Fatal as a Fallen Woman (15 page)

"I am planning a variation on that theme," he said, watching Diana for her reaction. "An innovation, if you will. There will be a private entrance on the north side through which patrons may bring their own companions. Couples will entertain themselves in private dining rooms on the lower level and in private . . . parlors upstairs. With the pull of a bell, a customer can order food and drink served by the most discreet of waiters."

"Hardly innovative," Diana said. "I hear men smuggle mistresses in and out of Denver hotel rooms all the time."

The smile Leeves gave her sent a chill down her spine and forcibly reminded her of Matt's warning. He was right. Asking questions of the wrong person
could
be hazardous to the health.

They passed through what would be the main saloon, stopping to admire a white and crystal bar Leeves assured them would be the envy of every saloon keeper in Denver, before entering an even larger room.

"The roulette wheels will stand there," Leeves said, gesturing to his right, "and the Heironymous bowls opposite."

Heironymous was a dice game, Diana recalled, played with three dice and two wooden bowls, the smaller ends of which were connected by a tube. Evan had told her once that the percentage in favor of the house was enormous.

"Six faro banks against this wall," Leeves continued, pointing.

"I'm told faro is popular because gamblers don't believe the dealer can be crooked," Diana said.

"I only run square games," he said bluntly.

She said nothing. She hadn't a doubt in the world that Mr. Leeves would make a good profit, one way or another.

Diana had never understood the urge to play cards, throw dice, or spin a wheel and bet money on the outcome, but she knew all too well how powerful the compulsion to gamble could be. She also knew how easy it was for a dealer to use a tiny needle set in his ring to mark a new deck of cards. Evan had dealt faro in Leadville for a time. It had been the last gainful employment he'd had before he was killed for cheating at poker.

"I plan to have four tables for hazard and craps," Leeves said, "one table for twenty-one, two for stud poker and two for draw poker."

Diana turned her best smile on her host. If she was going to push him for information, she needed to try harder to engage him in polite conversation. "I am surprised to hear you give equal space to both, sir. Stud poker is much more popular than draw."

"You seem well acquainted with gambling dens, Mrs. Spaulding."

"My husband was, Mr. Leeves."

"Ah, yes. Your husband." Something in the way he said the word increased Diana's uneasiness. Had Leeves met Evan? It was possible. They had spent a month in Denver three years ago. Evan had probably passed most of his free time gambling. After all, he'd won enough to start his own acting company . . . only to lose it again, and his life, before the year was out.

"What provision do you make for losers?" she inquired. "Or do you simply turn them out into the street?"

"Anyone busted in my house goes away with a brass check good for drinks at the bar, a night's lodging, a meal, or a visit to the Elmira."

Diana was sorry she'd asked.

"A very posh place it will be," Jane said in admiring tones.

Diana had to agree. A far cry from the hells she'd visited with Evan. She had a sudden vivid memory of one gambling den. She couldn't recall in what town it had been, although she did remember that it was above a saloon.

It was a Saturday night and the place was crowded with men who'd worked hard all week. Miners. Clerks. Railroad laborers. There were no fashionably dressed dandies in that crowd.

Evan insisted she stand behind him, for luck. That gave her far too much time to observe the dealer, a rough-looking young man who'd left off his necktie in order to show off his diamond stud. A lookout was posted at the dealer's side to watch for cheating. He was smoking the most foul-smelling cigar Diana had ever encountered.

There was little conversation. The loudest sounds were the clinking of ivory chips and the rattle of roulette marbles. Once in awhile someone shuffled their feet, or expectorated loudly, but for the most part every man's focus was on his cards or his dice or the spin of the wheel.

And then Evan started to lose. He refused to drop out of the game, even when his last chip was gone. "What if I wager my wife?" he asked the gray-bearded gambler who held the winning hand.

Diana returned to the present with a start, uncertain how they'd gotten back to the entrance of the club. "Thank you for the tour, Mr. Leeves," she murmured, scrambling to gather her scattered wits.

"I could tell you enjoyed yourself, Mrs. Spaulding." He bowed over her hand, turning it so that he could kiss the inside of her wrist.

She found the contact distasteful but forced herself to endure it.

"If there's ever anything I can do for you . . . ."

"Do you believe my mother killed my father?" she blurted.

He smiled, and she found herself, unexpectedly, charmed. "I don't care one way or the other if she did, but I have no intention of letting her stand trial for murder. I have a different plan for Elmira's future."

"What plan?"

His dark eyes held hers so that she could not possibly mistake how serious he was. "I intend to marry her."

Chapter Eight

Very early the next morning, when the sun had barely risen and Diana was still abed, the sound of her door creaking open brought her wide awake, her heart pounding and her breath caught in her throat. With the entrance to the suite secured and the professor on duty all night downstairs, she had not felt particularly vulnerable at the Elmira, but the warnings she'd received, first from Pearl Adams and then from Matt, must have been lurking just beneath the surface of conscious thought.

In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she could not tell who had come in, but when she heard the soft footfalls approach, then stop, as if the intruder had paused to study her, she had to fight a nearly overwhelming temptation to pull the covers over her head and hide.

Instead she whispered, "Who's there?"

Someone sat on the foot of the bed. Someone heavy. "I'm told you've been looking for me," Elmira Torrence said.

"M-m-mother?" Diana sat bolt upright. Shoving the feather pillow out of her way, she scooted back until her shoulders touched the headboard.

"Have you forgotten my voice?" A muffled laugh followed the sarcasm. Even muted, there was no mistaking that distinctive bray. The raucous sound had embarrassed Diana too often in her younger days.

Questions crowded into her mind, tripping over one another in the crush. Diana did not know where to begin. She had not expected her mother to appear like this, without warning, although she wasn't sure it would have made any difference had she been given plenty of notice.

"How did you get in here?" she blurted.

"It's
my
bedroom. And my hotel."

"Yes, but—"

"Haven't you discovered the stairway in the wall? You were always a great one for ferreting out secrets when you were a girl."

"I didn't know the stairs went on beyond the peephole into the Chinese parlor."

"Then you're not as clever, or as curious, as I thought you'd be. How do you suppose you're going to be of any help to me?"

Diana sighed. She'd forgotten one little thing about her mother. There was no pleasing her. Ever. And God forbid Mother should ever utter a single word of praise for her only child!

"Well, you're here now," Elmira said shortly. "And I'm here. So we may as well discuss the situation. I did not kill your father. "Bitterness crept into her voice. "If I was going to kill anyone, it would have been Miranda."

"Who did kill him?"

"How should I know? I wasn't there. No, don't light the lamp. We've enough light without it."

Diana let her hand fall away. It was getting brighter in the bedroom as day broke outside. She could make out her mother's distinctive profile. The way her nose and chin angled away from her mouth gave her just the slightest resemblance to a rat.

"Where did you go the night Father died?"

"I had an appointment to meet Ed Leeves. He sent me a note telling me he'd be at a place we go to sometimes. He never showed up, so I can't prove I was there either."

"What excuse did he give when he called the next day?"

Elmira's brows lifted. "You
have
been busy. He said he'd never sent any note."

"Do you believe him?"

Elmira didn't answer.

"Mr. Leeves told me he's going to marry you," Diana informed her.

"Did he now?" A hint of surprise in her voice, Elmira shook her head. "We'll see about that."

Diana frowned. "Wasn't he the one who told you I was here?"

"Never mind how I knew. What's this about you trying to find out who killed Will? It's no good, Diana. You won't succeed. Too many people had reason to hate him, yourself included."

"But how many would want you blamed for his death? How many could get in here to leave a bloodstained glove in your room?"

"Enough. He was a cheat and a thief and I aided and abetted him until he turned on me."

"You helped him cheat Matt Hastings?"

Elmira sighed gustily, but Diana could not tell if it was a sound of regret or merely impatience. "I put Matt's mother up to encouraging him to invest in one of Will's mines, one I knew wouldn't produce nearly as much high grade ore as Will claimed."

"How could you do that? Betray a friend. Defraud someone, especially someone you knew. It wasn't as if you and Father needed money."

"Don't be naive, Diana. Money is the only thing your father ever cared about. Getting it and keeping it. The original mine, the Timberline, was a bonanza, and it's still producing high-grade ore, pouring a steady stream of cash into coffers that now belong to Miranda. And in the early days here in Denver, he gobbled up real estate, which yielded a fine return on the investment, but when he decided to get rid of me and marry that blonde hussy, he took steps to make sure I was left penniless. He wasn't about to share anything."

She stood and began to pace. In the steadily increasing morning light, Diana could see further proof of how much she'd changed. At fifty-three, Elmira's red-brown hair was streaked with white. She was also heavier than Diana remembered, and she'd not been a small woman to begin with.

"I think he expected me to vanish, or to kill myself to avoid the disgrace of the divorce and the insult of being the owner of this hotel. I didn't oblige him. Once I lost my position in Denver society, I decided I might as well make my money any way I could. Instead of giving up, I came into my own. I've become rather wealthy in the process."

"And Ed Leeves?"

"He helped me a bit at the start."

"Why?"

"We knew each other when we were young. Our families were friendly rivals in the hotel business. Legitimate hotels," Elmira added with a slight smile.

"Would he have killed Father? For you?"

"He's not that big a fool. Besides, he knew my plans. I was about to take my revenge on Will where it would hurt him most, in his pocketbook. Legal action, not physical retribution. He owed me, Diana. For fourteen backbreaking years, I took in laundry to make ends meet." She shuddered at the memory. "I staked him. Will would never have struck it rich if not for the money I earned."

Diana got out of bed and slipped into a robe, but she made no attempt to interrupt her mother's ranting. She'd learn more this way, she hoped, than from asking a dozen questions.

"He should have honored his marriage vows," Elmira muttered. "I did." Without warning, she spun to face Diana, wide-spaced blue eyes snapping. "Did Evan Spaulding?"

"Did Evan what?"

"Honor his marriage vows," Elmira repeated impatiently.

Diana hesitated, then shook her head. She'd been bitter about the repeated betrayals once, but she'd put those resentments behind her long ago. Like her mother, she'd come into her own. Unfortunately, she had not made nearly as much money at it as Elmira.

"Did you send him to your father? No, I can see by that confused look on your face that you didn't."

"Evan went to see Father? When?"

Elmira shrugged. "When Todd's Touring Thespians played in Denver. I went to a performance, you know. They were dreadful."

"Never mind that. We were here about three years ago. You were already divorced. How did you find out that Evan and Father had met?"

"I had my ways. But if I were you, I'd be more interested it what it was they talked about."

Had Evan tried what Diana had refused to attempt, a reconciliation? Such a move seemed out of character. By that time he'd long since stopped caring about making her happy. But he might have assumed that if she were reunited with her father, she'd be reinstated as his heir. Satisfied that this cynical explanation made perfect sense, Diana pretended indifference.

"Whatever he wanted," she said, "he didn't get it, and he never bothered to mention their meeting to me."

Elmira gave her a hard stare, then turned away to open the window curtains and let in the sun. Silhouetted there, she was an imposing sight. She was two inches taller than Diana and, at 5'7," had also been taller than her short, burly husband. But when Diana stepped closer, she saw more ravages wrought by age and hard living. Her mother's face was deeply lined and the high color in her cheeks came from broken capillaries.

"I'll have to leave soon," Elmira said, "before anyone else wakes up."

"Where are you hiding? How can I contact you? I believe Miranda killed Father and framed you. Matt has promised to help me prove it."

"Matt Hastings? You trust him?"

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

Elmira considered the question for a moment. "I don't know. I've learned the hard way not to trust anyone."

"He's a lawyer, Mother. If you're caught—"

"I don't intend to
be
caught. Do you think I could stand to be cooped up in a stone-floored cell with no light at night and no furnishings but a backless bench and a lumpy mattress stuffed with musty straw?"