Silver Lies Page 3

  Hollis glared at Abe and then turned to his deputy, who gazed across the alley as if he wished himself a million miles away. Curly Dan finally spoke in a conciliatory tone. "Seems like you’d best handle this one, Bart. If I remember correct, Joe Rose is Gallagher’s assayer for Silver Mountain. Works for him almost exclusive." He shifted, causing the boards to creak beneath his boots. "Don’t want Gallagher blaming me if something’s not done right."

  "Then it’s you an’ me, Miz Stannert." Hollis grabbed Inez’s arm and jerked her through the back door. She yanked her arm away. Once on the narrow walkway, Hollis faced her, blocking her view of the alley. "Seems to me, you an’ that nigger ain’t exactly co-operatin’ with the law. And I am the law, like it or not."

  Inez folded her arms and glared back. "You talk like that in Abe’s presence, he’ll carve you up quicker than a Christmas turkey, star or no. Everyone knows you’re just a two-bit gunslinger from Texas. The only thing placing you on this side of the law in Leadville is Gallagher and the other silver barons who hired you to keep the peace after last month’s lynching. If that isn’t an irony."

  "I been in town long enough to know you’re good at makin’ enemies, Miz Stannert. Mebbe one of these days, you’ll holler for help and it’ll be too slow in coming." Hollis turned up the collar of his jacket. They took a few steps along the walkway. After a moment’s hesitation, Hollis gingerly stepped off the narrow planks and into the icy slime.

  As he stepped down, Inez saw the body sprawled in the mud and snow, lying half under the raised walkway. The dishwater had lent a frozen sheen to the skin while removing most of the filth. The face was smashed, obliterated, along with the torso. But Inez recognized the waistcoat. Joe had been so proud of that extravagant vest, bought on one of his many trips to Denver for assaying supplies. "Makes me look like a real high roller, don’t you think, Inez?" He had smoothed the ornate gold and silver trim.

  Best you don’t see, Emma. Inez looked away, overwhelmed by the grief that crashed upon her.

  Hollis squatted over the body, cursing as the freezing mud poured over the tops of his boots. "Dang this shit! The only thing that could make this worse is if it were warm and stinkin’. Okay, Miz Stannert. Who is he?"

  She wanted to sink down right there on the walkway. "It’s Joe Rose."

  "Well, well, Mr. Respectable hisself, Honest Joe Rose. And what was he doin’ out here last night behind the Silver Queen? Okay. Let’s see. Here’s his ring. I’ll take that for Miz Rose. What else?"

  Inez closed her eyes to the sight. "He should have a wallet, unless some footpad got to him first. How did he end up so… mutilated?"

  "That’s for the coroner to say. Mebbe a horse stomped him while he was passed out drunk. Mebbe someone dropped a piano on him. Here’s the wallet. What else does he carry?"

  "A gold pocketwatch." Inez opened the soaked leather wallet as she spoke. "JR engraved on the cover, a photograph of his wife and son inside."

  She pulled out a sodden fifty-dollar bill. He couldn’t have been lying here since midnight. This would have been long gone.

  Her gloved fingers squeezed an invisible stiffness beneath the leather. Frowning, she opened the wallet wide, displaying the spotted silk lining.

  Empty.

  She could, however, see the impression of something, about the size and shape of a coin, trapped between the leather and the silk. Inez tried to coax the object out from a rip in the bottom of the lining.

  Hollis rooted through Joe’s waistcoat pockets, sucking through his teeth.

  The round object, which at first glance looked like a brass coin with the center punched out, fell into her palm.

  Hollis spat. "No watch."

  Inez looked up. "Are you sure? Check his trouser pockets. He never went anywhere without it."

  She refocused on the object in her hand. It looked like no token she’d ever seen. The center was punched out in the shape of a heart. Small letters stamped around the outside proclaimed: "527 Holladay Street, Denver, Colo." Frowning, she turned it over to read: "Good for one free screw. Mattie Silks, Prop."

  Chapter Four

  Inez slipped the brass check into her pocket as Marshal Hollis looked up. "I ain’t diggin’ through his guts any further."

  He waded to the walkway and pulled himself up with a grunt. Extracting a soiled neckerchief from a pocket, he attempted to wipe off his boots. "You give those things to Miz Rose. We’ll see what she says. After that, I got a few questions for you and anyone else who closed up last night." What could have been a neutral statement came out as a not-so-subtle threat.

  Time to lay our cards on the table. At least, some of them.

  "Let’s not put Mrs. Rose through any more pain than necessary," Inez began. "I’ll tell you what I know. Abe and our hired man Useless will back me up. Joe was here last night, but only briefly. He and Harry Gallagher had a…" she searched for a neutral word, "disagreement. Joe left about midnight. Abe saw him heading up Harrison. That was the last we saw of Joe. I have no idea how he ended up here. Like this."

  Hollis snorted derisively, examined his neckerchief, and threw it into the mud with the rest of the garbage. "Curly!" he hollered. "Get out here. You stand guard ’til the under-taker’s wagon gets here. Don’t let any alley scum come sniffin’ around too close."

  Back in the kitchen, Inez laid the ring and the wallet in front of Emma. The stricken expression on Emma’s face said it all. She began to rock in the chair, knuckles pressed to her mouth. Inez sat down and put an arm around her. In a

  muffled voice Emma asked, "His pocketwatch?"

  Inez squeezed her shoulder. "We didn’t find it."

  Covering her face, Emma whispered, "He promised, he gave his word that nothing more would happen. I was a fool to believe him."

  Inez bent closer, not certain she’d heard Emma correctly.

  "What’s that?" Hollis leaned forward. "So these’re your husband’s?"

  Emma nodded.

  Inez turned to the marshal. "You’ve got what you need. We’re taking Mrs. Rose home now. If you have further questions, talk to me or Abe."

  The brass check weighed heavily in Inez’s thoughts as she wrestled with the Silver Queen’s massive doors.

  Joe, visiting a Denver whorehouse? He fancied cards and an occasional drink, but this.…I had no idea. Either Emma knows and is keeping silent or she’s in the dark. In any case, I’d best keep my suspicions to myself.

  The wind pounded her with waves of snow as she jammed the heavy key in the lock. Bridgette gave Emma a last comforting pat and hurried away, pulling her shawl close about her head. Marshal Hollis clutched his Stetson to keep it from taking wing. Abe offered his muffler to Emma.

  "’Scuse me, ma’am." Inez jumped at the unexpected voice behind her. She turned to find Useless, hands stuffed into the pockets of his damp brown corduroy pants.

  Useless glanced at Emma, then at Abe and the marshal, before addressing his remarks to his boots.

  "I thought maybe you could use some help cleaning up today." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  Inez pulled her cloak tight as the wind tore at her skirts. "Goodness, Useless, after last night, I’d thought you’d be home recovering." Seeing his eyes fix on Emma, whose red hair was coming unpinned and whipping over the top of the muffler, she added, "Mr. Ulysses Assenmacher, Mrs. Joe Rose."

  Useless yanked off his hat and held it to his chest. His mousy hair collected clumps of snow. "I’ve met your husband when he’s come around. Nice fella. Hope he’s feeling better. After, uh, last night."

  Inez winced at his ill-timed remark and its delivery. Useless was hopeless around women. She had introduced him to Susan once when he’d happened upon them in the Eureka Restaurant. Inez had mentally rolled her eyes at his bowing and stuttering, but Susan’s response after he’d left had been far more visceral.

  "Ugh! He works for you, Inez? How can you stand it?"

  "Stand what?"

  "The way he stares." Susan sh
uddered. "Makes me want to scrub up with soap."

  Yes, Useless needs to be taught some basic manners. And soon.

  Inez watched Emma turn away from him, clutching her hood closer about her face. His smile faded.

  Marshal Hollis stepped forward. "Joe Rose’s dead. Behind the saloon."

  "Oh jeez." His face slid into dismay and froze.

  Hollis pressed on. "You here last night?"

  Useless replaced his hat, sneaking a guilty glance at Emma. "Until two. Locked up with Mr. Jackson."

  The marshal’s eyes seemed to grow smaller, shinier. "Miz Stannert, me’n your help here are gonna discuss last night’s events. Inside."

  Inez unlocked the door reluctantly, thinking of the mar-shal’s penchant for hard liquor. "Useless, Abe will be back soon to lock up. We’ll deal with the mess tomorrow. The marshal may have two shots of Red Dog on the house." She paused for emphasis. "Two."

  Useless nodded. Drops of snow flew from his hat and nose.

  Snow scuttled over the floorboards with the two men before the door slammed behind them. "Lord, it’s cold! Let’s take State to Pine. It’s quicker."

  "No!" Emma spoke vehemently under the muffler. "I will not walk another step down this evil street!"

  Abe sighed. "We’re gonna freeze if we keep standin’ here. Let’s go up Harrison. When we reach Park Street, you take her on home. I’ll get Joey, close up, and come see you before I head home myself."

  The trio turned onto Harrison, where tall store fronts cut the wind, and promptly came face to face with Cat DuBois and her companions from church.

  "More travelers adrift in the storm," purred Cat from deep inside her fur coat. "Mrs. Stannert, you didn’t stay to welcome Reverend Sands. Such a charming gentleman. We plan to extend every courtesy to him during his brief stay and show just how friendly Leadville can be. Right, girls?" Her gaze shifted to her companions. They responded with tentative nods. Cat turned back to Inez. "We saw you rush off with the marshal in tow. So, something dire afoot? Trouble at the Silver Queen?"

  "Save the chit-chat for church, Mrs. DuBois," snapped Inez.

  "Scant civility in the streets of Hell today." Cat shoved past Inez, crowding her toward the edge of the boardwalk.

  One of Cat’s women, a petite, well-endowed blonde, hurried by with downcast eyes. The second paused before Emma Rose, blocking her path.

  Her thick black hair curled over her fur coat nearly to her waist. Damp and flecked with snow, it seemed nearly alive, springing about her face and shoulders with an energy that filled the space around her. In contrast, her heart-shaped face was still. No heavy powders or face paints marred skin the color of cinnamon. Eyes dark, deep as midnight, seemed to swallow light, giving nothing back. She stared at Emma and tentatively raised a hand.

  "Angel!" Cat’s voice cracked like a whip. Angel lowered her gaze and darted around Emma.

  "Angel, dear, your manners. These respectable people prefer we remain invisible." Cat’s melodious voice floated back as she turned the corner.

  Inez, Emma, and Abe continued up Harrison in silence.

  "How old is she?" asked Emma suddenly.

  Inez and Abe exchanged a glance over Emma’s head.

  "Angel? Seventeen, eighteen," said Abe.

  "Seventeen. Just a child," murmured Emma. "Why is she here?"

  Inez picked up the pace. Park Street was in sight. "Life’s choices. Or lack of them. Sometimes, that young, they’re runaways with nowhere else to go. Only Angel could say."

  "She can’t speak," said Abe. He cleared his throat as the two women stopped and looked at him. "At least, that’s the talk over whiskey and cards. The gentlemen say Angel keeps her secrets and others’ too."

  "That’s horrible." Tears trickled down Emma’s face and froze on her cheeks. "What kind of God could let it happen? And now Joe’s dead. We should have left Leadville long ago. I begged. I pleaded. I did everything I could. And now it’s too late."

  Chapter Five

  "Leave Leadville?" Inez, who had started moving, stopped again. A gaunt man, hard on her heels, bumped into her, muttered an apology and kept going. Inez ignored him. "You never breathed a word about this before."

  Emma compressed her lips, as if regretting her words. Finally she spoke. "We’ve been moving from one mining town to another since before young Joey was born. Georgetown. Central City. Silverton. Leadville. I told Joe, I wanted to settle someplace civilized. And things…things weren’t going well here for Joe’s business. Or for me. Oh, Inez. I can’t talk about it now. I need to think on what I’m going to tell Joey."

  Hearing the pain in Emma’s voice, Inez swallowed her questions.

  At Emma’s house, Inez found a tartan wool throw for Emma’s shoulders and settled her in the rocker by the kitchen stove. As she moved hesitantly about Emma’s kitchen searching for teapot, strainer, cups, canned milk, Inez remembered how miserable she’d been as a housewife.

  She and Mark had moved with high hopes to their small home on Park Street, just two down from the Roses’. Inez, exhausted in the last stages of pregnancy, had been relieved to vacate their quarters above the saloon. State Street never slept, day or night, making it hard for her to rest. Furthermore, it was no place to raise a baby.

  The Stannerts’ visions of domestic bliss soon withered. In a silent concession to Inez’s non-existent cooking skills, Mark began bringing home leftovers from the saloon for their supper. After William was born with his weak lungs, Inez abandoned all pretense of keeping house to care for him.

  Doc Cramer was a constant visitor that winter as they struggled to ease William’s breathing. Once spring arrived and William’s condition improved, Doc advised them to leave the mountains. "Your boy won’t make it through another winter. His constitution’s not built for it."

  Expression grim, Mark had relayed Doc’s words to Inez. She knew what he was thinking: Sell the saloon now? Go where? Do what? It was May 1879. Strike after silver strike rolled through the district and business was booming.

  "Maybe we don’t have to sell," Inez said. "Abe could manage the place. We could move to Denver. The winters are milder there."

  Mark rubbed his face with both hands, shoulders sagging under his black velvet waistcoat. "That’s up to Abe." He hesitated. "With all the good ol’ boys and Eastern high society hitting town, Leadville isn’t as…open…as it was a year ago. I don’t know how folks would respond to a man of color being in charge. He may not want to put up with the trouble."

  Mark walked to the parlor window and gazed at the sapling he’d planted the day of William’s birth. His fingers drummed on the varnished top of Inez’s piano. "Harry Gallagher’s interested in buying the Queen. Cat DuBois is mighty eager too. I swear that woman’d buy all of State Street if it were for sale." His tone was noncommittal. "Maybe I’ll play them off each other. See who raises and how high."

  He turned and kissed her on the nose. Inez was too disheartened to demand when and where he’d conversed with Madam DuBois.

  Mark continued, "Doc says William can’t make another winter, so we’ll be on the train out of Denver by July. August at the latest." He settled his hat on his head, preparing to go to the saloon. "I hear autumn’s mighty fine in California."

  The next day, he disappeared from Leadville and her life.

  999

  After promising to return the following day, Inez left Emma and walked home in the dwindling winter light. Emotionally exhausted from reliving her memories and keeping Emma company, Inez settled into her own, silent parlor, wrapped in one of Mark’s old sweaters. She flexed her toes in their soggy green-striped stockings and stared at the small fir tree struggling to stay erect in the front yard.

  Her feet ached, as did her heart. And something dark waited along the edges of her grief. Questions, but no answers.

  With a sigh, she lifted the keyboard cover of her parlor grand piano. Her fingers ran up and down the scales, letting a waterfall of measured notes pour into the silence. Exploring tones b
y touch in the darkening room, she picked music to fit her mood. The melody line surfaced from the liquid language of the piano’s strings and wrapped about her.

  Closing her eyes, she let her sorrows, old and new, rise and fall with the music. The precision and beauty of Mozart anchored her, pulled her back from emotions that threatened to swallow her whole.

  Inez surfaced at the end of the sonata to a persistent knocking on the door. Abe. He’d promised to stop by. She decided against forcing her damp stockinged feet into shoes. Stockings were not going to shock Abe. In their years together, he’d seen worse.

  She abandoned Mark’s sweater to the keyboard and moved toward the sound. "Coming."

  Inez opened the door.

  Reverend Sands stood on the small porch, ankle deep in drifting snow, looking none too happy.

  "Pardon, Mrs. Stannert, but when I didn’t hear from you…"

  He stopped, as if her expression had finally registered past his displeasure. "May I come in?" He curled a hand around the edge of the door as if to prevent her from slamming it in his face.

  She contemplated that hand for a moment. Long fingers, square clean nails. Strong, capable. The hand of a physical man, but not of a prospector or laborer. Fighting a vague uneasiness, Inez looked back at his face. Concern settled across his features, although the blue-gray eyes were far too piercing to be sympathetic.

  "My apologies. I did say I would send for you, didn’t I. Please, come in." She stood aside and gestured toward the parlor.

  He used his black hat to knock the snow off his shoulders before entering. His boots echoed on the varnished hardwood floor of the entryway.

  Boots.

  She looked down. The tips of her green-striped stockings were barely visible beneath her long skirts.

  Reverend Sands glanced around the parlor, his gaze lingering on the piano. She followed and indicated the maroon loveseat.

  He sat and idly began flapping his hat up and down on the back of the small sofa, watching her. Inez felt disinclined to take his hat. Her reluctance grew as his gaze shifted slowly downward, pausing at her stockinged feet. This visit, she decided, would be brief.