Silver Lies Read online

  "Abe, you old fool, I almost shot you!" Inez slumped against the wall, feeling weak at the knees.

  "Looks like Miss Susan was ’bout ready to throw the lamp at me as well." Abe looked around the laboratory. "Loooord have mercy."

  "Mr. Jackson. It didn’t sound like you." Susan leaned against the countertop.

  Abe eyed the two women. "I suppose you didn’t think of doin’ something sensible-like, like, say, sendin’ for the marshal."

  "He’ll have his turn soon enough." Inez slumped further, feeling drained.

  "Who’ll have their turn?" Another voice echoed from the corridor.

  Susan’s shriek faded to a squeak as Nils Hansen stepped forward. The tall Swede, wrapped in a worn waterproof and carrying a scuffed saddlebag, scratched his jaw as if the stubble along his jaw itched. The blonde beard mixed with a mustache so light it was nearly invisible. He took in the destruction. "What happened?"

  Inez stepped forward. "Where’ve you been? My hired help scoured the town for you yesterday."

  "I was on my claim. I don’t waste my time or money in honky-tonks." Nils’ voice trailed off at the gun in her hand and the knife in Abe’s. "What’s going on?"

  "Joe’s dead." Inez watched for his reaction.

  It wasn’t what she’d expected.

  Nils nodded once. And turned to leave, muttering.

  Inez grabbed a corner of his saddlebag. "What did you say?"

  He didn’t look at her. "God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

  "We don’t need platitudes," snapped Inez. "We need help! You’re Joe’s assistant. You can tell us what he was up to before he died."

  Nils eased the bag from her grip. "He was probably up to no good. But I’m not the one to say. I quit after Joe got back from Denver. I work at Kelley’s assay house now."

  Inez stared at his retreating back. All she could muster was "Well!"

  Abe’s knife vanished under his coat. "Sounds like Nils and Joe didn’t part on the best of terms."

  Inez heard the front door slam shut. "Up to no good. What did he mean by that?"

  "Boy’s probably just blowin’ off steam. Sounds like he wasn’t around last week, in any case. Let’s see, front wasn’t tampered with, so they must’ve come in the back." Abe examined the door. "Yep. Lock’s jimmied. Now what’s this?"

  Abe ran a finger over a deep gash about shoulder level in the door’s exterior. A rust-colored blotch surrounded the wound and tailed off into a streak that meandered down the weathered wood.

  Inez examined the door, her stomach suddenly squeamish. "Maybe a knife."

  Abe turned, eyebrows raised.

  Inez returned to the trash barrel. "Susan, bring the lamp over."

  Inez didn’t have far to dig before her fingers closed on a smooth wood handle. She sat back on her heels and held up a knife, its blade dull with dried blood.

  Chapter Eleven

  "So. You refuse to do anything." Inez crossed her arms to contain her frustration.

  Marshal Hollis rocked in his swivel chair, the heels of his mud-splattered boots planted on the desk.

  "Waalll, Miz Stannert, you’re the one that said finding Joe’s body behind your saloon was some strange accident." He punctuated his patronizing tone with a squirt of tobacco juice aimed at the nearby spittoon.

  "I never said his death was an accident. Doc himself said Joe was trampled and dragged up the alley."

  "And you and Jackson, who seems to be the last to have seen Rose alive, don’t know a thing about it."

  "No! We don’t!"

  "So I’m supposed to ignore Rose’s death and look for someone who broke into his business and skewered a rat to his door, right?"

  "Right. I mean, no." She heaved a frustrated sigh. This is hopeless.

  Hollis removed his hat, scratched a greasy thatch of hair, and brought his boots down with a thump. "I’ll bet some drunks found the door unlocked and went in to get outta the cold. You said yourself, nothing’s missing. Case closed. Just like this here conversation. Now I’ve got important things to do."

  "Like wait for Harry Gallagher or one of his cronies to crook their finger?"

  Curly Dan stifled a snort from his position by the door.

  Hollis lunged to his feet. The chair careened into the wall with a bang. He walked around the desk, his thin lips disappearing under his mustache in a tight scowl. The stench that assaulted her senses was a vivid reminder of how few baths Leadville’s citizens indulged in during the winter months.

  "Day in, day out, men get cut up, shot up, for walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m not gonna cry over one more body in State Street’s alleys. I done my duty, got Rose identified, and notified the next of kin. Now, get outta here, before I change my mind."

  Inez felt like pounding him with her umbrella. Instead, she pulled up the hood of her cloak and headed for the door.

  "If you’re so all-fired up over Rose, take some of that money from that crooked poker game you run and hire a Pinkerton!" Hollis snarled.

  Curly Dan opened the door for her. Inez marched out of the city marshal’s office, holding the umbrella in a stranglehold. "My game’s a hell of a lot straighter than you are!"

  As the door closed she heard Curly Dan say, "Steady, Bart. She’s leaving."

  Another mess to clean up. I wonder if Emma has the combination to the safe.

  There was nothing for it but to return to Emma’s house and ask. She had to get a better handle on Joe’s finances. And soon.

  That morning, Emma had dropped the office keys into Inez’s hand before announcing, "Joey and I are leaving Leadville the first of the year. I can’t stay after what’s happened. Don’t try to talk me out of this."

  Stunned, Inez had sunk onto a nearby parlor chair covered with Emma’s meticulous needlepoint. "Where will you go?"

  Emma sat by the bay window, hands clasped so tightly that the knuckles showed white, blotting out the freckles. "Someplace where no one knows us."

  "I’ll try to settle Joe’s accounts by then. But even assuming the best, at some point, you may need to earn a living. Have you thought of that?"

  "I worked before I met Joe." She bit her lip, looked away. "If worse comes to worst, I’ll sew. Or take in laundry. With God’s help, we’ll get by."

  Emma smoothed her hands over the lap of her black crepe dress. Small twists of copper hair escaped from the pins, framing her face. All in all, she was a striking woman. Inez doubted that Emma would remain a widow for long.

  "I wish you’d reconsider, Emma, but I won’t argue. And I’ll help you any way I can."

  "I know you will." Emma sat back. "I want to leave this place free and clear. No outstanding business. No blot on Joe’s name. No loose ends."

  999

  No loose ends.

  Inez stopped in front of Emma’s home. The snow on the path to the front door was well trodden, a sure sign that the neighbors and churchfolk were helping the family through the crisis. A black crepe ribbon draped the door handle. Only days ago, the door had sported an evergreen wreath in anticipation of the coming Christmas.

  Inez sighed.

  She decided not to mention the break-in at Joe’s assay office but just to ask about the safe. She raised the door knocker and tapped it once. The knocker ripped from her grasp as the door flew open. Inez and Reverend Sands eyed each other in mutual surprise.

  Sands raised a hand to his head, before smiling crookedly in acknowledgment that he was already hatless. "Mrs. Stannert. We seem to meet on thresholds. I was expecting a couple of ladies from the church."

  He stepped aside for her to enter. The warmth of the interior matched the warmth of his smile. Once again, the sentiment didn’t reach his eyes. "May I help you with your cloak?"

  "That’s not necessary." Inez faced away and undid the clasp. She felt the weight of the cloak lift from her shoulders.

  "Allow me, Mrs. Stannert." His voice at her ear sounded disconcertingly intimate.


  The emphasis on her married title set her on guard. Inez stepped a safe distance away and turned. "I said it wasn’t necessary. Reverend Sands."

  With a glint of amusement in his eyes, he hung her wrap on the hall tree. "I’ll let Mrs. Rose know you’re here."

  "Let’s dispense with the formalities, Reverend. I’m not a church acquaintance come to offer my condolences." She sidestepped him and, holding her pearl gray overskirts close, proceeded to the parlor.

  Emma was at the window seat with a cup of tea in her hands and a flush in her cheeks. "Inez!" She patted the cushion, inviting Inez to sit beside her. "I was talking to Reverend Sands about where to go after Leadville. He suggested Sacramento. California is a good place to raise children, he says. And he knows many people there."

  "He does, does he?" Inez sat back, looking coldly at the reverend, who had materialized beside them.

  He smiled blandly at Inez and held out a steaming cup of tea. "Sacramento’s a warm, friendly place. Not too big and not too small. I know the community well."

  "And what were you doing in California?" Her tone suggested that it must have been something unsavory.

  His expression altered not a whit. He merely moved the cup closer to her, forcing her to take it lest he set it—or pour it—in her lap. "Ministering. Of course."

  Emma plucked at Inez’s sleeve to get her attention. "Reverend Sands says he’ll telegraph the minister in Sacramento and ask him to find a place for Joey and me. And he even knows a woman who runs a respectable hotel in Denver if we need to stop over."

  Inez clutched her cup furiously, nearly burning her fingers. "Reverend Sands knows a lot of people. How convenient."

  He leaned forward, capturing Inez’s eyes with his. "Just part of the job, Mrs. Stannert. If I can call on people and connections from the past to help someone, well, that’s all to the best. The past can be useful. Don’t you agree?"

  He sat back. "In fact, I’m all for Mrs. Rose and her son proceeding to Denver as soon as the funeral’s over. With friends like you to handle matters here, why wait?" The reverend’s gaze slid over her body in a manner she found thoroughly annoying. "Wrapping up Mr. Rose’s business affairs should be straightforward. After all, he led such an…exemplary life."

  He’s baiting me. Why? Inez carefully set the tea cup on a side table, taking a moment to compose herself. "Emma, I hate to ask, but I need to act quickly. Particularly if you’re leaving town soon. Do you have the combination to Joe’s safe?"

  "Why, no." Emma looked alarmed. "Is there a problem?"

  Inez smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring and stood. "No matter. There’s more than one way to open a safe."

  Reverend Sands had come to his feet as well. "Allow me." He walked her toward the entry.

  "I can see myself out."

  "No, no, I insist. Besides," his voice lowered, "I’d like a word with you." Sands pulled her cloak from the hall tree and set it on her shoulders. "Pity about Joe Rose. ‘The righteous live for evermore; their reward also is with the Lord.’ The question is, just how righteous was he?"

  She decided to play innocent, see what he knew. "What do you mean?"

  The butter-smooth tone melted away in favor of steel. "Come on, Mrs. Stannert. No more games. Joe’s death was no accident. He was up to his neck in trouble and it finally drowned him. He wasn’t the fine, upstanding fellow everyone paints him out to be. You know that and more. I can see it in your eyes."

  The break with Nils, the fight with Harry, the brass check.

  None of it added up to the Joe she knew. Her shoulders tensed before she realized that the reverend’s hands still rested there, heavy.

  "And then there’s Joe’s best friend: your husband, the elusive Mark Stannert. I’ve heard about him and your sad and sorry circumstances. My sympathies." His voice in her ear sounded anything but sympathetic. "Yet here you are, still in Leadville. Why? Who are you, Mrs. Stannert? The grieving friend of Joe Rose’s widow, a faithful wife waiting for word of her long-lost husband. Are you the real McCoy or as counterfeit as Joe Rose?" The sword was now out and pointed at her throat.

  She grabbed the lapels of her cloak and faced him. He had backed away and was leaning against the door, awaiting her response.

  She fastened her cloak. Slowly, deliberately. This. Is a dangerous man.

  Instead of denying his words, slapping his face, or doing the thousand other things that rose to mind, she said, "I could ask the same of you. Who or what are you? Besides unbearably rude? And why are you so interested in Joe Rose?"

  He opened the door. A blast of cold air heaved into the entry, prowling about for loose items to engage. "I’m just one of God’s foot soldiers, a temporary shepherd: ‘Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds.’ Proverbs twenty-seven, verse twenty-three. I’m looking for wolves in sheep’s clothing, counterfeit souls. Like Joe Rose."

  She dug into her pocket for her gloves. "Smoke and mirrors. You haven’t answered my questions."

  "Neither have you." He watched as she worked the gloves on, finger by finger. "You’re an intelligent woman. I like that. We could work together to lessen Mrs. Rose’s grief and lay her husband to rest. Think on it, Mrs. Stannert. Think on what you know about Joe Rose, his life and his death, and how they intersect with your absent husband. We’ll talk again."

  Chapter Twelve

  Early afternoon. The customers at the Silver Queen were saving their energies for the evening. Inez stepped inside and surveyed the long room as she removed her doeskin gloves. A few desultory card games were in action, but most of those hunkered at the tables and along the bar were focused on eating and drinking. Abe worked the bar while Useless carried bowls of stew from the kitchen. Inez inhaled. Venison and onions mixed with tobacco and the unwashed.

  Useless stopped, balancing four bowls. "Found the painter. He’ll be by."

  Abe looked up from mixing a Mule Skinner—whiskey and blackberry liquor. "Get the combination?"

  She shook her head. "Looks like we’ll need your special talents." She mimed rotating a dial in the air and headed for the upstairs office.

  Once at her desk, she pulled out the small package she’d retrieved at the post office. The brown paper carried her sister’s careful script. She wondered if the small package had crossed paths with the one she’d sent to Harmony. The parcels, each deep in the belly of a train, passing on some snowy plain in Kansas. Travelling in opposite directions.

  The paper rustled as she unwrapped it, layer after layer, before revealing an intricately tooled leather case.

  A folded page of ivory stationery fell out as she opened the case. William’s baby face peered out from the photograph mounted behind the glass window. She traced his image behind the glass, feeling the pain of separation all over again.

  Some of the pudginess had left his cheeks. He sat in a garden on a small, wooden stool, clutching his stuffed toy dog. One of the dog’s button eyes was crooked, as if it had fallen off and had hastily been re-sewed. Inez closed the case and opened her sister’s letter.

  Dearest Inez,

  William’s cough has passed with none of the complications

  you feared. This news and the enclosed photograph will, I

  trust, bring you peace this Christmas season—

  The door squeaked open. Abe said, "The painter’s downstairs."

  She handed him the photo case. Abe turned it over twice, examining the embossed cover, and opened it. He tugged at one corner of his mustache, gently closed the case, and handed it back. "A right fine likeness. He’s got your eyes. Let’s hope he doesn’t inherit your temper."

  "And that he grows into a whole lot more common sense as well." She opened the case and balanced it on the desktop. William’s hazel eyes, so like her own, stared back. "You’ll have to open Joe’s safe. Soon. Tomorrow, if possible."

  Abe wiped his hands on the bar towel tucked into his apron. "Haven’t done that sort of thing in a long time, Inez. Might’ve lost m
y touch."

  She snorted. "Abe, anyone who handles a knife and mixes drinks the way you do hasn’t lost his touch, I guarantee."

  "What’s the hurry?"

  "Reverend Sands was at Emma’s." She tapped the desk blotter with a finger, frowning. "He’s talked her into moving to Sacramento. Before I left, he pulled me aside, quoted the Bible, asked questions about Joe, and threw out innuendoes about Joe and Mark. He was quite intimidating."

  "And you, what? Quoted the Good Book right back at him?"

  She waved a hand. "I just threw his innuendoes back in his face." She rocked the chair gently. "He doesn’t believe Joe’s death is an accident either." She stood and moved toward the door, casting one more look at the lone image on the desk. "I pray every night that I made the right decision. Sending William east and staying here."

  "Well, if I remember rightly, goin’ back to your family wasn’t in the cards." Abe locked the door behind them.

  "If I’d arrived on the patriarchal doorstep Papa’d thrown me right back out on the streets. And how would Mama explain to her society friends that her eldest daughter is not widowed, not, God forbid, divorced, but abandoned by her worthless husband." Inez gripped the raw wooden banister, scanning the crowd below. "I did what I had to do. Now, I must ensure that, when I next hold my son, I’ll never have to leave him again."

  From her vantage point on the landing, Inez spotted Llewellyn Tremayne conversing with Useless at the bar. The sign-painting business must be lucrative, she thought, or perhaps his portrait work funded his wardrobe. A coat with a dramatic overcape complemented a ruffled-front shirt and doeskin breeches. His dark hair was tied back. That and his neat pointed beard and flowing mustaches gave him the air of an English poet from the previous century. The only concession to the climate and the condition of the streets was his boots, nicely blacked, but laced high for practicality and deep mud.

  How he escapes being assaulted in the streets for a swell is beyond me.

  Useless looked up and met Inez’s eyes. He blushed, said something short to Llewellyn, and began to clear away dirty glassware. Llewellyn turned, watching Inez as she descended the stairs.