Silver Lies Read online

  With stops to make in both areas, Inez didn’t want to be caught in the unfamiliar streets of Denver after nightfall. Propelling herself out of bed, she staggered to the wash basin and splashed cold water on her face. Not as cold as Leadville, but cold enough.

  Toweling off, she shook the lump in the small bed. "Joey, wake up. We’re going to an assay office this morning."

  He yawned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Like Papa’s?"

  "Yes, like your papa’s." She re-examined the business address scribbled down by an obliging hotel clerk.

  After breakfast in the hotel’s dining room, they hailed a carriage. Inez gave the assay office address to the driver. "How much?" she inquired.

  "Two dollars, ma’am."

  "I’ll make it five if you wait. We have another stop before returning."

  Entering the office, Inez was struck by its silence until she remembered it was close to noon on New Year’s Eve. A man sat behind a desk, reading the Denver Post. He popped up as Inez and Joey approached.

  "Can I help you?" He unrolled his shirtsleeves hastily, as if caught in a state of undress.

  "I have samples I’d like assayed. I need the results tomorrow." She plunked the two bags on top of the counter formed by the half-wall. Rock dust in the air stung her nose. The man eyed the bags without enthusiasm and turned a polite face to her. "Sorry ma’am. We’re closed New Year’s. Soonest we could get results to you is Monday."

  She switched on her most engaging smile. "What’s your fee, Mr.—?"

  "Helt." He belatedly removed his derby. "The fee depends on how much you’ve got." He peered past her, as if expecting to see a wagon waiting to be unloaded outside the door. He reversed his gaze to the bags on the counter. "This all?"

  She nodded.

  He scratched his upper lip, hidden beneath a smartly waxed mustache, and looked doubtful. "It’s a mighty small sample. A fiver for the two."

  Inez reached into her coat pocket and extracted a ten-dollar gold eagle from a coin purse. "Mr. Helt." She slid the coin across the counter, keeping hold of one edge. "I really must have those results tomorrow. We’re only in town for a day. Are you certain there isn’t anyone available to do them?" She tapped the gold with a gloved fingertip.

  Helt looked at the money, then, for a long moment, at Inez. She held the smile and the eagle, eyebrows raised questioningly.

  He finally hefted the bags onto his desk. "Guess I could run your assay tonight, being it’s just these. I’m not much of drinking man anyway."

  She released the gold piece. "Thank you. What time tomorrow?"

  "Oh, say noon. I’ll need the morning to finish the analysis." He returned to the desk and retrieved a ledger. "A couple of questions, and we’ll be set. Your name?"

  "Mrs. Stannert."

  He scribbled, then opened one of her bags and took out a fist-sized specimen. "These are from?"

  "I’d rather not say."

  "Leadville?" He grinned. "That’s okay, Mrs. Stannert. I’ll assay for the usual." He scribbled a bit more. "You looking to buy or sell?"

  "Neither." She took his receipt. "I’m looking for the truth."

  999

  The driver pulled up to an imposing brick house on Holladay Street. "You sure this is the right address?" he asked for the third time.

  "This is Mrs. Silks’ boarding house, is it not?"

  "Madame Silks." He shifted in his seat. "Yeah, but it ain’t exactly a boarding house, if you get my drift. If you and your boy are looking for a place to stay—"

  "I’m looking for Mrs. Silks." Inez handed him a quarter eagle. "The rest is yours when we return to the hotel. It may be a wait."

  "You pay, I’ll wait."

  She grasped Joey’s hand and they climbed the steps to the entrance. By the door, Inez stooped down, eye level with Joey. "I need to talk privately with the woman who owns this house. You will need to wait while I do that. You must be on your best behavior. Don’t touch anything, be polite, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And, Joey, we’ll not mention this visit to your mama."

  He nodded, looking more intrigued than alarmed.

  Inez lifted the brass knocker and let it fall. After a long minute, the door creaked opened. A man with a face of discretion carved in brown mahogany raised his eyebrows.

  "I’m here to see Mrs. Silks on a matter of some urgency."

  "Who is it, George?" A soft voice floated to them.

  George turned. "A visitor, ma’am. She says it’s a matter of some urgency."

  "She?" Amusement shaded the voice as it came closer. "We usually don’t have women arriving on urgent business."

  George drew back, and the owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.

  Inez, who had been prepared to look straight into the speaker’s eyes, found herself gazing down instead. A diminutive version of Lily Langtry gazed up, all blonde, blue eyes, and porcelain skin. A good six inches shorter than Inez, the woman carried herself as if she stood at equal height. A diamond-encrusted cross sparkled on the bodice of a dress as blue as her eyes. Those eyes raked Inez, head to toe, as if she stood upon an auction block.

  Pity followed by dismissal crossed those baby-doll features. "No boarders with children. Find a suitable place for him. If you’re still looking for work, come back then."

  Inez halted the closing door. "Mrs. Silks? I’m not looking to ‘board.’ I’m here on behalf of Emma Rose, the wife of Joe Rose." She handed Mattie Silks the folded letter.

  Mattie opened it, glanced at it, and handed it back. "Emma must trust you a great deal. Whoever you are." Suspicion was plain in her face.

  "I’m Mrs. Stannert. A friend of the family." Inez placed Joey before her. "This is Joey. Joe and Emma’s boy."

  Mattie leaned down in a rustle of silk and tipped Joey’s chin up. "You look like your father. I know your parents, but I don’t know this woman. Who is she, love?"

  "Auntie Inez, ma’am." Joey responded, obviously mindful of Inez’s advice to speak when spoken to.

  "Your real aunt?"

  "Not really. But almost."

  "Almost." Those blue eyes flashed up at Inez then returned to Joey. "And what, pray tell, does Auntie do in Leadville?"

  He didn’t hesitate. "She rides horses. She plays piano. She plays poker. She shoots guns, sometimes. And she owns a… drinking establishment." He pronounced the last two words one careful syllable at a time, with Emma’s studied cadence.

  "Well, well." The suspicion was now tempered with amusement.

  "A business woman," said Inez. "I’m a business woman."

  Mattie Silks nodded. "As I am." She turned to Joey. "Where’s your mama and papa?"

  "Papa’s in heaven. Mama’s," he reached for Inez, "in the hospital."

  Mattie’s face softened. After a pause, she moved aside. "Come in."

  Inez and Joey stepped onto a crimson carpet so deep it threatened to bury their shoes. The reception hall could have swallowed half of Inez’s house. Crystal chandeliers tinkled as the cold air stole in through the front door. Straight ahead, a walnut-banistered staircase led upstairs.

  Mattie glided ahead, tossing over her shoulder, "George, have tea prepared for Mrs. Stannert and myself." Halfway down the hall, a brunette with the face of a madonna appeared in an arched entryway.

  "Alice." Mattie stopped in front of her. "Would you watch this young fellow while I speak with his ‘aunt’? Go ahead, Joey. There’s a piano in there that you can bang away on. Maybe Alice will teach you some scales."

  As they proceeded past the stairs, Mattie said, "Alice has a son about his age. He’ll be fine."

  They entered a long dining room, now vacant. Passing chair after silent chair, Mattie remarked, "Forgive me for questioning him. But children that age don’t lie. Or, if they do, they lie badly." She opened a side door. A cozy parlor looked out over back gardens crusted with snow.

  Mattie waved Inez to a chesterfield covered in crimson plush and took a matching chair. "So." She lit a thin brown cigarette
and dropped the extinguished lucifer into a silver

  ashtray. "You know the Roses."

  Inez nodded.

  "I find it hard to believe Emma Rose would be friends with—much less confide in—a woman who runs a saloon," she said half to herself. "What is the name of your…drinking establishment?"

  "The Silver Queen. Do you know Leadville?"

  Mattie lifted one shoulder.

  "It’s at the corner of State Street and Harrison."

  "I know the area." An enigmatic smile. "You sell…only liquor?"

  It was Inez’s turn for a cryptic smile. Let her think what she wants. It might work to my advantage if she believes we’re in the same business.

  "Emma’s ill?" Mattie brushed invisible crumbs from her silk day dress.

  Inez decided to be frank. "She was beaten, nearly killed."

  Mattie exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Poor girl." Her tone implied Emma might as well be a child of ten, even though Inez estimated Mattie to be in her late twenties, early thirties, the same age as Emma and Inez. George appeared at Inez’s elbow with a silver tea service. He set it on an occasional table and vanished.

  Mattie approached a well-appointed sideboard. "We’ll need something for our tea. This looks to be a painful conversation." She held out two bottles. "Mrs. Stannert?"

  Inez indicated the less ostentatious bottle. No contest between French cognac and donkey piss.

  Mattie nodded approval and poured a dose in each cup. "You have the key?"

  Inez placed the small key on the table by the sterling teaspoons.

  Mattie’s shoulders eased down; the vigilance in her posture vanished like her obedient butler. Inez decided to go one step further.

  "When Joe died, I found this in his wallet." Inez set Mattie’s token next to the tea service.

  Mattie picked up the brass check, turning it idly. The afternoon light shone through the heart-shaped cutout. "We go back, Joe and I. This was our little joke. I gave him one for my Georgetown house too, in seventy-four. Told him he could redeem it anytime." She tossed it back on the table beside the key. "The only time he tried was for Emma."

  Inez set her cup down. "Emma never told me that she worked for you."

  Mattie arched one eyebrow and remained silent.

  Inez leaned forward. "I’m not judging Emma. I just wondered, could someone from her past be carrying a grudge against the Roses?"

  "You mean her Georgetown admirer? I doubt it. That was all long ago." Her light brown eyebrows drew together. "Tell me again. What happened to her?"

  "We found her, wrists bound, nearly strangled with one of her own stockings. Violated. Beaten. She’s not regained consciousness."

  Mattie’s red-painted nails tapped on the exotic wood armrest of her chair. Finally, she spoke. "I never take a girl into my house who has had no previous experience of life and men. Most of the girls were married and left their husbands or at least had been involved with a man." The tapping stopped. "I broke that rule only once. With Emma. She showed up on my doorstep in Georgetown. A runaway, like so many others. Someone had told her that I treated my girls well. She was so lovely, with all that red hair. So I took her in, despite her inexperience and my misgivings."

  Mattie looked toward the small fireplace. The firescreen, painted with a scene of cattails and herons, glowed with the light from behind. "Silver and money flowed through Georgetown then, just like in Leadville now. Investors, mine owners, speculators. Emma had many admirers. Too bad the one who offered the most had certain requests."

  "Requests?"

  Mattie pouted, blew out a thin stream of smoke, and eyed Inez for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. She finally set her cigarette in the ashtray and with a graceful motion, thrust out her arms, crossed at the wrists. A diamond bracelet winked at Inez.

  She watched with amusement as comprehension dawned and set Inez’s face ablaze.

  "How entertaining you are, Mrs. Stannert. You must only sell liquor after all." She picked up the cigarette again, remarking off-handedly, "It’s not an unusual request. Men of influence and money buy approval, agreement. After a while, all that bowing and scraping gets old, I suppose. Sometimes, they like a girl to resist."

  She continued, "We have rules, of course. Silk ties only. No bruising. No gags. And nothing," she drew a line at her own white throat, "around the neck. Too easy to have something go wrong."

  Inez clutched her teacup convulsively, picturing the ugly red marks around Emma’s neck.

  Mattie blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Some girls would consider it a game, a chance to play the actress. Not Emma. She hated it. And, I think she was a little afraid of him. But he paid well. Very well. One night with him covered room and board for a week, plus incidentals; he insisted she take no other customers. I told her that if she didn’t want to continue to just lie there. Don’t fight. Don’t struggle. He’d lose interest and I’d find him someone else. Of course, that meant she’d be back in the parlor every night."

  The smoke curled around her head. Her tea remained untouched.

  "Then Joe dropped in one day. He saw Emma and…" Mattie dramatically lifted one hand to her heart. "He tried to use his check, but I told him she was spoken for. So they talked in the parlor. After that, he came by every afternoon. Two weeks later, they married. Just as well. Emma wasn’t cut out for the sporting life. Her customer wasn’t happy, but he got over it eventually. They usually do." Mattie half-smiled through the smoke.

  "Who is he?"

  Mattie weighed the question. "No," she decided. "I’ve already said more than I should have. But I will tell you this." She snubbed out her cigarette. "He’s extremely influential. And not just in Leadville. Now, I’ll get you Joe’s box."

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Mattie returned with a strongbox, gun-metal gray, about the size of two stacked books. She pushed the tea tray to one side and set the box before Inez.

  Inez realized she was holding the key so tightly its edges were biting into her palm.

  She fit the key to the lock and turned. The top released with a snap. Both women leaned over, heads almost touching, to see what was inside.

  "No diamonds," Mattie remarked. "No pearls. No silver bars. Pity."

  Inez smiled wryly. She’d expected another bundle of bills, negotiable or otherwise. Mattie removed a small rectangular object wrapped in leather and tied with a thong. A thin stack of folded papers lay beneath.

  As Mattie picked at the tight knot, Inez unfolded the first paper. She scanned neatly penned words before zeroing in on three signatures.

  Joe’s precise hand, Chet’s shaky scrawl, and—

  "Oh Joe," Inez said under her breath "Whatever possessed you to dance with the devil?"

  Mattie stopped tweaking the recalcitrant knot. "Who?"

  "Catherine DuBois." Hatred squeezed through her words. "The bitch."

  When Inez looked up she saw her loathing mirrored in Mattie’s face.

  "Calling Cat a bitch," drawled Mattie, "is an insult to all female dogs."

  Inez laid a hand flat on the paper. "You know Cat DuBois?"

  Mattie’s eyes narrowed. "She waltzed into town and tried to set herself up as queen of Holladay Street. I ran her out of Denver with her tail between her legs. Her and that little artiste of hers. She had the nerve to take one of my girls with her. Flo had been with me since Kansas." She gripped the leather package as if to strangle Cat by proxy. "What business did she have with Joe?"

  Inez read the paper again. "This is an agreement witnessed by Joe between Cat and Chet Donnelly, a local prospector. It says that, in return for grubstaking Chet’s efforts last summer, Cat is half-owner of any claims."

  Inez looked up. "Grubstaking is common enough. That’s how Tabor made his first million. He gave a couple of prospectors seventeen dollars in provisions and ended up with the Little Pittsburg."

  Mattie waved her explanation away. "I know how it works. But Cat DuBois? I can see her running a parlor house, but what do
es she know about prospecting or mining? And what’s Joe doing in the middle of it all?"

  "Joe performed a lot of assays for Chet." Inez stopped. A melody line was forming. It wasn’t clear yet, but she could almost hear it. And she didn’t like the sound.

  She stared at the other two pieces of paper, still folded. White, inert, they seemed only to promise insight into disaster. "I’m not certain I want to know what’s on these." Slowly, she unfolded the second sheet.

  It was one of Joe’s assaying certificates filled in for the Lady Luck claim. Even to Inez’s untrained eye, the results looked disappointing: a minor amount of silver, no gold. At the bottom, a brief notation indicated Cat had sold her half of the claim back to Chet for fifty dollars. The report was signed by Joe. Inez examined the numbers on the certificate again. She wished she had Joe’s ledger or assaying notebook with her. Had she seen this particular set of assays listed? She couldn’t remember.

  Her eyes kept wandering off the numbers to the intricately engraved border surrounding the information like a stockade.

  She turned to Mattie. "This is one of Joe’s assay certificates. Looks like Chet didn’t find much on this claim, the Lady Luck. He bought back Cat’s half for what she’d grubstaked him on. Well, let’s see what the coda is."

  The last page was crumpled, hastily scrawled. It featured a crudely sketched map. Inez picked out Independence Pass, some directions, an "x" marked "Lady Luck." At the bottom were two signatures: Chet’s and Joe’s.

  "Well?" Mattie sounded impatient.

  Inez laid the three papers side-by-side, checking the dates. "This last one is dated the day after Cat sold her half of the Lady Luck back to Chet. It shows the location of the claim and states that, upon receipt of eight thousand dollars, Chet and Joe would be equal partners."

  Chet’s words from that dark night in the kitchen whispered back at her: Lady Luck don’t talk to the likes of you.

  "Why would Joe buy into a worthless hole in the ground?" Inez said aloud. "It doesn’t make sense. Unless—"

  "Shit!" Mattie examined her broken fingernail. "I’m getting a knife. Hold this." She dropped the package in Inez’s lap. Inez was surprised at the weight. This is far too heavy to be currency, counterfeit or otherwise.