Authors: Ann Parker
"Hollis has the wrong man. Abe wouldn’t ever hurt Emma."
Harry lifted the glass but didn’t drink. "And counterfeiting? Is that something else he wouldn’t ever do?"
The corner clock ticked into the silence.
He continued, "It doesn’t look good, Inez. What makes it worse are the saddlebags found in your storeroom."
"I gave those bags to Morris Cooke along with the counterfeit I’d found. Joe had hidden it in his son’s rocking horse. But Cooke didn’t tell you, did he. After I left those bags with him, someone broke into my house, axed the horse, and left a note threatening Joey Rose. I’ll bet once I left town, Cooke just stuffed the bogus money back in the bags and had Useless plant them where they’d be found by…Hollis? Sands? You’re right. It looks bad. But Cooke and DuBois set it up that way."
Harry looked at Inez as if she’d announced her intention to sprout wings and fly out the window.
Inez hurried on. "If you want counterfeiters, start with Cooke and Cat DuBois. And Llewellyn Tremayne."
Harry held up a hand. "Tremayne. The artist of your mural." He gazed at her quizzically. "Were you really going to paint me as Satan, Inez?"
I need Harry to believe me. No one else can stop this madness.
"I was angry." She moved to her desk chair and shifted the papers off the seat, avoiding his gaze. "I’m sorry, Harry."
He raised his eyebrows. "A little late for apologies."
She rolled the chair closer to him. "I can explain. If you’ll listen."
He emptied his glass and refilled it. "So you’re willing to deal with the devil to save Jackson and your own skin. All right. I’ll listen to your story. Whether I’ll believe is another thing."
She set the carpetbag on her lap. "I was going to put this and an explanation in the safe for you. Bridgette was going to contact you about it." She unfastened the latch.
He quickly leaned forward and gripped her wrist. "Slowly. I have no desire to be shot with that pocket revolver of yours."
Inch by inch, she reached inside and withdrew the knot of flannels. While unwrapping the plates and papers, she said, "These were Joe’s trump card. He left them with someone he trusted." She handed him the plates. "Is this what you’ve been searching for, Harry? What you asked Sands, the ex-Secret Service operative, to find?"
Harry examined the twenty-dollar plates briefly, then rewrapped them. "How did you know about Sands?"
"Someone in town recognized him. And there’s the picture on your desk. You were in the War together. Is he really a man of the church? Or is that another subterfuge?"
Harry’s pale eyes glinted in the murky light. "Still interested in Sands? Do you want to know what the good reverend did for me during the War? He hunted. Information, deserters, spies, he’d bring them back. Or not. As ordered."
"You brought him here. Why? Why not go to the Secret Service or the Treasury Department? Isn’t catching counterfeiters their business?"
He tipped his glass, watching the level of the brandy change. "What do you think goes through the minds of men like Eisemer when they visit places like Leadville?" He didn’t wait for her reply. "They look around. At the businesses, the price of real estate, how well the town is run. Then, they estimate the profits from possible investments. If they see bodies swinging from half-finished buildings and hear tales of labor troubles, crooked assayers, murderers, and counterfeiters, they think anarchy. There’s no profit in anarchy." He relit his cigar. "Do you think these men are gamblers?" More smoke hazed the air between them. "They play only when the odds are in their favor. Here in Leadville, we improve those odds through law and order. No lynchings, no vigilantes, no slippery mine deals. No counterfeiting."
"But the coney ring is based in Denver. Surely working with the authorities—"
"Denver is not my concern," he interrupted. "Trouble in Denver may even work in our favor, give Leadville a shot at becoming the capital. Now
that
would be good for business. I needed someone to take care of the counterfeiting activities here in town quietly, swiftly. Sands was to find those involved and send them packing. "
"How did you even know about the ring?"
"Bad bills started circulating last spring. No one wanted that kind of publicity for Leadville, so we tracked the money ourselves. We narrowed it down to State Street before your husband conveniently disappeared. I made inquiries. It didn’t take long to uncover some interesting information about your husband and Jackson." He looked at her a long time. "All summer, I debated whether you were a part of it or not. You’re hiding your past. You stayed in Leadville after your husband left. Sent away your son. What holds you here? Still, I was inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your grief seemed genuine enough. As did your affection. At least, until I returned in October."
He idly ran a finger around the rim of the glass, making it hum. "Once Sands arrived, everything got far too complicated. Then, you disappeared. Like your husband. The bottom line is, counterfeit was found hidden in your saloon and Jackson has a lot of explaining to do. Nothing points to you directly. Not everyone agrees. Cooke and Hollis think you’re part of the ring. Sands and others are convinced you’re innocent. However, I’m not certain I can credit what Sands says about you."
"What about you, Harry?" Her chair squeaked as she leaned forward. "Do you think I had anything to do with this? Other than wanting to help Emma and find who killed Joe Rose?"
Harry looked at her, wearily, then glanced at the plates. "Sands ran Tremayne to ground some time ago. You’re not telling me anything new."
I’m losing him. He doesn’t believe me.
Her desperation increased. "But do you know about Llewellyn Tremayne’s connection to Mrs. DuBois? How Chet Donnelly and Joe tried to double-cross her?"
He narrowed his colorless eyes and said nothing.
"She and Llewellyn were an item in Denver. As for Chet—" She smoothed out contracts, the map, and assay certificates. "Mrs. DuBois grubstaked him this summer and Joe did the assays. When Chet found something big, Joe probably saw his chance. He played down the results to DuBois, planning to buy her stake in the claim once she sold it back to Chet.
I’m certain Joe saw it as a way to escape the coney ring. He couldn’t have been more than a go-between. You knew Joe. He wasn’t an bad man."
Harry examined the papers. "You went to Denver."
"It would take too long to explain all the reasons why. I found Chet’s sample bags after Joe’s death and kept a few pieces." She tapped Helt’s assay report. "Those are the results. The real results."
"Donnelly." Harry spoke the name with resignation and distaste, then tossed the papers on the loveseat. "You spin a good tale when you’re desperate, Inez. Like Joe Rose."
"Why would I lie? Why would he?"
He leaned forward. "Let me tell you about Joe Rose. After I cut him off for cheating, he crawled back. He’d heard I was tracing the counterfeit activity in Leadville. He named names, same as you. He wanted money. I wanted proof. He showed me the bills, but that was nothing. He could have picked them up anywhere. He said he could get a plate on his next trip to Denver."
"What happened?"
Harry’s voice slowed. "Sands was coming to Leadville. I didn’t need Joe. When he returned, he offered to give me a key and a location in Denver where the plates and other information were. I told him the deal was off, it didn’t include a wild goose chase to Denver." He looked away, out the window. Inez thought she detected a bitter twist to his smile. "You recall the row he started the night before he died. Joe obviously thought I should pay him for his trouble, even though he didn’t follow through on his part of the bargain." Harry’s gaze returned to her. Flat. Final. "I owed Joe Rose nothing."
"Did Joe mention Cat DuBois?"
"Mrs. DuBois is a convenience. You give her too much credit."
"You don’t give her enough. No wonder she’s hidden her activities so successfully. She’s invisible to you. When she’s not being a ‘convenience.’"
"Defending Mrs. DuBois? That’s a first for you, Inez."
"What about you, letting Joe off the hook when he offered proof. And bailing out his widow. Those are firsts for you, Harry." She wheeled back on the chair’s casters, distancing herself. "Joe had the answers, but you didn’t pursue it. Why not? What really changed while he was in Denver? What happened during that time—"
Inez stood abruptly. The chair rolled backward, bumping the desk. "You met with Emma Rose."
Smoke rose like a screen. "She had nothing to do with it."
"I always found it hard to believe that Joe managed to keep such a big secret from Emma. I’ll bet she found out, somehow. I’ll bet she begged you not to pursue it. What payment did you exact from Emma?"
Silence.
Inez stepped through the smoke. Mirroring Mattie Silks’ gesture, she thrust her arms out, wrists crossed. Holding Harry’s gaze, she said softly, "Did you use silk so she wouldn’t bruise? Or were you in too much of a hurry. Or didn’t you care."
He sat, eyes half closed, as if mulling over her words. Inez held her pose, wondering if she’d made a mistake, read the music wrong.
His hand shot out and imprisoned her right wrist before she could blink.
"We were having such a civilized conversation, Inez. The first in months. Then, you had to cross the line." He stood, forcing her backward. "Emma’s not the one I want."
"Emma was pregnant when she was attacked." Inez felt the wall at her back. "She lost the baby. She told me weeks ago she didn’t want this child. Maybe she thought it yours."
She gasped in pain as his grip tightened.
"None of this would have happened, Inez, if you’d responded differently when I returned last fall. I wouldn’t have been tempted. I would have turned Joe’s offer away, out of consideration for you. He might have lived. But you slammed the door in my face. Refused to talk to me. Returned my gifts. Sent my letters back. With no explanation." He stepped closer, pressing her against the wall. His voice lowered to a caress. "My mistake was treating you like a lady instead of like Cat DuBois."
The moonlight flashed on the double rings of her left hand as she slapped him hard.
He jerked back without letting go.
She stared, enraged and aghast at the parallel gashes on his right cheek.
His mouth twisted below the dark mustache. He grabbed her left wrist and captured her mouth with a kiss that echoed of past passion tangled with rage and determination. Her anger rose to meet his, kindling a response between them that burned like a dark invisible fire.
Inez felt as if she was melting, her anger incinerated to ash, leaving a core hot and pure as liquid silver after the intense fire of the assay furnace has burned all else away. Her carefully erected defenses wavered and collapsed. She grasped the lapel of Harry’s evening jacket, pulling him closer.