Silver Lies (16 page)

Nigel shifted aside a stack of papers restrained by a large, faceted crystal paperweight to make room on his desk. Useless plunked a satchel square on the blotter. Nigel laid a narrow hand on the rough leather, patting it like a father soothing a squalling babe. "So glad to hear you’re open again, Mrs. Stannert. A day’s lost profits is no mean figure. Leadville is booming, even now, in the dead of winter. Why, last night I met a Prussian count who’s itching to invest in the right hole in the ground."

"I prefer making my fortune aboveground." Inez watched as Nigel opened the satchel and extracted bundled bills and rolls of gold and silver coins.

"Mark my words." He tweaked his cuffs before opening the bank ledger. "Leadville has only begun her ascent in the silver firmament. Just between us, confidentially and all that, if you ever consider expanding your enterprise, you can count on us for financial backing. Astute businesses stand poised to profit enormously in Leadville."

"As do astute institutions such as yours." She accepted the note of deposit. "Now, the second matter." Inez laid Emma’s letter on his desk. "I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Rose, concerning her husband’s business. He was also one of your best customers, I believe."

Nigel took on a properly somber air. "Ah yes. A tragedy." He glanced down at the letter, absorbing the impact of her words. "Oh, I say, you’re here on behalf of the widow?"

"I’m settling Joe Rose’s affairs. I need to know the status of his business and personal accounts so Mrs. Rose can plan accordingly."

She stopped. Nigel was not reacting as anticipated. Instead of nodding solicitously and saying soothing things, such as "We’ll have those records straightaway," he was silent. He touched the note on his desk as if it might erupt in flames. Or poison him.

Inez heard the murmurs of bank clerks and customers out front and the squeak of nearby floorboards as Useless shifted from one foot to the other.

Nigel cleared his throat. "I say, perhaps we should discuss this privately."

Inez frowned, puzzled, then turned to Useless. "Why don’t you wait in the lobby."

Once the door clicked shut, Nigel refolded Emma’s note in careful quarters and pushed it gingerly across the desk to Inez.

"I can pull the records for you, Mrs. Stannert. But Mr. Rose closed his accounts with us about a month ago. I conducted the transaction personally."

Inez sat utterly still, not touching the folded note before her. Her starched lace collar scratched her neck as she swallowed. "Joe left your bank? Do you know where he moved his accounts?"

Nigel’s pencil-thin mustache twitched above his compressed lips. "He cashed out. The whole bloody lot. And there’s more."

He stopped. Then pulled a pipe from his frock coat and twirled it aimlessly between his fingers. "He took out a substantial loan with his business as collateral. Our manager, Morris Cooke, handled that. I don’t know the details." Nigel looked supremely unhappy. "I hardly need say that, unless there are funds elsewhere, we will have to foreclose."

Nigel repocketed his unlit pipe. The lace scratched mercilessly at her throat, like fingernails searching for a hold. Finally, she asked, "Anything else, Mr. Hollingsworth?"

"I think that’s probably quite enough. Don’t you?"

Inez shut her eyes.
I hope Emma has more than pin money tucked away for a rainy day. Because the skies just opened up.

999

"I hardly knew how to tell Emma." Half an hour before opening time, Inez held up the clean shot glass, inspecting it for spots
. Not that the customers ever notice.

A warped image of Abe behind the bar wavered through the double thickness. "Did you tell her we’d tide her over, help her get settled?"

"I did. But she refused to listen. I think she’s too distraught to think straight."

Emma had stared right through her when Inez tried to explain about the closed accounts, the loan. She’d whispered, "The wages of sin."

"What?" Inez had leaned forward in the window seat of Emma’s parlor, not certain she’d heard correctly.

"Harry Gallagher. He ruined us."

"What do you mean, Emma?"

She’d turned away, pulled a black-bordered handkerchief from her sleeve, and dabbed her eyes. "Joe told me. Mr. Gallagher said terrible things about Joe, then took his assaying business elsewhere. He killed Joe just as certainly as if he’d shot him."

At Emma’s mention of Harry, Bridgette’s words drifted through Inez’s mind like wisps of smoke. On impulse, Inez asked, "Emma, did you meet with Harry Gallagher? About a month ago in his hotel?"

Emma looked at her as if she’d gone mad. "I won’t even honor that with an answer."

Beneath her chagrin, Inez grew nettled. "Emma, I wasn’t suggesting you had an assignation with Harry Gallagher."

"Well, I hope not. You know, Inez, I always defend you when people talk." Her mouth trembled. "I know you’re a Christian woman, a devoted wife and mother. If you hear rumors about me or Joe, vicious, untrue lies, I hope you defend us as well." She turned away. "There’s no value in pursuing Joe’s death. Just straighten out his business affairs. Work with the bank on the loan. I’m sorry I reacted as I did. But Joe, Mr. Gallagher…it’s over. And I’m leaving Leadville forever."

In the saloon, Inez’s mind wandered tentatively over Emma’s words and tone, like hands picking out a piece of familiar music on an unfamiliar keyboard.

I don’t believe I’d ever heard Emma lie before, but I’m certain she was lying then. She did meet Harry. But I’ll learn nothing more about it from her.

Inez sighed and slid the glass under the counter.

She decided against relating the rest of that painful conversation to Abe. Instead, she remarked, "Normally, I would send an anonymous donation to the church’s Widows and Orphans’ Fund and earmark it for Emma. But I don’t trust Sands."

Abe grunted, methodically drying glassware. Useless bent over a nearby crate, adding bottles to the backbar.

"Nigel said he’d ask Morris Cooke about Joe’s loan. I still can’t believe Joe emptied his accounts and took out a loan without telling Emma. And there’s no sign of the money. What did he do with it all?"

"You talking about Joe’s widow, the pretty lady with the red hair?" Useless hugged his empty crate. "She in trouble?"

Inez winced.
I should be careful about what I say and where.
"Please don’t repeat any of this, Useless. I must count on your discretion, since mine has fled."

"Rose have gambling debts or something?"

Inez paused, glass in hand. "You saw Joe gambling?"

"I’d seen him around," Useless hedged. "Shoot, everyone in Leadville gambles." He squeezed around Abe and tried to pass Inez. She barred his progress with her arm.

"Where, exactly, did you see him?"

Useless bumped her arm once with the box, then resigned himself to an interrogation. "Uh, the Board of Trade. Red Garter."

"The Red Garter?" Inez was incredulous. "That dive?"

Gold and silver clinked as Abe counted coins into the cash box. "Inez, the boy’s right. It don’t mean much that Joe picked up a hand of cards here and there. I saw Joe myself at the Crystal Belle a few times."

"Cat DuBois’ place?" Inez felt a stab of betrayal. Abe looked neutral. Useless looked guilty. "Useless, you too?"

"Well, sure," Useless said defensively. "I go there sometimes for a drink and to talk with the girls."

The notion of tongue-tied Useless chatting it up with Cat’s women was hard for Inez to picture.

"Now, Inez." Abe added two more glasses to the growing line in front of her. "Checkin’ out the competition’s a good idea. I do it m’self. Leastwise, at those places that’ll let me in the door. Speakin’ of doors…"

Mornings, Inez reflected, were her favorite time of day. When

she wasn’t hung over or hadn’t been working until dawn.

She clucked and shook the reins. "Come on, girl."

Lucy swiveled her ears in response and quickened her pace, her winter shoes flinging bits of crusty snow into the cutter.

They headed west. The smelters, the town, Fryer Hill, and
Mosquito
Range
receded, while Elbert and Massive loomed ahead. Inez took a deep breath of cold air, reveling in the silence and wide open spaces.

The previous night had been exceedingly profitable. Patrons of Leadville’s new opera house had swelled the after-midnight crowds until the saloon was bursting at the seams. She and Abe had discussed fixing up the second story to house games of chance. Hiring a dealer or three. With the profits they were seeing, it could happen by summer.

Inez touched the pocket holding her copy of
Paradise Lost
and recalled the directions to Llewellyn Tremayne’s workshop she’d wrung from Useless an hour before.

Llewellyn’s certainly on the outskirts of town. Of course, given the price of real estate, maybe it’s all he can afford.

Finally she spotted the place Useless had described: two log outbuildings with a more finished, slab-sided structure facing the road. The sign above the front door proclaimed "Portraits, Engraving, Signs."

After hitching Lucy to a post, Inez brushed her cloak free of icy clumps and entered. A tarp curtain divided the space into a small reception area and a larger workshop in the rear. The curtain hung askew, revealing a stove and a long table. Moving closer, she spotted a covered easel positioned by a north-facing window, paint jars and tins of various sizes. The diminutive painter was nowhere in sight.

"Mr. Tremayne?"

No answer.

Inez skirted the half-counter and ducked under the tarp. The worktable held scattered papers, copper plates, and various sharp implements used, she assumed, in the engraving trade. A small printer’s press squatted to one side. Turpentine tinged the air, strong enough to make her scrunch her nose. Some of the scraps sported intricate designs that reminded her of the borders on her
Silver
Mountain
stock certificates.

The rear door opened, and Llewellyn entered, wiping his hands on a rag. The fancy duds were absent, replaced by an ink-smirched leather apron, a worn woolen shirt, and canvas pants.

Llewellyn halted, his expression anything but welcoming.