Silver Lies (14 page)

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 patrician 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?"

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."

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.