Silver Lies Read online

  Mattie rummaged through a drawer at the sideboard and returned with a lethal-looking knife. "This should do it."

  The thong didn’t stand a chance.

  Mattie pulled the wrapping away. "What was Joe doing with these?"

  Exposed, in all their glory, were two engraving plates for a United States of America twenty-dollar bill.

  999

  Mattie handed Inez the metal plates. Inez ran a finger over the reversed figures and numbers, and the fine whorls and curlicues of the border. Then she rubbed the sheen of oil and ink between two fingers.

  Claims and counterfeiting. One is the melody, the other the harmony. Together, they form a piece of music. A song without words.

  Inez spoke cautiously, "Did Joe ever mention being involved in a coney ring?"

  Mattie looked aghast, as if Inez had accused her of running a charity. "Joe? You’re talking about a man who wouldn’t cash in on a free fuck from the best parlor house in the West. Joe never drank, never played cards—"

  "Joe changed. He may not have had anything to do with poker, liquor, or ladies of the line before, but Leadville was a different story. And, I’m afraid my husband was partly to blame."

  She briefly told Mattie about Joe and Mark’s mutual admiration society. How Mark took on the mannerisms of a respectable businessman, how Joe put on the gambler’s mien.

  "That’s not all," Inez said bleakly. "Joe falsified some assay results, and the customer found out. Joe also mortgaged his business to the hilt. God knows where that money went. Maybe he paid Chet with it. Maybe he gambled it away." The plates on her lap seemed to grow heavier. "I also found a stash of counterfeit he’d hidden before he died." She decided to forgo mentioning that he’d been familiar enough with one of Cat DuBois’ women to lose his watch to her.

  Mattie sat motionless, her full lips tightly compressed. Inez realized that, whereas she’d seen Joe Rose transform over time and had had a month to uncover, absorb, and accept his sins, Mattie was having to deal with Joe’s disintegration all at once.

  Mattie finally sighed, lit another cigarette, and said, "Everyone wants to strike it rich, one way or another. But Joe?" She shook her head and exhaled.

  Inez leaned forward. "There’s apparently a coney ring in Denver with ties to Leadville. I must bring these plates to the attention of someone who can help me. Do you know whether Treasury agents are investigating locally? I must find someone I can trust, and I haven’t much time."

  Mattie stood and went to the window. She caressed the maroon velvet drape, gazing out at the black and white garden where sticks and bare trunks slumbered until the sun’s warmth could call them back to life.

  She finally spoke. "Gus Brown. He’s posing as a drummer, selling paper to printers, engravers. I think he would be interested in the plates and whatever you have to say. I’ll write down the address of his hotel."

  She turned, blue eyes the color of spring. "Don’t tell him I sent you."

  Inez finished her tea while Mattie found a blank sheet of paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink in another drawer of the bottomless sideboard. As she wrote, she said, "So, your husband’s a gambler. Mine too. George Silks. Last I heard, he was in Leadville. Ever come across him?"

  An image flashed through Inez’s mind: A tall, dark man with cavernous eyes and long mustaches. A dealer at the Board of Trade Saloon. "Hard to say," she said cautiously.

  Mattie gripped the pen so tightly, Inez could see her knuckles through the skin, white on white. "He took off to make good on the silver rush without so much as good-bye. I don’t give a damn. I’ve got a man now who’s better than he ever was or will be."

  Inez paused, then said, "My husband disappeared last May. I’ve…indications…that he might be in Denver. Does the name Mark Stannert sound familiar?"

  Mattie waved the paper in the air to dry. "Can’t say it does." Her eyes revealed nothing. Poker player’s eyes. "If I hear something, should I send you a message?"

  Inez hesitated.

  "Sometimes," Mattie said, folding the paper, "when they get lost, it’s best not to find them."

  She leaned over the table to hand Inez Gus Brown’s address. Her flowery perfume mixed with the darker scent of cigarette smoke. "When it’s all done, and you’ve found the bastards who did this to the Roses, let me know."

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The morning of New Year’s Day, Inez and Joey rode the horse-drawn streetcar through downtown Denver. Joey eyed the closed candy shops with disappointment. Inez eyed the gray shroud hanging over the distant mountains with dread. The weather window for clear travel to Leadville was closing rapidly. She hoped Gus Brown had received the note she’d left at his hotel the previous day:

  Mr. Brown,

  A mutual friend told me in confidence that you are a paper expert. I have some unusual samples that may be of interest. I suspect they are not genuine but require someone of your expertise to say for certain. I’ll be in the dining room of the Wentworth Hotel at one tomorrow afternoon. Look for a tall woman in gray and a young boy with dark hair. Mrs. Stannert

  She’d decided not to mention the plates. They were her ace in the hole, and she would not play them unless absolutely certain about Gus Brown.

  999

  Noon found Inez and Joey outside the Helt Brothers Assaying Office. Inez ignored the "Closed" placard in the window and opened the door. They entered a world of dust motes and sharp chemical smells. Helt appeared from the back, wearing a sooty leather apron. His sleeves were, once again, rolled up, but this time he didn’t bother to unroll them. He was wiping his hands on a rag. "Finished up early and figured I might as well get started on another set since I’m here." He slipped the apron off and straightened his functional worsted waistcoat.

  He went to the desk and opened the top drawer, remarking, "I’ve got to give you my usual speech about assay results on small samples, Mrs. Stannert. An assay’s usually considered to be representative of a ton of ore on a given orebody. With small samples like yours, I’ll not go on record saying that’s the case here. So, I noted on your assay certificate that the results apply only to what you brought in. Now, all speechifying aside, I believe I understand why you’re in such a hurry."

  He set an assay certificate on the counter. "Seven hundred and forty-nine ounces of silver per ton, no gold, and fifty-two percent lead. Trace of copper." He leaned back against the desk, crossed his arms, and grinned. "Tell Mr. Stannert to dig up some more tonnage and get it assayed. If it proves out anywhere near these numbers, he’s a rich man."

  999

  "Are you rich now, Auntie?" Joey spooned vanilla ice-cream into his mouth.

  "No more so than I was before. Considering all I’ve spent here in Denver, I’m probably a good deal poorer." Inez glanced about the hotel’s dining room. The baritone rumble of the mostly male clientele filled her ears.

  "Then why did Mr. Helt say you were?"

  Inez sighed and looked over at the ornate wall clock by the dining room’s entrance: one-thirty. "Those samples weren’t mine, Joey, so neither’s the fortune." It might be Emma’s if I can find proof that Joe gave Chet eight thousand dollars. And that the samples came from the Lady Luck.

  She stirred her lukewarm soup.

  A square-set man hesitated at the entrance, eyes sweeping the crowd.

  Inez sat up straighter. If this is Gus Brown, he fits his name. Brown suit, shoes, overcoat, derby hat. Middling brown hair streaked with gray and a mustache to do a walrus proud. His gaze crossed Inez’s, then came back. He waved the maitre d’ away and approached her table.

  "Mrs. Stannert?" His eyes were the color of copper pennies. He lifted his hat and bowed slightly, a question in his voice, ready to apologize and retreat if necessary.

  "Mr. Brown." She indicated the empty chair. "I was afraid you wouldn’t show."

  "So sorry. Business at the other end of town slowed me down." He sat and removed his hat, patting his hair as if he wanted to be sure it was still there. He turned toward Joey,
and the weather-beaten skin of his face pulled into a smile. "This is?"

  "Joey Rose." She watched to see if the name made any impression.

  He held out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, son."

  After a glance at Inez, Joey took the proffered hand. They shook solemnly.

  Brown turned to Inez. "You from Denver or just passing through, Mrs. Stannert?"

  "We’re from Leadville."

  He signaled a waiter. "Coffee, please." His voice had the jovial overtones Inez associated with those who sell wares for a living. He turned back to Inez. "Interesting place, Leadville."

  "Have you ever visited?"

  "No reason so far." His gaze didn’t even flicker. "Am I to understand that you have something that might change my mind?"

  She slid an envelope over the tablecloth to him. "The samples I mentioned." She hesitated and glanced at Joey, who was concentrating on his vanilla mountain. "I only question their authenticity due to the ink’s, ah, incompatibility with alcohol."

  Brown lifted the flap of the envelope and, without removing the contents, squinted at the fifty and twenty that Inez had placed inside. He then closed the envelope again. "Ah yes. I’m familiar with this particular brand of paper. Seen the expensive one floating around. The other’s new to me." His copper eyes regarded her thoughtfully. "Leadville, you say. And where’d you get these, if I may ask?"

  "Before I say any more, I would like to see some proof of your employer."

  He laced his fingers and rested the edge of his square hands on top of the envelope. The crisscrossed fingers jutted out like fortifications. "For my part, I’m curious as to who our mutual friend is. And what part you play in all this, Mrs. Stannert."

  Impasse.

  "I promised our mutual friend that he would remain anonymous." She changed the gender, to cloak Mattie Silks’ identity. "As for me, I own the Silver Queen Saloon in Leadville. I hope the fact that I brought these samples to you of my own free will—indeed, at some trouble and expense—will assure you of my intentions, Mr. Brown."

  "There are intentions and there are intentions, Mrs. Stannert." His smile widened, to reveal square tobacco-stained teeth. "You said these are samples. There are more?"

  "Hundreds more of the expensive brand. Of the lesser, maybe sixty in all. I’ve been led to believe they all originated in Denver."

  "Hmmm." He regarded her, then nodded as if she’d passed a test. "I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Mrs. Stannert. Normally, I’m not a gambling man. So I hope you don’t prove me wrong."

  Brown reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a small leather case, which he slid across the table to her. She opened it in her lap, out of Joey’s view.

  A U.S. Secret Service badge nestled inside.

  She closed the case and returned it to him.

  "How do I know you are the valid holder of this? That you’re not…"

  "Some imposter?" Brown tucked the case back into his waistcoat. "You don’t. But we’re both taking a chance here. You’ve an advantage, though, in our ‘mutual friend,’ whoever he may be. If you trust him—and you must or you wouldn’t have contacted me—then I suppose you’ll have to trust that I am who I say I am. I have no such guarantee about you." He grinned again, reminding Inez of a jovial uncle. "Now, who passed you these bits of paper?"

  Inez turned her eyes significantly to Joey. "Joey’s father, Joe Rose. A precious metals assayer."

  His eyes narrowed. The breastworks of fingers reformed on the envelope. He turned to Joey. "Your pop’s an assayer in Leadville?"

  Joey looked at Brown as if he were stupid. "He’s an angel in Heaven." "In early December, Mr. Rose met with an unfortunate accident." Inez stressed the last word. "Ah." Brown’s eyes flicked back to Joey. "Sorry to hear about that, son."

  Joey stared at the ice cream slush in his dish.

  "Son, did your pop come to Denver a lot? Every month or two, say?" Joey nodded. "To get supplies. He said I could go when I get older." He bit his lip.

  Brown asked Inez, "You know the name of his supply house?"

  "Is it important?"

  "Could be."

  She closed her eyes and pictured Joe’s office desk. There’s the stack of certificates. There’s the ledger. I opened it and…She opened her eyes, relieved at dredging up a memory of the bill of lading. "Denver Mining and Smelter Company?"

  "Denver Mine and Smelter Supply Company," he corrected. "But that doesn’t tell me how you came by this." He tapped the envelope.

  "Surely, you know, Mr. Brown. Surely Morris Cooke or Harry Gallagher said something about—"

  Brown held up a hand, square as a shovel, and glanced at Joey.

  Joey’s eyes were fixed on the two adults as he licked off an ice cream mustache. Inez dug into her handbag, fingers skimming over the wrapped plates, and found her coin purse. She handed Joey a nickel. "Joey, please get two newspapers for us. There’s probably a hawker by the hotel."

  Joey wiggled out of the chair and, puffed up with his newfound responsibility, swaggered across the dining room.

  Inez turned to Brown. "Several weeks after Joe Rose’s death, bogus fifties turned up after a large stakes poker game in my saloon. I reported it to Morris Cooke, manager of the Carbonate City Bank. He implied that he was in touch with the proper authorities. Before he died, Joe cached a large amount of fifties and two bundles of twenties. I found them last week and turned them over to Cooke. You didn’t know?"

  She could almost see him make a mental note. But all he said was "Interesting."

  Inez decided to plunge ahead. Joey would be back any moment, and it was her last chance to extract information from Brown. "Now, I have a question. Have you ever conducted your trade in Philadelphia?"

  "I’ve been all over, Mrs. Stannert." His laced fingers remained inert.

  "Is the name Frank Vintree familiar?"

  "Vintree from Philadelphia? Sure."

  "How about Sands. Justice or J."

  He didn’t blink. His expression of polite interest remained intact. But Inez saw his fingers tighten convulsively, then relax. "Vintree and Sands are retired from the paper business. I don’t see what they have to do with what we’re discussing."

  So he lied after all.

  The bitter taste in her mouth had nothing to do with the creamed soup. "Would it surprise you to know that Sands is in Leadville and seems quite involved in these goings-on?" She tossed down the information like she would throw away a winning hand. "Perhaps he’s decided to ‘re-enter’ the paper business."

  Brown’s copper eyes finally registered something besides courtesy. "Sands in Leadville, yes, that is a surprise. But I think you misunderstood me. Sands didn’t work for Vintree."

  Inez sat back. "What do you mean?"

  Joey approached the table, looking proud and lugging two sets of the Denver Post. "This fellow you just mentioned," Brown continued smoothly, "we worked for the same employer. He was good. Better than most while he lasted. Like I said, he’s been out of the business a long time."

  He took a newspaper from Joey. "Thanks, son. Now, here’s something for you." With a smooth sleight of hand, Brown plucked a nickel from Joey’s ear and gave it to him.

  Joey grinned, enchanted.

  Brown opened the paper, glanced at the headlines, then laid Inez’s envelope on top and refolded the paper. He set a battered case on the table and opened it. Inez glimpsed strips of newsprint, foolscap, parchment, and other kinds of paper mounted on boards. He set the newspaper inside, and closed and locked the case.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Stannert, for taking a chance on me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. Now, I have a last question for you." His eyes strayed pointedly to the double rings on her left hand. "Your husband is…?"

  She put her hand in her lap. "He died some time ago," she said stiffly.

  Joey said, "Does Mr. Brown know Uncle Mark?"

  Brown smiled indulgently at Inez. "Mark Stannert, dead? Guess that was a ghost I saw the other night. My condolen
ces, Mrs. Stannert. It’s tough losing a loved one." He signaled the waiter. "Allow me to pay for the meal."

  Shock hammered her. She wanted to grab Brown’s waistcoat and scream, "Where? Where did you see him?" Instinct cut through the impulse. Leave. Now. "Oh no, Mr. Brown. I have no desire to be in your debt."

  "No problem, Mrs. Stannert. Maybe you can stand me a drink at your place in Leadville. Say, how long you staying in Denver?"

  "A few days," she lied.

  Brown handed the waiter a ten-spot, then refocused on Inez. "You know, after our little talk, I’ve a hankering to see Leadville. Might be a good place to chase down some business. Maybe we could hook up in a couple days when the weather clears and I’ll go back with you."

  "That would be fine. We’re staying here at the Wentworth. You can leave a message at the desk if we’re out." Her heart pounded triple-time.

  Brown stood and tipped his hat, sample case in hand. "Enjoy your stay in Denver, Mrs. Stannert."

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  "You lied." Joey sat in the trundle bed, watching Inez brush

  out her hair in a long, rippled wave.

  "Joey, not now." Inez stared at his reflection in the mirror.

  He flopped down under the blankets. "You told Mr. Helt we were leaving today. Then you told Mr. Brown we’re not."

  She set her silver-backed hairbrush on the nightstand, among a jumble of papers, the two stacks of bogus bills, and the counterfeit plates. With swift, practiced fingers, she began braiding her hair for the night. "When you’re older you’ll learn that the truth isn’t fixed in stone. And, in some cases, it can be dangerous. Believe me Joey, no one is truthful all the time."

  She glanced back up at the mirror.

  In the reflection Joey picked his nose absently, staring at the ceiling. "Mama always tells the truth." Some of Emma’s moral superiority leaked through his voice.

  Inez thought of Emma denying her meeting Harry Gallagher and of Mattie Silks’ revelations. "Your mama’s different, Joey," Inez said tiredly.