked up, a sulky pout still lingering at the corners of his mouth. "Meet Bat Masterson of Dodge City and Ford County fame. He hasn’t been interviewed yet and might consent to an exclusive if you buy him a drink."

  Jed leaped to his feet and pumped Bat’s hand with boyish enthusiasm. "What’s your pleasure? And what brings you to Cloud City?"

  Masterson shot an amused glance at Inez. "You mean besides old friends?"

  Jed looked at Inez with awe. "You know Mrs. Stannert?"

  "Met her when she came through Dodge with her husband and Abe Jackson. I remember when she—"

  "Keep me out of this. No telling tales out of school."

  As Jed hastened to the bar for a bottle of the best, Bat asked in a low voice, "You all right? You’re not taking on Sands alone, are you?"

  "I can take care of myself. It’s the saloon that concerns me. If you’d stay a while, I’d appreciate it."

  "No problem, Inez." He adjusted his chair for a clear view of the room.

  Jed came back with a bottle, two glasses, and writer’s lust in his eye. "So tell me, Sheriff Masterson—it is Sheriff, isn’t it? What brings you to town?"

  Before the kitchen door closed behind her, Inez heard Bat say, "…damn Kansas politicians."

  She grabbed her coat and shotgun. Bridgette and Joey had already left.