Silver Lies (46 page)

"But why would anyone think Joe is involved? And Abe? As for Mark, that’s truly strange. He’s been gone since May."

He stood. "Pray for Emma. She’s the one who needs your help."

999

Inez soft-pedaled the Bach partita, holding back, focusing on the waterfall of notes and the interaction of melody and harmony, left hand to right. With another, more distant part of her mind, she examined the facts and surmises.

When the piece was done, she sighed and covered the keyboard, music dying in her ears.
I still don’t hear it.

She reached into her pocket for the key with the horseshoe worked into the handle and turned on her stool. Joey’s rocking horse sat nearby, her only audience. "Let’s assume, for a moment, Joe was involved in counterfeiting." She wagged the key at the horse. "Storing the bills, providing a conduit for distribution from Leadville to Denver, something. He must have been under duress. I can’t imagine he would be involved of his own free will."

The horse was silent.

"Maybe," she continued, "he found a way to buy his freedom. Maybe he had some evidence that he was going to hand over to the Treasury office in Denver, after he, Emma, and Joey left Leadville. Suppose, on his last Denver trip, he left this evidence with someone he trusted. Suppose, what everyone is looking for is really in Denver. In the strongbox with Mattie Silks."

The carved eyes of the horse looked vaguely astonished at her line of reasoning.

"Then this," she held up the key, its wrought iron handle for the horse to see, "must be the key to the box in Denver."

She looked at the horse’s blank eyes. "Then again," she said slowly. "Maybe not."

She got down on her knees before the rocking horse and ran her hands over the polished wood as if blind. There, in the carved bridle, her fingers found a wooden echo of the key handle’s horseshoe-shaped design. Feverishly, her fingertips ran over the rest of the horse—the saddle, the legs. She finally turned it on its side and looked at the belly.

The seam outlining the hidden panel was nearly invisible. But she saw the keyhole, between the back legs.

Holding her breath, she placed the key in the lock and turned. A small click, and the panel pulled away.

She plunged her hand into the hollow body of the horse. Her fingers touched rough straw, stuffed in for padding, and something else. Paper, a small bundle, tied with what felt like thin rope or twine. She pulled out the bundle. A fifty dollar bill stared from the top.

After a restless night with the money under her bed and her revolver under her pillow, Inez greeted the first light of sun with dawning realizations. She hustled Joey to the saloon early. Bridgette clucked and fussed and fixed them breakfast while Inez prepared to go to the bank.

"Can I come?" Joey asked, without much hope.

"No, Joey. This is business."
And it might get unpleasant.

Inez anchored the saddlebags full of counterfeit under her cloak and grabbed the shotgun she’d brought from home. She turned to Bridgette. "While I’m gone, keep Joey with you. No one takes him anywhere."

"Not even the reverend?"

"If he shows up, ask him to wait. I shouldn’t be long."

At the Carbonate City Bank, Inez greeted the teller and gazed at the portrait mounted over his head. The smell of paint and linseed oil lingered in the air. A gathering of dark-coated, somber men stared down. Harry, she thought, was well captured, from the silver gleam in his hair to the intensity of his expression.

"I’m curious about the painting, it looks new. I recognize Mr. Gallagher. The other gentlemen are…?"

"It went up last week when the portraitist finished adding Mr. Harry." The teller said "Mr. Harry" reverentially, as if referring to God. "Shows our board of directors. Most are from Philadelphia, related to the Gallaghers in some way. We’re lucky Mr. Harry takes such a personal interest in the family’s businesses and investments out West. Most of the Gallaghers won’t set foot outside Philadelphia, New York, or Boston."

"So, Mr. Gallagher recently joined the bank’s board?"

The teller twisted around to look at the painting. "His father stepped down. His health. Mr. Harry’s turn now, I suppose. We’ll probably be seeing less of him in Leadville, what with the added responsibilities."

But he’ll be watching from the wall.
Inez gazed at the painting a moment longer, thinking on what Abe had said the day before.

She finally turned to the teller. "Thank you. I’m here to see Mr. Cooke, no need to announce me."

"Of course, Mrs. Stannert. You know the way."

Inez moved around the teller’s cage, picking up speed as she neared the manager’s office. She opened the door without knocking and walked in.

"Mrs. Stannert!" Cooke rose, eyes fixed on the shotgun.

Without a word, she set the shotgun down, unslung the saddle bag, and dumped half of its contents over his blotter and papers.

He looked at the bundles scattered on his desk. "A deposit?" He sounded uncertain.

She threw the half-empty saddlebag on the visitor’s chair. "Counterfeit."

He glanced at her over half-spectacles. "All of it?"

"Probably." Inez thought on the previous night: Bringing her china washbasin to the parlor. Pouring in the leftover glasses of brandy. Picking a random stack of fifties, taking a note from the middle, and dropping it into the brandy. Watching the bill float, the printing on the surface blur. Stirring with a finger and watching the ink swirl off the paper like smoke in the air. Five notes from five different stacks.

"Where did you get these, Mrs. Stannert?"

She placed her hands palm down on his blotter and leaned forward, nearly touching his nose with her own. "Let’s trade, Mr. Cooke. You tell me what you know about the coney ring in Leadville and I’ll tell you where I found these."

"I can’t do that." "Yes, you can." He hesitated. "We don’t know the ring is centered in

Leadville. There’s some evidence it’s being run from Denver, that certain materials are shipped from here and finished bills are shipped back."

"What materials?" Stubborn silence. "All right. A deal’s a deal. I’ll tell you where I found this.

In a rocking horse." "In a what?" "A toy. A gift from a loving father to his son." Understanding dawned on his face. "Joe Rose." "Correct. Now, shall I guess who’s part of this treasure

hunt? Let’s start with you. Harry Gallagher. Hollis, but on the periphery. Maybe Cooper, with ready advice on what one legally can and cannot do. Who else?"

Silence. "Who’s the expert Harry brought in?" Cooke started, then regained his voice and composure. "I

think we’ve traded enough." He gathered the bundles, avoiding her eyes.

"In that case, here’s a bonus." Inez held up a brown paper packet. She unwrapped it, and with exaggerated care set the stack of crisp twenty-dollar notes on Cooke’s blotter next to the bogus fifties. On the top twenty, Alexander Hamilton faced away from the neighboring stack, as if affronted to be in such company.

"My God!" The words burst from him before he clenched his jaw shut.

She watched Cooke with interest. "You’re surprised. So, no bogus twenties before now? The ink didn’t run. But I found them in the same place."

He cleared his throat, as if testing his powers of speech. "In the horse?"

"Perhaps your ring is diversifying, hmmm? First fifties. Now twenties. With better ink."

Cooke pulled out a linen handkerchief and dabbed his forehead as if the very thought caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

"Remember, Mr. Cooke, I brought these bogus notes to the bank’s attention. I’ve cooperated fully. Pass that along to Mr. Gallagher, the marshal, your ‘expert,’ and whoever else is part of this merry chase. And tell them this. Abe and I are not counterfeiters or shovers."

He paled. "Mrs. Stannert, I never thought—"

"Of course you did. But you won’t any more, will you." She retrieved her gun. "Tell Mr. Gallagher to put his energies to better use. Tell him to find the person or persons who attacked Emma Rose."

She walked out of the bank, feeling Harry’s painted eyes on her back.

999

Inez entered the back door of the Silver Queen. Bridgette, Joey, and Reverend Sands looked up expectantly.

She took a deep breath. "Reverend, may I have a word with you."

He turned to Joey. "When Mrs. Stannert and I are through, we’ll go to the stables and visit Mrs. Stannert’s horse. Deal?"

A very small smile quivered on Joey’s face. "Deal."

Inez gritted her teeth, hating what she was about to do.

In the office, she sat on the sofa. No sooner had Sands settled beside her than she jumped up and began pacing. "Last night, I found Joe’s legacy—bundles of counterfeit hidden inside Joey’s rocking horse. So, you were right. Joe was involved with a bad element. Maybe he stole the bogus notes from them and that’s what they’re after." She looked out the window at the snow, arms crossed, holding herself and her questions in.

"What did you do with it? Is it here?"

"I delivered it all to Cooke this morning."

"Did you find anything else?"

She thought about the plain silver key. "No."

She turned to see him settle back on the sofa. "Good. You did exactly what I would have done."

"There’s more." She moved forward, stopping in front of him. "This hunt for the counterfeiting ring. Cooke is in on it. Harry too." Her mouth dried. "Now, I must ask. And you must tell me the truth. Are you part of this in some way? Part of the ring?"

He reached up and extracted a hand from her crossed arms. "I can set your mind at ease. I am not a member of a coney ring."

Having him deny her worst suspicions left her feeling weak with relief. But she wasn’t finished. "Are you on the side of the law, then? Harry’s ‘expert’? A Treasury agent? Pinkerton, maybe?"

He pulled her onto his lap. "Not Treasury. Not Pinkerton."

She sagged against his chest, allowing herself to relax at last. "I remembered you mentioned Vintree, from Philadelphia. The bank and Harry have Philadelphia connections. When I came to on the bank floor and there you were with Cooke…It seemed like too many coincidences."