Silver Lies Page 8

  "Mr. Tremayne. You painted our sign last spring. You’ve gained a reputation for portraiture as well."

  He bowed deeply over her proffered hand. "Bankers, mining magnates. Not to mention the cherubs on the ceiling of Tabor’s new opera house."

  "Rumor has it, you’ve also painted Mrs. DuBois."

  "Twice." His smile widened, revealing the whitest, most perfect teeth Inez had ever seen. "The more public of the two hangs in her drawing room. The second, my masterpiece, is in her private chambers. Catherine DuBois as Venus, rising from the sea in her natural state, surrounded by nymphs."

  Inez raised her eyebrows. Abe broke the awkward silence. "Mrs. Stannert here has some notions she’d like to see up on the wall where the mirror used to be."

  She nodded. "Actually, I’m pleased to hear you’re acquainted with the classics, because I had my heart set on something classical on a grand scale."

  Llewellyn smoothed his mustache as he pondered the twenty-foot length between the backbar’s mahogany pillars. "Greek Gods? Helen and a thousand ships?"

  "Rather the ultimate battle between good and evil, as in John Milton’s Paradise Lost. I’ll show you the appropriate passages later. Now, here’s my vision. To the right," she pointed, "Heaven. But not a city of gold, not for Leadville. Let’s make Heaven a silver city. And over here," her arm swept to the left, "Hell. But not fire and brimstone. Something dark and cold enough to freeze your soul. Ice. And put a little spot of Eden in the corner."

  She brushed her hands together briskly, pleased. "When you paint Heaven and Hell’s legions, leave the faces blank. We’ll sell spots on the wall. You’ll get to do portraits of Leadville’s highest and lowest."

  Llewellyn rocked on his heels. "I’m intrigued. For the right price, Mrs. Stannert, I’m yours, body and soul, for the winter."

  He smiles like a fox. And all those white teeth.

  Inez smiled back. "Keep your soul. Let’s draw up a contract tomorrow." She addressed Abe. "Now, don’t you think some citizen will pay handsomely to be portrayed as Saint Michael holding a silver sword?"

  "You’re askin’ the wrong man. I was votin’ for scenery, remember?"

  "And you shall have it. A spiritual landscape peopled with all the souls trapped here, as well as those who are just passing through." She turned to Llewellyn. "May I offer you a drink to seal the deal?"

  "Clouds the mind and dulls the imagination. Not to mention what it does to the hand that holds the brush. That stew smells good, though."

  He placed a one-dollar note on the bar. Inez made as if to hand it back. "No, no, Mrs. Stannert. I’ll pay for my meals, like the rest."

  She fingered the worn greenback before placing it in the cash box. "I swear I see more paper notes every day. I’ll never get used to them. They just don’t seem real."

  Llewellyn laughed, a short hard bark. "Backed by the government, they’re as good as gold. Or silver. I’d rather carry a roll of these than tote a bag of coins. Mark my words, paper money is the future for the world of commerce."

  After Llewellyn left Inez asked Useless, "What were you two talking about? You looked like the cat that swallowed the canary."

  "Uh." His Adam’s apple bobbled. "Just old times. I worked for Mrs. DuBois when he was painting her picture. I’ll go help Bridgette." He scurried away.

  "That’s right. We didn’t steal him away from Cat DuBois until mid-October." Inez directed her comments to Abe and a smile at the miners coming off-shift.

  "I’m still wonderin’ why you did that. It’s not as if we couldn’t’ve found help elsewhere."

  "I enjoy annoying her. Besides, if she’d really wanted to keep him, she could’ve offered him more to stay." She winked at Abe, then turned her attention to the clatter of tin lunch buckets as the miners staked a place at the bar. "Name your poison, gentlemen."

  Chapter Thirteen

  With afternoon deepening into twilight, Bridgette layered on coats, shawl, hat, gloves, and galoshes, as she talked to Inez. "Stewpot’s half full. Extra biscuits in—" she nodded toward the tin-door pie safe. "And I put something aside for Mrs. Rose. Tell her my heart goes out to her."

  "I’ll deliver your words with the stew, Bridgette."

  "When’s the service for the mister?"

  "Soon, according to Reverend Sands." Inez stacked clean bowls on the table.

  Bridgette peered nearsightedly at Inez. "And how is that new reverend of yours? As handsome as they all say?"

  Inez frowned, then raised her eyebrows to smooth away the creases. "Handsome depends on who’s doing the looking. He has a certain charm, I suppose. When he chooses to exercise it."

  A triple knock tapped out on the kitchen door. "There’s my Michael now, come to walk his mother home."

  "Good night, Bridgette."

  No sooner did Bridgette leave than Useless crashed through the passdoor. "Chet Donnelly’s here and he said—"

  A shove from behind sent Useless sprawling into the table, rattling the bowls. A bass voice boomed, "He said he’s hauled his no-account ass back in here to ’pol…apologize and to, whaddya call it, make reso-loo…resta-too…Aw shit. Make good on another fancy mirror to hang behind your bar."

  Inez calculated the distance between Chet and herself. She doubted her pocket revolver would even slow him down, if he was really drunk and dangerous. And she wasn’t up to heaving a kettle of stew at him.

  "Ma’am." Chet swept off his battered broad-brimmed hat, revealing a rat’s nest of tangled graying locks. "I hereby ’pologize for tearin’ the place up Saturday last. Weren’t ’zactly my fault. Them twins, they don’t see we’re sittin’ on a bonanza on Fryer Hill. And the longer we sit, the better it gets. But, hey, I’m willin’ to pay for a new mirror, you let bygones be bygones."

  "That mirror came from Chicago. Cost us plenty." Inez looked at his patched canvas overalls and worn boots. "So, to what do you attribute your sudden fortune? Did you sell a claim, rob a bank, or buck the tiger and win?"

  He lumbered forward and thumped huge pawlike hands on the table. The bowls clinked. His breath was so heavy with alcohol, she could ignite it with a match. "I got lucky. But I know to keep my mouth shut. Sometimes, just talkin’ drives Lady Luck away. Or worse. She’s got her own ways of gettin’ even. Now. How much for the mirror?"

  "That mirror cost us a thousand," snapped Inez. "And since you’re so flush, there’s the broken chairs and tables too. That’s another hundred at least."

  One paw disappeared into his jacket pocket. Inez’s stomach knotted. She slid her hand into her pocket, fingers curling around the grip of the pocket revolver. Chet’s hand emerged, holding a roll of bills.

  "Huh. Chicken feed." He lined up fifties on the table like soldiers. The roll, hardly diminished, disappeared back into his pocket.

  Inez eyed the money as if it might explode. "My Lord. You did rob a bank!"

  Chet guffawed, then patted the scraggly beard that reached halfway down his sizeable belly. "Like I said. Lady Luck’s bein’ real agreeable." He swayed, a shallow-rooted giant in a wind storm. "Let’s shake on it, and you tell Jackson to pour me a drink." The paw extended across the table. Inez examined the blackened nails, the hand cracked and tough from seasons of prospecting in the Rockies.

  They shook. "Done. But next time you get snockered, I’ll have Jackson toss you out in the alley."

  "Thatta girl." His mouth split open—a grin populated by small rotten stumps of teeth. He lumbered back into the crowded saloon, hollering, "Drinks are on me, fellers! Pour ’em, Jackson!"

  Abe reached under the counter, face tense, as Chet shouldered his way through the crowd. Inez slid behind the bar and stayed Abe from pulling out the shotgun. "It’s all right. He’s got the money."

  "The man’s a damn nuisance." Abe glowered. Chet belched.

  Drinkers rushed the bar. Chet downed a shot and a chaser, slammed another fifty by the empty glasses and, weaving toward the exit, roared, "Keep the change!"

  Shots of rye were grabbed up
as fast as Abe could pour them. Opening another bottle, he asked Inez, "What in blazes was that all about?"

  Inez pulled the wad of paper money from her pocket and directed Abe to where she held it, out of sight below the bar. "He bought a pardon."

  Abe froze. "Where’d he get that? God amighty, he rob someone?"

  Inez locked the money in the cash box. "He swears not." Shouts for refills and new orders escalated. The round of free drinks had awakened the crowd; naptime was over.

  Toward midnight, Inez frowned toward one card game where the shouting was beginning to intensify. "Looks dangerous. Maybe we should shut them down."

  "Here’s more trouble."

  Inez thought at first Abe was responding to her comment. Then she noticed he was staring toward the entrance. Just inside the door, snow still on the shoulders of his overcoat, Reverend Sands surveyed the scene.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Inez watched, bottle and glass in hand, as Reverend Sands strolled toward the escalating shouting match. If—or rather when—the men stood up and the chairs fell back, Inez knew it would be too late.

  The reverend reached the table. The shouting ceased as the men looked up, no doubt startled to see a stranger standing over them. He leaned forward, placing one hand on the table. Judging from the sudden alterations in the players’ expressions, his words must have been persuasive.

  Reverend Sands straightened up. The men slumped in their chairs like schoolboys chastised for winging spitballs at each other.

  "Did you see that?" Inez was stunned.

  For the second time that evening, Abe shoved the shotgun back under the counter. "Wonder what chapter and verse he called up."

  Reverend Sands lifted his hand and, at first, she thought he was hiding his smile. That impression was crowded out by the familiarity of the gesture: she’d seen it thousands of times, performed by Mark, Abe, countless other men. Absently smoothing his missing mustache, Reverend Sands scanned the room until their eyes met. As he moved toward the bar, she cleared off several used glasses and an empty bottle.

  "What brings you to State Street this time of night, Reverend Sands? Looking for sinners? More counterfeit souls?"

  Abe winced at her tone.

  Sands smiled. Gently, reprovingly. "Appearances don’t always tell the innocent from the guilty, the true from the false. You said something similar, as I recall."

  Abe hastened, "Thanks for handlin’ that bunch, Reverend. You got there quicker than I could have."

  "Whatever did you say?" She still couldn’t believe the transformation. The two men hunched over their cards, motionless.

  Reverend Sands’ set a well-worn pocket Bible on the burnished wood. "I suggested that if they hoped to reap any rewards in the hereafter, they should mend their behavior in the here and now."

  A patron who’d been waiting more or less patiently took advantage of the pause. "Miz Stannert, I need that bellywash bad."

  Inez started, poured a measure, and accepted his coin before returning to Reverend Sands. "At least we can offer you a drink. You saved us a whole lot of grief." She set a glass before him. He turned it over.

  "No thanks."

  Inez lowered the bottle. "Second time today someone’s turned down a free drink. What next, I wonder. Hell freezing over? No, I forgot. It already has. It’s winter in Leadville." She regarded him. "So, you’re not here to drink, you’re here to…?"

  "To talk with you about that business earlier today. But—" men jostled on either side. "You look busy. Maybe later. Perhaps a cup of coffee? I’ll hunt down familiar faces."

  "You’ll find more than a few from Sunday’s services," she said, then shouted, "Useless!" beckoning him over. "Useless, this is Reverend Sands, new to town. Please get him a cup of coffee and some stew."

  She addressed the clergyman. "The coffee’s strong. The stew’s the best in town. I believe in quality." She bent over to reshelve the clean glass.

  "I too appreciate quality. In all its forms."

  Inez straightened and caught his eyes on her décolletage.

  She smiled frostily. "Yes. Well. Make yourself comfortable." She turned pointedly to the next customer. Being stared at was part of the job. She’d built up armor early, traveling with Mark and Abe. The world considered any woman traveling with professional gamblers and playing the tables to be fair game, married or not.

  The stares and speculations about her moral life had become more pronounced once Mark disappeared. She stared down the whisperers or ignored them, depending on the circumstances. Still, the way Reverend Sands looked at her was…disquieting.

  A while later, Doc limped in.

  She pulled his favorite brandy from the backbar. "How was your day?"

  He peeled off winter gloves before he answered. "Not bad. Not bad. No one died, no one appreciably worse."

  Doc swirled the liquid in the glass before draining it. Sighing once, he motioned for more. "Warms this old man’s bones." He pushed a quarter eagle toward her. "I offered my condolences to Mrs. Rose. She’ll be leaving town soon, I understand. Sorry state of affairs."

  He rubbed his face, rearranging the folds and wrinkles, as he looked about the crowded room. "Why, isn’t that the new minister? I met him at the Roses. Sands, isn’t it?"

  "That’s right." Inez followed his gaze. Reverend Sands must have felt their scrutiny, for he looked up, winked at Inez, nodded at the doctor.

  Doc waved back before turning to Inez. "Pleasant fellow. We had a most interesting conversation. War stories and so on."

  Curiosity piqued, Inez asked, "Sands was in the War? Not ministering, I suppose."

  "No no, my dear. I gather that’s a recent development. Nasty business, the War. I still dream of the amputations. Brrrr. Think I’ll join him." Doc moved toward the reverend.

  "Inez." Abe’s voice caused her to jump. "Jed Elliston wants a word." Abe nodded at the far end of the bar. The newspaperman held up his glass to draw Inez’s attention.

  Abe continued, "He’s curious about Joe. Knows he turned up in the alley, that there was some ruckus Saturday last. Told him I wasn’t discussin’ it. We don’t need that kind of stuff in the papers about the business. Now, he wants to talk to you."

  Inez wiped her hands on her apron and reluctantly headed toward Elliston, who was making circles with his wet glass on the polished dark wood. He had the voracious look that plagued the young men who thronged into Leadville and the other Colorado boom towns. Only, Elliston wasn’t after silver. Everyone knew he was comfortably supported in his publishing efforts by a wealthy and indulgent father whose stock rose with each mile of track laid down by the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. No, Elliston had that kind of fortune aplenty, and the ease with which it vanished at the gaming tables indicated how little he valued it. He dug, not through soil and rock for precious metals, but through casual conversation and rumor for stories to splash across the pages of his newspaper, The Independent.

  "Evening, Mrs. Stannert. Quite a crowd tonight."

  "Actually, Mr. Elliston, it’s morning now. And I can’t spare you much time."

  "It’s about Joe Rose." He held up a hand, as if anticipating her protests. "I understand he came in last Saturday, tore up the place, then turned up dead on your back porch."

  Inez rubbed her eyes, which stung from the smoke. Beneath the flowery prose of Joe’s obituary in the paper, she’d sensed Elliston’s unspoken questions. Now, here he was, true to form, nosing around. She didn’t want him dwelling on the corpse at her door. Abe was right. That kind of story would do them no good.

  On the other hand, if she could get Elliston to take an interest in Joe’s death and find out who was responsible…. Suddenly, she saw a way to direct Elliston’s curiosity away from the Silver Queen and still focus him on Joe’s untimely demise.

  "I found Joe’s death peculiar myself. Did you know," she leaned forward in what she hoped was a conspiratorial manner, "someone broke into his assay office?"

  Elliston’s pat
rician face mirrored her intensity. "No. When?"

  "Don’t know. But the marshal’s not taking much of an interest." Inez ignored Abe’s increasingly pointed stare from the other end of the bar. "Look, I’m settling Rose’s accounts. I’ll be in his office about nine tomorrow. Why don’t you stop in and we’ll talk."

  "I’ll be there." Elliston ran a finger along the brim of his bowler.

  Closing time arrived. The patrons, as always, thought differently. Abe and Useless were merciless, herding out the diehards, more or less forcefully as required.

  At the door, Inez bid Doc and others good-night. When Abe and Useless went to roust the last customer, snoring nose-down on a table, Reverend Sands turned to Inez. "May I walk you home?"

  Inez let the question hang as she tried to read his expression. He waited, hat in hand, looking for all the world like a hopeful suitor.

  She took the easy way out, raising her left hand before her and twisting the double bands on the ring finger meaningfully. "No, Reverend. That’s not possible."

  He waited, as if expecting more explanation. When none followed, he said, "Another time, perhaps."

  He stepped away just as Abe propelled the last drunk out the door. Inez and Abe watched Sands, nearly invisible in his black garb, melt into the State Street crowds.

  Back inside, they took the cash box up to the parlor office. In silence, Abe put the day’s take in the safe while Inez exchanged her thin leather shoes for a pair of sturdy walking boots.

  "For a moment, I thought you’d take him up on his offer." Abe closed the safe door and spun the dial.

  She finished tying the laces. "Offer?"

  "His offer to walk you home."

  "Abe. He’s a con. All smooth talk and smiles. Why would I?"

  Abe straightened and stared out the window at the darkness. "The man’s hidin’ somethin’, and I bet you’re gonna keep circlin’ until you find out what. I’ve seen you fall for that kind before."

  "Leave it, Abe. I don’t need the lecture." She yawned. "Tomorrow, I’ve got to talk to the bank about Joe’s accounts. And, oh yes, Joe’s safe. Think you can give it a shot?"