Silver Lies (17 page)

"Mrs. Stannert. What are you doing here?" He hurried to the table, dropping the rag over the copper plates.

She held up
Paradise Lost
. Seeing his blank expression, she added, "For the painting."

He looked at the volume, then down at his inkstained hands. "I’ll wash up. We can talk out front."

Inez glanced again at the table. A small engraving of a woman, dressed in classical garb, holding shield and sword. A pencil sketch of a pair of double-Xs—one with flourishes, one plain—lay side-by-side with a small-scale line engraving of the same. The images seemed familiar. Llewellyn moved forward, blocking her view and gathering the sheets together. "Please, Mrs. Stannert." He nodded pointedly at the curtain.

Once he’d joined her at the counter, she pulled a sheet of writing paper from the book. "I noted pages you might peruse for a sense of
Milton
’s Heaven and Hell."

Her eyes strayed over his head to the hidden workroom. "I didn’t realize you do engraving."

He reached out to take the book. Ink still stained his cuticles. "A sideline. My bread-and-butter is signs for the new businesses in town." He gestured at a stack of boards leaning against the wall. The one on top read P.T. WARNER BOOKS & STATIONERY. The scent of varnish melded with that of paint and new wood.

"I’m hoping my recent notoriety in portraiture will make the sign-painting unnecessary. Although I’d sooner paint signs or whitewash fences than go underground with the other Cousin Jacks."

Tremayne, Trelawney, Treleaven, Trevelyan
. Inez recognized Llewellyn’s last name as one more note in a litany of Cornish surnames that flooded Leadville’s city directory. The Cousin Jacks came to work the mines, leaving behind
Nevada
’s silver, the
Midwest
’s lead and coal, and
Cornwall
’s tin. "Mining’s not for you, hmmm?"

Llewellyn’s eyes were black pools, iris to pupil. "A blast in a
Pennsylvania
coal mine killed most of my family. I vowed I’d never join them. Now, let’s see your book."

999

Back in Joe’s office, again. Inez pinched her nose, still numb from the ride back to town.
All I do these days is trudge in circles. With little or no result, it seems.

The office door opened and Abe walked in. "Mornin’ Inez. How was your ride?"

"Cold. Took me half an hour to get there." She picked up the lamp and followed Abe to the laboratory.

Abe dropped a scuffed saddlebag with a clank.

Inez eyed the bag. "You haven’t explosives in there, have you?"

"Nope." Abe hunkered down in front of Joe’s safe. In one fluid motion, he pulled out his knife, flipped it, and caught the blade. He tapped the safe’s front panel with the hilt. The metal rang.

"Bring that light over, Inez." He examined the safe. "Ordinary plate iron. I can do this fast, if you don’t plan on sellin’ it. Or see if I can work out the numbers."

"I don’t care about the safe, only the contents."

Abe opened the saddlebag and removed a pick and a jimmy. "Take me ’bout twenty minutes."

It took him fifteen.

She looked at the ripped-out iron panel, pried-back bolt, and broken lock. "That was fast."

He stood, brushed off his trousers. "Guess I still have the touch. Not that I plan on revisitin’ that line of work."

Holding the lamp high, Inez stooped and peered into the maw of the safe. A stack of mottled notebooks lay beneath two dusty canvas bags tied with frayed ropes. "Joe didn’t hide his fortune here."

"Too bad." Abe loaded the tools back into the saddlebag.

Inez pulled out the notebooks and the sacks. She held the lamp as close to the safe’s interior as she could. Floor, wall, ceiling: empty.

Well, what did I expect? Greenbacks and double eagles stacked to the top?
Much as she hated to admit it, that was exactly what she’d hoped for. Or at least some clear indication of where the money from his accounts and the loan had gone.

A peek inside a sack revealed a jumble of fist-sized rocks. She took out one. Sharp-edged, black and brown, with pinpricks of silver catching lamplight. Its secrets, she knew, would only be revealed by the application of chemicals and intense heat of the assay process. She put it back with its brethren and retied the bag. The rope looked familiar.
Like Chet’s belt.

She hauled experimentally on one bag.

"Here, Inez. I’ll take those." Abe reached for the two sacks.

"They’re probably Chet Donnelly’s samples. Put them in our office safe for now." She glanced at the broken iron box before them. "Not that it would keep out anyone who’s really determined."

Abe hefted the bags. "You comin’?"

"Soon."

"Suit yourself."

After he’d left, Inez opened the top notebook. The pencil marks on the pages might as well have been a secret code. Rows of numbers, interrupted by cryptic notes and what looked like chemical notations, ran from first page to last. She recognized abbreviations for commonly assayed metals:
Ag
for silver,
Au
for gold,
Pb
for lead,
Cu
for copper. Finally, she spotted a date:
9 April 1879
. "Where’s November and December?" she said aloud in frustration.

"Hello!" A cultured voice sang out from the front. "Mrs. Stannert?"

Jed.
"In the back."

Inez shoved the notebooks into a nearby drawer as the gate squeaked a warning.

Jed Elliston walked briskly into the laboratory, crossing the room in four long strides. "Any luck with the safe?" He threw an indifferent glance at the wreck in the corner. "Empty. Pity. Now, look at this!"

Elliston opened the ledger to a page marked with a grosgrain ribbon. He cracked his knuckles, radiating energy and impatience.

"What is it?" Inez brought over the circle of light.

Elliston stabbed a finger at the columns. "The initials C.D. show up June and August. Nothing in July or September. Mid-October, he’s back again. What do you think? Could that be that fellow Chet Dunney?"

"Donnelly. When’s the last C.D. entry?"

Elliston paged forward. "Mid-October, there’s several more. And that’s it. But we don’t know what’s on the missing page. I’ve checked out these last few entries before his death. Local mines. Standard stuff."

"Sounds like I should talk with Chet." Inez gazed down at the ledger.

"Or I could." Elliston sounded hopeful, with an undercurrent of obstinacy.

"I think not."

"But—"

"Jed, if you start hounding Chet with questions, he’ll break your nose and make himself scarce. Or get so drunk we’ll never get any sense out of him."

Elliston glowered. "You’re going to cut me out."

"Not at all. I’ll just approach him when he drops by for a drink. Idle bar chatter. He won’t suspect a thing. Good God, Jed. You run a newspaper. He’s not going to sit down for a friendly chat with you."

Jed’s lower lip began to jut in a juvenile pout. She sighed.
I can just imagine Jed at five years old when someone took away a favorite toy. I’ll have to give him something else to occupy him.

She laid a placating hand on his arm. "While I’m waiting for Chet to get thirsty and make an appearance, why don’t you check the Recorder’s Office? You can track down the claims Chet’s recorded since spring, his partners, whom he’s sold to and for how much. See what he’s been up to."

"In other words, run down the paper trail." His eyebrows drew in over his eyes.

Sensing a tantrum was imminent, Inez hurried on. "He’s been throwing a lot of money around recently. Perhaps he’s sold off some of his workings. That should be listed as a change in ownership, right? Might be interesting to see who the buyers are. See if they were Joe’s clients as well." She breezed along, making up the melody as she went, but she could see that Elliston was responding to her invention.

The pout receded and his brow cleared. "Hmmm. Perhaps some of the major mining interests are involved. Tabor, Gallagher, Chaffee, and the rest are gobbling up property as fast as they can. Won’t be long before they own it all, if they don’t already."

He began to look cheerful. "I could pose a question here or there. Find out what new ventures are surfacing."

She pasted on an expression of encouragement. "Wonderful idea. And with your access to the rich and famous—"

"Well, family connections and the male prerogative." His superior air returned. "Yes, you’d best wait for that
Chester
fellow to show up. You can verify whatever I uncover. We’ll compare notes in a few days."

"Ah, Jed. Remember Miss Carothers." He blinked. "She could be most helpful with this." His face cleared. "Oh. Of course. I’ll find some suitable

task for her." "Of course you will," Inez said softly, watching him go. She retrieved the notebooks after he left, an idea beginning

Inez peered through the window around the stenciled words "Carother’s Photographic Portraits: Best Prices and Quality Work." Through the half-pulled velvet drapes in the sitting area, she could see Susan posing a young couple. Susan removed the portrait camera’s lens cap, and their faces bleached white in an instant of powder flash.

Inez entered, a tinkling bell announcing her arrival. She smiled at the couple, noting the silver band on the woman’s left hand, the store-bought formal clothes.
Newlyweds.

Susan said, "Your photographs will be ready Saturday, Mr. McGowan."

"Thankya," he muttered. The McGowans hastened to the door. After the bell subsided, Susan threw herself into an upholstered corner chair, motioning Inez to its mate. An occasional table between them held a tea set.

"Married two days ago." She absently pulled at the curtain of bangs on her forehead, then brightened. "Reverend Sands performed the ceremony and recommended they come here. Wasn’t that nice of him?"