Authors: Ann Parker
They went deeper into the livery, Inez aware of the whisper of horses: a snort here, a swish of tail there. She finally stopped, whistled softly. A black horse, ears pricked, approached from the back of a stall. Joey retreated. Inez noted the wariness on his face.
I wonder if he knows how his father died.
She lit an oil lamp hanging from an iron hook on the wall and retrieved a curry brush from a peg. "Why don’t you stay by the gate while I brush her, Joey."
He climbed the gate’s wooden slats and hung his arms over the top. Inez advanced with the curry brush. Lucy whickered.
"Uncle Mark…" Joey stopped, then forged on. "Uncle Mark told me Lucy’s the very devil. She’s not. Is she?"
Inez chuckled, then frowned. "Oh, Joey. It’s a joke. Her real name is Lucifer."
"Why’d you call her that?"
"I didn’t. Her previous owners did. They didn’t treat her right, and she, well, she gave them the devil for it. Lucy’s one of God’s creatures. Handle her with respect, she responds in kind."
Joey swung on the gate, mind obviously elsewhere. "Auntie?"
"Yes?"
"Papa’s not dead." His face in the half-light was serious.
Inez paused, the brush on Lucy’s neck. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Mama said," he hesitated. "She said Papa and Uncle Mark are in Heaven. But they’re not. They’re gonna be here for Christmas."
Inez was at loss for words.
Joey crossed his arms on top of the railing, looking so much like his father that Inez felt she’d entered some strange twilight world. He continued, "Uncle Mark and Papa promised me a pony for Christmas. A real one." His eyebrows drew together. "But then, Papa brought me that rocking horse and said it was my pony. He said it would bring us luck, and we’d ride it to a new home."
He looked up, pleading for understanding. "Uncle Mark and Papa are coming back, Auntie. And they’re gonna bring a real pony. They promised."
Inez came over and hugged Joey, staring over his head at the dancing oil flame.
His voice was muffled against her jacket. "Papa said not to tell Mama. But he didn’t say I couldn’t tell you."
"I’m glad you told me." Inez untangled herself from his small arms and hung the brush back on its peg. "We should go. Your mama needs you." Subdued, she gave Lucy one last pat before leading Joey toward the waning light outside the livery.
I should tell him the truth. That his father is gone forever. That there will be no horse at Christmas. But who am I to say this, when I myself listen night after night for Mark’s footsteps at the door.
Chaper Ten
Inez stood outside the door, jangling the ring of keys Emma had given her. JOSEPH ROSE, ASSAYING OFFICE was inscribed in gilt-edged black letters on the narrow-paned window.
Susan Carothers nudged her. "Inez, open the door."
Inez lingered, taking in the mid-morning aspect of upper
Chestnut Avenue
.
Prime real estate. The sale of this building should provide well for Emma and Joey.
Susan jiggled Inez’s elbow. "I need to be back at my studio in an hour."
Inez inserted a key. There was a click, and the door swung inward. The two women entered, long skirts swishing. Subdued light filtered into a small reception area. Down the passageway, a dimmer light glimmered from the rear of the building.
Susan breezed past Inez, making a beeline for an unlit kerosene lamp. "Now what are we looking for again?"
Inez peered about, struggling against her unease. "Joe’s books, his ledgers, accounts receivables, client lists, assay notes, whatever sheds light on the condition of his business. If he’s got assaying half done in the laboratory, maybe you can determine what he was up to."
"I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. The chemistry for assaying is not at all like that for photography. What about his assistant? The Swede? He would know."
"Nils Hansen. Useless tried to track him down. Turns out, no one’s seen him for days."
Feeling like an intruder, Inez walked around the counter and approached Joe’s desk. It seemed a likely place to start. A dozen pigeon holes gaped on either side of a writing surface. A bottle of ink stood in the inkwell, capped. An unmarked blotter, empty. No papers, no clutter.
Inez remembered how particular Joe was about keeping everything in its place. By closing time, he’d have surfaces cleared, glassware washed and arranged on the laboratory’s shelves, the delicate scales used to weigh the final precious metal extracts pristine in their glass cases, and chemicals locked away inside tall glass-doored cabinets.
While Susan lit the lamp and adjusted the wick, Inez sat at the desk. The swivel chair squeaked as she explored the pigeon holes and drawers. Extra bottles of ink. Pens. Pencils, sharpened and ready. A stack of printed assay certificates. She examined one, its empty lines waiting for the number of ounces of gold and silver per ton to be filled in, and wondered how many inquiries she’d have to make in a town where fortunes rose and fell depending on those numbers. She folded it and slid it into her pocket.
"He must have had a ledger," Inez muttered. The bottom drawer appeared empty as well. Exhaling in frustration, she slammed it shut only to hear a muffled thump. Opening the drawer again she saw, leaning at an angle, the familiar rectangle of a bookkeeping ledger.
It must have been pushed up against the back wall of the drawer.
Inez opened it on the blotter. Pressed between the cover and the first page was a bill of lading from the Denver Mine and Smelter Supply Company. She squinted at the date and winced.
Joe’s last trip to Denver.
Inez turned her attention to the first page: columns of dates, names, initials, and numbers, inked in Joe’s small, controlled handwriting.
Her reading light faded as Susan carried the lamp toward the laboratory. "Susan, I found his ledger. Could you bring the lamp over?"
Susan’s footsteps halted. "Inez! Come quick!"
Holding the large record-keeping book, Inez moved as swiftly as her skirts would allow through the narrow passageway to the rear of the building.
The alternate source of illumination became obvious as she stepped into the assaying laboratory. The rear door hung ajar, held half open by a drift of snow on the plank floor. Wavering lamplight sparkled off the windblown snow and smashed glass. The scales were a tangled mess of metal, their casings broken. The air smelled acidic, and the tall cabinets gaped open, glass doors destroyed. Notes and paper littered the floor. Drawers yanked from under countertops and emptied lay every which way. Only a medium-sized black safe, tucked in one corner, appeared undisturbed.
Inez closed her eyes, unable to keep the Silver Queen’s recent disarray from crossing her mind. "Oh no!"
Susan grabbed her arm. "Who would have done this? We’d better get the marshal."
"And what do you think he will do?" Inez retorted. "Nothing! We’d better look around now, while we have a chance."
The lamplight danced over the walls. "What do you think happened?"
"My guess is someone was looking for something. Whether they found it is hard to say. The office is untouched, and the safe looks secure."
Inez spied a trash barrel under the sink, still half full. She pulled it out and tipped it over, spilling debris and adding to the chaos underfoot. Digging through bits of rubbish— rubber tubing, paper, rags—she touched something more solid than the rest. Inez pulled out a loosely wrapped bundle. The paper gave way and a stiff black form thudded at her feet.
Susan’s shriek was loud enough to break any remaining glassware.
"What
is
that?"
Inez clutched reflexively at the revolver in her pocket, her palm damp in the leather glove. She forced calm she didn’t feel into her tone, as if she were trying to soothe a panicked
horse. "A rat. A dead rat."
"Ugh!"
Inez gingerly nudged the rat with the toe of her shoe.
"Inez, what are you
doing?
"
This rat hadn’t keeled over from cold or starvation. A gash pierced its plump body, stomach to back. The brown fur was stiff with dried gore. The eyes were sunken, nearly gone. Small yellow teeth shone dully.
Far behind them, the front door banged shut. Both women jumped.
"Who’s there?" a gruff voice demanded.
Inez slid into the shadow of the rear door, revolver trained on the hall. Susan gripped the lamp tighter as a shape materialized from the corridor.
"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."