Silver Lies Read online

  Heavily bundled figures hurried past. Eyes slid to the shotgun in her hand and then away. Suddenly aware of her vulnerability on the street, Inez started toward her last sanctuary.

  The notice on the door of the Silver Queen read "Closed Until Further Notice by Order of the City Marshal." At least he didn’t padlock the door.

  Once inside, she dropped the carpetbag to the floor where it landed with a puff of sawdust. Flexing her hand, she walked around the silent bar to retrieve the office key. Llewellyn had added to the mural while she’d been in Denver. Inez walked its length, examining half-faced armies clashing between cities of silver and ice. She paused before the winged figure of Lucifer, sterling sword pointing toward preordained defeat. Penciled lines drafted the contours of Harry Gallagher’s face.

  The chill that invaded her had nothing to do with the cold.

  Once upstairs, she unlocked the office door and pushed it open.

  The first thing she saw were the papers. Covering her desk, scattered across her chair and the floor. The door to the safe yawned open. The murky lights of State Street and the snow racing past the large window gave the room a strange under

  water glaze.

  She took one step, muttering, "Damn them all."

  "Why did you come back?" Harry’s voice reached her a second after his cigar smoke.

  Dressed for the opera, he sat on her loveseat beside a bottle of brandy and a half-empty glass. The smoke curled through the air, disturbed by her entry. Harry’s overcoat was folded over the back of the small sofa, white gloves crossed neatly on top like a pair of ghostly hands.

  "Harry, what are you doing here?"

  "Waiting. For you."

  She finally moved inside. "How did you get in? How did you know I was in town?"

  He stretched out his legs to reach into a pocket. The buttons on his waistcoat gleamed.

  He held up a key to the saloon’s front door. "Jackson’s." The key went down beside the glass. "My driver recognized you at the coach stop."

  Inez thought on Isaac Eisemer’s expensive gloves and hat, the well-brushed overcoat, the cultured intonations. "He was picking up Eisemer."

  She noticed the bottle at Harry’s elbow was nearly empty. "How long have you been waiting? Was that a new bottle?"

  "I’m good for it." He poured another measure in the glass. "I thought you’d be by sooner. Did you stop at the jail first?"

  "Hollis has the wrong man. Abe wouldn’t ever hurt Emma."

  Harry lifted the glass but didn’t drink. "And counterfeiting? Is that something else he wouldn’t ever do?"

  The corner clock ticked into the silence.

  He continued, "It doesn’t look good, Inez. What makes it worse are the saddlebags found in your storeroom."

  "I gave those bags to Morris Cooke along with the counterfeit I’d found. Joe had hidden it in his son’s rocking horse. But Cooke didn’t tell you, did he. After I left those bags with him, someone broke into my house, axed the horse, and left a note threatening Joey Rose. I’ll bet once I left town, Cooke just stuffed the bogus money back in the bags and had Useless plant them where they’d be found by…Hollis? Sands? You’re right. It looks bad. But Cooke and DuBois set it up that way."

  Harry looked at Inez as if she’d announced her intention to sprout wings and fly out the window.

  Inez hurried on. "If you want counterfeiters, start with Cooke and Cat DuBois. And Llewellyn Tremayne."

  Harry held up a hand. "Tremayne. The artist of your mural." He gazed at her quizzically. "Were you really going to paint me as Satan, Inez?"

  I need Harry to believe me. No one else can stop this madness.

  "I was angry." She moved to her desk chair and shifted the papers off the seat, avoiding his gaze. "I’m sorry, Harry."

  He raised his eyebrows. "A little late for apologies."

  She rolled the chair closer to him. "I can explain. If you’ll listen."

  He emptied his glass and refilled it. "So you’re willing to deal with the devil to save Jackson and your own skin. All right. I’ll listen to your story. Whether I’ll believe is another thing."

  She set the carpetbag on her lap. "I was going to put this and an explanation in the safe for you. Bridgette was going to contact you about it." She unfastened the latch.

  He quickly leaned forward and gripped her wrist. "Slowly. I have no desire to be shot with that pocket revolver of yours."

  Inch by inch, she reached inside and withdrew the knot of flannels. While unwrapping the plates and papers, she said, "These were Joe’s trump card. He left them with someone he trusted." She handed him the plates. "Is this what you’ve been searching for, Harry? What you asked Sands, the ex-Secret Service operative, to find?"

  Harry examined the twenty-dollar plates briefly, then rewrapped them. "How did you know about Sands?"

  "Someone in town recognized him. And there’s the picture on your desk. You were in the War together. Is he really a man of the church? Or is that another subterfuge?"

  Harry’s pale eyes glinted in the murky light. "Still interested in Sands? Do you want to know what the good reverend did for me during the War? He hunted. Information, deserters, spies, he’d bring them back. Or not. As ordered."

  "You brought him here. Why? Why not go to the Secret Service or the Treasury Department? Isn’t catching counterfeiters their business?"

  He tipped his glass, watching the level of the brandy change. "What do you think goes through the minds of men like Eisemer when they visit places like Leadville?" He didn’t wait for her reply. "They look around. At the businesses, the price of real estate, how well the town is run. Then, they estimate the profits from possible investments. If they see bodies swinging from half-finished buildings and hear tales of labor troubles, crooked assayers, murderers, and counterfeiters, they think anarchy. There’s no profit in anarchy." He relit his cigar. "Do you think these men are gamblers?" More smoke hazed the air between them. "They play only when the odds are in their favor. Here in Leadville, we improve those odds through law and order. No lynchings, no vigilantes, no slippery mine deals. No counterfeiting."

  "But the coney ring is based in Denver. Surely working with the authorities—"

  "Denver is not my concern," he interrupted. "Trouble in Denver may even work in our favor, give Leadville a shot at becoming the capital. Now that would be good for business. I needed someone to take care of the counterfeiting activities here in town quietly, swiftly. Sands was to find those involved and send them packing. "

  "How did you even know about the ring?"

  "Bad bills started circulating last spring. No one wanted that kind of publicity for Leadville, so we tracked the money ourselves. We narrowed it down to State Street before your husband conveniently disappeared. I made inquiries. It didn’t take long to uncover some interesting information about your husband and Jackson." He looked at her a long time. "All summer, I debated whether you were a part of it or not. You’re hiding your past. You stayed in Leadville after your husband left. Sent away your son. What holds you here? Still, I was inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your grief seemed genuine enough. As did your affection. At least, until I returned in October."

  He idly ran a finger around the rim of the glass, making it hum. "Once Sands arrived, everything got far too complicated. Then, you disappeared. Like your husband. The bottom line is, counterfeit was found hidden in your saloon and Jackson has a lot of explaining to do. Nothing points to you directly. Not everyone agrees. Cooke and Hollis think you’re part of the ring. Sands and others are convinced you’re innocent. However, I’m not certain I can credit what Sands says about you."

  "What about you, Harry?" Her chair squeaked as she leaned forward. "Do you think I had anything to do with this? Other than wanting to help Emma and find who killed Joe Rose?"

  Harry looked at her, wearily, then glanced at the plates. "Sands ran Tremayne to ground some time ago. You’re not telling me anything new."

  I’m losing him. He doe
sn’t believe me. Her desperation increased. "But do you know about Llewellyn Tremayne’s connection to Mrs. DuBois? How Chet Donnelly and Joe tried to double-cross her?"

  He narrowed his colorless eyes and said nothing.

  "She and Llewellyn were an item in Denver. As for Chet—" She smoothed out contracts, the map, and assay certificates. "Mrs. DuBois grubstaked him this summer and Joe did the assays. When Chet found something big, Joe probably saw his chance. He played down the results to DuBois, planning to buy her stake in the claim once she sold it back to Chet.

  I’m certain Joe saw it as a way to escape the coney ring. He couldn’t have been more than a go-between. You knew Joe. He wasn’t an bad man."

  Harry examined the papers. "You went to Denver."

  "It would take too long to explain all the reasons why. I found Chet’s sample bags after Joe’s death and kept a few pieces." She tapped Helt’s assay report. "Those are the results. The real results."

  "Donnelly." Harry spoke the name with resignation and distaste, then tossed the papers on the loveseat. "You spin a good tale when you’re desperate, Inez. Like Joe Rose."

  "Why would I lie? Why would he?"

  He leaned forward. "Let me tell you about Joe Rose. After I cut him off for cheating, he crawled back. He’d heard I was tracing the counterfeit activity in Leadville. He named names, same as you. He wanted money. I wanted proof. He showed me the bills, but that was nothing. He could have picked them up anywhere. He said he could get a plate on his next trip to Denver."

  "What happened?"

  Harry’s voice slowed. "Sands was coming to Leadville. I didn’t need Joe. When he returned, he offered to give me a key and a location in Denver where the plates and other information were. I told him the deal was off, it didn’t include a wild goose chase to Denver." He looked away, out the window. Inez thought she detected a bitter twist to his smile. "You recall the row he started the night before he died. Joe obviously thought I should pay him for his trouble, even though he didn’t follow through on his part of the bargain." Harry’s gaze returned to her. Flat. Final. "I owed Joe Rose nothing."

  "Did Joe mention Cat DuBois?"

  "Mrs. DuBois is a convenience. You give her too much credit."

  "You don’t give her enough. No wonder she’s hidden her activities so successfully. She’s invisible to you. When she’s not being a ‘convenience.’"

  "Defending Mrs. DuBois? That’s a first for you, Inez."

  "What about you, letting Joe off the hook when he offered proof. And bailing out his widow. Those are firsts for you, Harry." She wheeled back on the chair’s casters, distancing herself. "Joe had the answers, but you didn’t pursue it. Why not? What really changed while he was in Denver? What happened during that time—"

  Inez stood abruptly. The chair rolled backward, bumping the desk. "You met with Emma Rose."

  Smoke rose like a screen. "She had nothing to do with it."

  "I always found it hard to believe that Joe managed to keep such a big secret from Emma. I’ll bet she found out, somehow. I’ll bet she begged you not to pursue it. What payment did you exact from Emma?"

  Silence.

  Inez stepped through the smoke. Mirroring Mattie Silks’ gesture, she thrust her arms out, wrists crossed. Holding Harry’s gaze, she said softly, "Did you use silk so she wouldn’t bruise? Or were you in too much of a hurry. Or didn’t you care."

  He sat, eyes half closed, as if mulling over her words. Inez held her pose, wondering if she’d made a mistake, read the music wrong.

  His hand shot out and imprisoned her right wrist before she could blink.

  "We were having such a civilized conversation, Inez. The first in months. Then, you had to cross the line." He stood, forcing her backward. "Emma’s not the one I want."

  "Emma was pregnant when she was attacked." Inez felt the wall at her back. "She lost the baby. She told me weeks ago she didn’t want this child. Maybe she thought it yours."

  She gasped in pain as his grip tightened.

  "None of this would have happened, Inez, if you’d responded differently when I returned last fall. I wouldn’t have been tempted. I would have turned Joe’s offer away, out of consideration for you. He might have lived. But you slammed the door in my face. Refused to talk to me. Returned my gifts. Sent my letters back. With no explanation." He stepped closer, pressing her against the wall. His voice lowered to a caress. "My mistake was treating you like a lady instead of like Cat DuBois."

  The moonlight flashed on the double rings of her left hand as she slapped him hard.

  He jerked back without letting go.

  She stared, enraged and aghast at the parallel gashes on his right cheek.

  His mouth twisted below the dark mustache. He grabbed her left wrist and captured her mouth with a kiss that echoed of past passion tangled with rage and determination. Her anger rose to meet his, kindling a response between them that burned like a dark invisible fire.

  Inez felt as if she was melting, her anger incinerated to ash, leaving a core hot and pure as liquid silver after the intense fire of the assay furnace has burned all else away. Her carefully erected defenses wavered and collapsed. She grasped the lapel of Harry’s evening jacket, pulling him closer.

  Harry pulled away. The rage in his face was gone. He looked at her almost tenderly, before placing one thumb on her cheek and wiping it hard. He rubbed the blood that had smeared from his face to hers between thumb and forefinger.

  "As I said, I should have been less of a gentleman in October. It could have saved us all." His gaze lingered over her, a hungry man facing a feast he is denied. "I don’t have the time or patience to wait while you make up your mind. You yourself don’t know where you stand." His hand closed over hers.

  She let go of his jacket as if it were on fire.

  Harry smiled sadly, then released her. He pulled out a linen handkerchief to stanch the wound and returned to the sofa. "I paid Joe’s bank loan. Bought his building for more than it was worth. Had Sands arrange a new life for Emma and the boy. Emma Rose and me—there’s nothing more between us." He gathered his overcoat, gloves, and hat.

  "By first light, Sands will have taken care of the engraver and smashed whatever elements of the ring remain in Leadville. He’s ruthless. Efficient. I have every confidence in him. Justice has never let me down. At least, in that regard." Harry settled his hat with careful deliberation. The gleam of moonlight on his silver hair extinguished.

  "I’m leaving Leadville soon. Pressing responsibilities have languished while I waited, foolishly as it turns out, for you to come to your senses. I know when to cut my losses." He sounded indifferent, as if talking about selling off a worthless stock.

  He buttoned his evening jacket, eyeing Inez dispassionately. It was as if having brought her to her knees for a brief moment, he’d regained his confidence and his balance.

  Inez rubbed her mouth on her sleeve, hating her momentary surrender.

  "I give you and Sands six months." Harry shrugged into his overcoat and pulled on his gloves. "By then, you’ll know what he is. Men like him are invaluable in war, dangerous in peace. And they never change."

  He tipped his hat in mock farewell. "When the railroad arrives and Sands is gone, I’ll return. Then we’ll see. Goodbye, Inez."

  As Harry walked away, Inez groped blindly through the papers on the desk. Her hand curled around the stoppered ink bottle. The door closed behind him just as the bottle hit the fine-grained wood. Ink, dark as blood in the night, splattered across the panels.

  "Go to hell, Harry!" she whispered. Too soft, too late.

  A single glance at the sofa showed that he’d taken the plates and papers with him.

  Chapter Sixty

  They’d searched her dressing room too.

  Her most expensive gowns, saved for Saturday nights, were tossed on the floor in a welter of petticoats and underclothes. She held the oil lamp high and discerned a muddy footprint on a satin corset. The thought of Hollis handling her int
imate apparel made her want to burn it all.

  Mark’s evening clothes still hung inside the armoire; Hollis had vented his ire on her things alone. She ran a hand over her husband’s gold and black brocade waistcoat, recalling, with mixed emotions, the body that once gave it shape.

  Everything I need to gain entrance to Cat DuBois’ parlor house is here.

  Inez yanked off her outer clothes, adding travel-stained skirts and petticoats to the pile on the floor. Skin prickling to gooseflesh, she pulled a roll of linen off an inside shelf. She stripped off corset and combination and bound the linen around her breasts. She unpinned her hair, letting the braid fall down her back. Ten minutes later, dressed in Mark’s clothes, she held the lamp up to the mirror. With her face shadowed by the deep-brimmed black hat, Inez felt confident she’d pass on the street or in a crowded room.

  Then, she removed the hat.

  The tense, androgynous face sprang into feminine contours, betrayed by tendrils spilling about her temples and ears. Not good enough.

  The furthest she’d ever taken her masculine impersonations was in the high-class parlor houses of New Orleans. She and Mark had fleeced the moneyed clients who, distracted by the feminine wares, dropped money like trees shedding leaves in the fall. Then, it had been a lark. But now—

  She fumbled in the pockets of Mark’s greatcoat for his short bowie knife and sheath. "Insurance," he used to say when strapping it to his ankle.

  Inez tugged her hair from its hiding place under the dress shirt and gripped the knife, setting the blade under her braid at the nape. She hesitated. Remembered Mark unbraiding her hair in some nameless hotel, Justice letting one strand slip through his fingers to the pillow—

  Her hair parted with little ripping noises under the knife’s edge.

  Weight transferred from her neck to her hand. She dropped the heavy braid to the ground where it coiled like a dead serpent around her boots.

  Peering into the mirror, she examined the straight swing of hair ending at her jaw line. Not short enough.