Silver Lies Page 9

  He wound a muffler around his starched collar and shrugged into his overcoat. "Just don’t go advertisin’ my old talents around town. I’d rather be known for slingin’ gin than pickin’ locks. Folks think we’re an odd pair as is."

  "Bah. I don’t pay attention to that talk and neither should you. As long they keep drinking and playing cards, it doesn’t matter."

  In the kitchen, Useless stacked dirty crockery and glasses. The brass spittoons were lined up, ready to be emptied into the alley.

  The cat came out of hiding and wrapped herself around Abe’s legs. He lifted her and carried her into the dark saloon. His voice drifted into the kitchen: "Go get them rats."

  "Ha," muttered Inez. "That’ll be the day."

  "I’ll lock up." Useless filled the wash tub.

  Inez and Abe eased out the back door and set out through a drifting snowfall. She took a deep breath of the cold air and held it for as long as she could. It was a game she’d played as a girl: Take a breath of winter air. Hold it…hold it…It was like swimming, gliding through a green, underwater world. Only this world was clear and sharp like crystal. She let out her breath, watching it curl away like steam. They walked companionably up Harrison.

  "So what’d you tell Jed?" Abe broke the silence.

  "He’s going to meet me at Joe’s office tomorrow. You know, it’s strange. Marshal Hollis seemed so suspicious of us and the circumstances around Joe’s death. Now, he’s dropped the whole thing. It might not be all bad if Elliston should take an interest. A carefully directed interest, of course. If we don’t pursue this, no one will. And what if it’s not over? What if Emma and Joey are in danger? Sands implied that could be the case."

  "You believe him?" Abe interrupted incredulously.

  Inez looked away at the silent store fronts, interiors masked by darkness. "Bridgette thought she saw Harry with Emma at the Clairmont. Coming out the back."

  Abe stopped walking. "Inez, don’t be lookin’ for what isn’t there. Emma’s a decent woman. And Harry calls the shots with Tabor and the rest in this town."

  "He doesn’t call the shots for you or me. Anyway, I’m just thinking aloud. Consider. Right before Joe dies, who comes to town? A new marshal, a new reverend—"

  "And probably a thousand others."

  "The marshal is backed by the silver barons," Inez pressed on, "while the reverend takes room and board in Harry’s hotel. And I’ll bet he doesn’t pay a dime."

  Abe groaned and walked away. "Lord, I’m too old for this. I don’t like it, Inez. Don’t like it at all. I swear, for a woman who’s supposedly so all-fired smart and educated, you sure like makin’ things difficult."

  Inez hurried toward him. "Now Abe." She tucked her gloved hand about his arm. "It’s just that Joe’s death is like a musical score with a missing page. It bothers me. It’s not right. I won’t do anything rash. Or anything that would ruin our good standing with the townfolk." She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. "The way I see it, Jed Elliston has questions about Joe’s death. You know how persistent he is when it comes to digging up a story. He wants to nose around? Fine. I’ll sound the horn, slip the leash, and let him run. Don’t you see? We’ll let Jed flush out the fox for us."

  Chapter Fifteen

  At eight-thirty in the morning, the fresh snow on Chestnut Street was already churned into gray slush beneath wheels and hooves. Outside Joe’s office, Inez hugged the ledger under her arm and fumbled for the key. The letter in her pocket crinkled, a reminder that she needed to stop at the bank later. The note, in Emma’s hand, authorized Carbonate City Bank to release information about Joe’s accounts.

  Inez unlocked the door and entered the abandoned office. The very air seemed cold and forlorn. Shaking off the gloom, Inez lit the kerosene lamp on the counter and opened the accounting book. Some of the entries had recognizable names attached, others were cryptic letters and numbers.

  Harry Gallagher’s Silver Mountain Consolidated appeared frequently until…she flipped through the pages. Mid-October.

  "Odd," she said aloud. Hinges creaked behind her.

  "What is?" Susan stood at the threshold, knocking icy mud from her shoes.

  "I wish I knew more about Joe’s business." Inez turned more pages, then stopped. "No more entries." She ran her finger down the last page. "Peculiar. Almost no entries for November."

  "Wasn’t he in Denver until Thanksgiving?" Susan drifted around the counter as she adjusted her small maroon hat. "The office was probably closed while he was gone."

  "But Nils was here then." Inez tapped her finger on the counter, staring at the page.

  "I have a ten-thirty sitting. What are we going to do about that safe?" She lingered at a small mirror by the desk, fluffing the frizz of bangs above her dark brows.

  Inez sighed, closed the ledger, and looked at her young friend. Susan always struck her as the epitome of a modern young woman. Heeding the siren call to "head West," women like Susan left their families in the farms and small towns and boarded the westbound trains alone, chins held high and plans aplenty. Schoolteachers, laundresses, newspaperwomen, they flourished in the boom towns and new cities. Other women, half-heartedly following husbands struck by gold or silver fever, faltered and pined, always looking over their shoulders toward "home."

  In the mirror, Susan’s reflection directed inquiring eyes on Inez.

  "Abe knows someone who can handle the safe," said Inez. "I’ll go to the bank about Joe’s accounts and arrange for the sale of the building. I’m surprised real estate promoters aren’t lined up to make an offer. After all, this is Chestnut Avenue and Joe owned the building, free and clear. Now, Jed Elliston is coming over any minute. When he does, let me do the talking."

  "Elliston of The Independent?" Susan frowned. "Why is he coming here?"

  "He’s taken an interest in the events surrounding Joe’s death. I thought perhaps, with a nudge in the right direction, he might prove useful."

  "His father’s a robber baron, rubbing elbows with the Santa Fe Railroad! And he turned me down flat when I tried to take out advertising in his paper!" She paced in indignation as Inez tried to decide what bothered Susan more: the casual wealth of the father or the dismissive nature of the son.

  "The man is positively medieval about women. ‘Now, Miss Carothers,’" Susan mimicked his cultured drawl, "‘Women rahlly belong in the domestic sphere, not meddling in masculine pursuits.’"

  "Yes, yes. He can be annoying. But he may be able to help us resolve Joe’s death."

  "Inez, we don’t need him! We can do it ourselves!"

  "Susan, we both have businesses to run. And neither you nor I can go from banks to bars asking questions about Joe and his business connections. Who would tell us? Jed, on the other hand, has access to the whole of Leadville. People expect him to ask questions, for heaven’s sake."

  "What makes you think he’ll tell us anything? He’ll just take what we give him, and the next thing you know, we’ll read about it in his paper!"

  "That’s fine with me. The point is to bring Joe’s killer to justice. If Jed can do that, I’ll give him free whiskey for a year."

  The front door squeaked open. "Mrs. Stannert, I accept your challenge. But only if we’re talking proper Kentucky bourbon, not tonsil varnish."

  Both women started guiltily. Inez hoped all he’d caught was the concluding sentence and not the preceding argument.

  He removed his hat. Inez caught a whiff of bay rum as he appraised Susan.

  Susan thrust out a hand over the counter. "Miss Carothers. I approached you once about advertising."

  "Oh, of course." He took her hand, shook it limply. "Charmed to meet you again."

  She sniffed, unmollified.

  Elliston faced Inez. "So, what’s the story? You said someone broke in?" He glanced about the office, doubt plain in his expression.

  She pointed toward the rear of the building.

  Elliston tipped back his bowler, walked through the swinging gate, and disappeared down
the passageway. A long, low whistle drifted to the women, who joined Elliston.

  "We cleaned up some." Susan brushed past him to crack open the rear door. Light speared the gloom, illuminating piles of trash glittering with broken glassware.

  "Too bad." His condescension hung in the air. "Sometimes, you can deduce a fair amount about the perpetrators by the crime scene. When the scene is undisturbed, that is."

  Susan rolled her eyes.

  "Oh, I agree," Inez interjected smoothly. "Susan and I drew conclusions of our own. And we found this." She set the ledger on a cleared countertop.

  Elliston’s dark eyes snapped into focus, as if he’d been only half awake before. "And that is?"

  "Joe’s business records." She fanned the pages. "There’s something odd about the last month of entries."

  The hunger in his face was palpable. Inez placed both elbows on the closed ledger, gazing at him almost tenderly. Jed’s such a sucker. His face gives him away, every time.

  He cleared his throat. "As I said. I would be happy to offer my assistance."

  "Of course you would." Her elbows remained on the book.

  He looked around as if seeking allies. Susan glowered at him, arms crossed.

  Inez continued, "We could help each other. Joe’s widow asked me to settle his business affairs."

  Shock warred with caution in Elliston’s face. He looked as if he was trying to think of something suitable to say. "That’s…commendable."

  "Peculiar is probably what you mean. Well, peculiar has never stopped me before. In any case, I can ask the bank questions that you can’t. And Susan and I have—" she tapped the book. "So, here’s how it stands. It seems to me that your newspaper could greatly benefit from a part-time assistant."

  She smiled at Susan, who, in a heartbeat, saw where she was heading. It took Elliston longer. But from his morose expression, Inez could tell he’d caught her drift at last. "Well, Jed. Do we have an agreement? The offer of free drinks still stands."

  Elliston rubbed his jaw and looked sideways at Susan. Inez added, "And I’m certain you’ll find some space in your paper to advertise Carother’s Photographic Studio."

  He finally bristled. "Mrs. Stannert, The Independent is my paper. You have no right to direct placement of adverts or articles."

  "Of course, Jed. You know your business better than I," she soothed, watching his ruffled feathers settle. "You and Miss Carothers are quite capable of working it all out. And I promise to read The Independent, first page to last, with great interest from now on. Might even take out advertising myself." She opened the ledger and moved aside.

  Elliston wavered, but the temptation was too great. He bent over the pages. "We need more light."

  When Inez returned from the front counter with the lamp, Elliston and Susan were poring over entries. "‘SilvM’ must be Silver Mountain, Mr. Gallagher’s company." Susan glanced at Inez for confirmation. "Wasn’t he Joe’s main customer?"

  "Was is right. Until Old Harry decided to hire a company man," said Elliston.

  "He did?" Inez’s mind raced over bar talk and rumors, turning up nothing. "I don’t recall hearing that."

  A satisfied smile tweaked his lips. "It’s not common knowledge."

  "Well, I’m intrigued. Tell us more."

  Elliston turned and leaned against the counter, hands thrust into trouser pockets.

  "Harry’s bringing in some chap from back East, come spring. He’s been using Kelley’s assay house for over a month now."

  Inez stared at the lamp’s flame. I wonder if Emma knew.

  "Inez." Susan’s face flickered with excitement. "Look at this."

  Inez and Elliston crowded close as Susan pressed down on the open pages. Barely visible, a small knife-ridge of paper split the seam. "Someone’s removed a page."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elliston peered over Susan’s head at the pages. "The last date on this page is the fifteenth of October. From there, it jumps to…Miss Carothers, you’re standing in the light."

  "The next date is November twenty-ninth," Susan said with some asperity. "And there are only a handful listed after that."

  The front door opened with a crash that shook the floorboards.

  "Joe, old coot. Ya in?" bellowed a familiar voice.

  The three exchanged startled glances. Inez arrived in the office area first, followed closely by Elliston and Susan.

  Chet Donnelly prowled by the counter, looking almost sober. His last resting place must have been quite firm, judging from the way his hat and hair were squashed flat on one side. He stared at the trio, puzzled.

  "Rose in?" Chet snatched off his lopsided hat, clutching it before him in a vague remembrance of manners.

  Elliston spoke first. "Don’t you read the papers? Rose’s dead."

  Chet’s furry eyebrows pulled together. "Wadd’ya mean, dead?"

  "Died in Tiger Alley, Saturday night."

  Chet sucked in his lips under the tangled beard. He seemed to be chewing something. Maybe his mustache. Suddenly, it was as if a cloud hanging in his mind blew away, revealing something he didn’t want to see.

  "Damn." He passed one shaky hand over his eyes. "Sorry, ladies. I’m tryin’ to remember." Inez spoke up. "You don’t remember? That was only four days ago."

  He hawked and spat. "I recollect wakin’ up this morning on the floor of the Red Garter with my head half out the door. Felt like I’d been stepped on a few times."

  "That’s all?"

  He looked slantways at her, still chewing.

  "Well, allow me to refresh your memory. Saturday night, you and the twins, Zed and Zeke, started a fight at my saloon. Last night, you rolled in, paid for a new mirror, and bought a round for the house. Paid for everything with fifty dollar notes."

  He looked as if she’d slapped him with a rotten fish. "I did?" His hands plunged into his pockets, searching for leftover change. "Ya sure that was me?"

  "Of course it was you." Inez was exasperated. A small notebook and pencil magically appeared in Ellis-ton’s hands. "Were you a client of Rose’s?" Chet stopped chewing, and his features rearranged themselves along crafty lines. "You a newspaper man?"

  "Owner, editor, and chief reporter of The Independent. Say, Chet, what’s your last name? And when did you last talk to Rose?"

  Chet glowered, looking like a demented Saint Nicholas. "Never you mind." He lowered his head and barreled through the counter gate. "Rose has somethin’ of mine out back. I’ll get it and be on my way. S’cuse me." He lumbered toward the laboratory.

  Inez followed. "Perhaps you’d best tell me what you’re looking for," she said as he stared about the chaos.

  Chet jammed his greasy hat back on his head. "Assay samples. Left ’em last week."

  "You mean rocks in bags?" Susan managed to push past Elliston, who blocked the hall. "We’ve found nothing like that."

  "Damnation." He hooked his thumbs in the rope that served as a belt and attempted to hitch up his pants over his sizeable gut. Gravity won, and the pants sagged back down below his belly. "He said he’d take care of them. Lady Luck was comin’ through at last."

  Something clicked for Inez, and a couple of small, musical notes fell into place. "Last night, you mentioned Lady Luck."

  Chet peered around as if he expected his sample bags magically to appear. "Hell, she’s the saint we pray to, every time we stick a shovel in the ground."

  He eased out the back door. Then glared back through slitted eyes. "If you find bags with my name or initials, it’s my property."

  He lurched off.

  "C.D.," said Inez softly. "Did C.D. appear in the last entries?"

  Susan frowned. "No. Why?"

  "Chet’s initials. If he left something here last week, why isn’t it in the ledger?"

  999

  "We’ve a deal, then. You supply the paint, I’ll supply the faces." Inez handed Llewellyn a signed copy of their agreement.

  "Done." Llewellyn touched the inked signatures with a finger
. Satisfied they were dry, he rolled up and pocketed the agreement. As they left the second-floor saloon office, he added, "Now that that’s settled, I’d like to prepare the surface. When’s the best time for me to work?"

  "Mornings, before we open. Someone’s always here by eight."

  "I’ll time my arrivals for eight, then." He rubbed his hands together, smiling in a self-satisfied manner.

  Inez couldn’t help but smile back. At least this part of the morning’s efforts had concluded satisfactorily. Llewellyn had promised to have the mural completed by February. And he hadn’t even haggled over the price. That’s an artist for you. No sense for the bottom line. The mural would cost far less than a new mirror, and there’d be nothing else like it in town.

  Joe’s ledger still troubled her, however. The missing page had whetted Elliston’s appetite. He’d promised to look at the records and ask around. Still, Inez felt uneasy about letting the ledger leave her control. After all, one page is gone. What if more turn up missing? She wished she’d asked Susan to count the written pages. Just as insurance.

  999

  "And what can I do for one of Carbonate City Bank’s best customers?" The round tones in Nigel Hollingsworth’s voice betrayed him as a native of England’s shores. He steepled his fingers and beamed at Inez.

  "Two things, Mr. Hollingsworth." Inez turned slightly in her chair by the assistant bank manager’s desk and crooked a finger at Useless. "First, a deposit. A large one."

  Nigel shifted aside a stack of papers restrained by a large, faceted crystal paperweight to make room on his desk. Useless plunked a satchel square on the blotter. Nigel laid a narrow hand on the rough leather, patting it like a father soothing a squalling babe. "So glad to hear you’re open again, Mrs. Stannert. A day’s lost profits is no mean figure. Leadville is booming, even now, in the dead of winter. Why, last night I met a Prussian count who’s itching to invest in the right hole in the ground."

  "I prefer making my fortune aboveground." Inez watched as Nigel opened the satchel and extracted bundled bills and rolls of gold and silver coins.