Silver Lies (23 page)

Bridgette blushed to the top buttons of her wool overdress. "Oh no, not from Mrs. Stannert. Around town."

"Leadville was that impressed with my first sermon." A smile etched deep lines at the corners of his eyes.

"Well now, when a nice-looking and by all accounts unattached gentleman like yourself comes to town, ladies get interested and tongues start a-wagging."

"Bridgette!" Inez couldn’t decide if she was amused or horrified.

Sands turned to Inez. "Quite all right, Mrs. Stannert. Truth to tell, it’s flattering to find myself so noticed. I’ll be on my best behavior."

"Abe, Reverend Sands and I will be in the office discussing church business."

Abe stopped wrapping the knife hilt and looked the reverend over. "Reverend. Got a piece of advice for you." He pointed the blade at Sands. "You want to stay healthy, you’d best carry a sidearm."

Sands spread his hands. "I’m a man of the cloth, Mr. Jackson."

"Don’t make no nevermind. Even women go armed in Leadville. Ask Mrs. Stannert if you don’t believe me." Abe returned to his task.

Inez realized with a start that Abe was right: The only thing interrupting the reverend’s somber garb was a silver watch chain, looping across his black waistcoat.
No gun.
It was as unexpected as finding a man standing barefoot in a snowbank.

Once in the office, Reverend Sands strolled to the window.
Mount Massive
towered four thousand feet above Leadville’s rooftops. "Impressive."

His gaze lowered to the desk and William’s photograph. "Handsome little fellow. Do I detect a family resemblance?" He reached out. To Inez, the sight of his fingers on the glass-covered photograph felt like an invasion of her heart.

She moved quickly, picked up the case, and snapped it shut.

He looked startled. "Pardon. I meant no disrespect."

She slid the palm-sized case into her pocket, reminded of yesterday and Harry’s photograph. "It’s a painful subject." She motioned him to the loveseat. "Now, you had something you wanted to discuss?"

Reverend Sands walked over to the overstuffed couch and remained standing. He removed his hat, ran a hand through his light brown hair. The light picked out gray at his temples. He appeared tired and somewhat chagrined. "It seems that I’ve offended you. I came to make a confession and offer an apology."

"A minister confessing to a member of his flock? Most unusual." She settled into the desk chair.

"Nothing about this situation is usual." He sat on the edge of the couch and leaned forward, looking her straight in the eyes. "To be blunt, I committed the sin of not practicing what I preach. ‘Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’ Luke six, verse thirty-seven."

She raised her eyebrows. And waited.

"I judged by what I saw. A woman, running a saloon, with a husband—pardon me, if I’m mistaken here—nowhere in sight. In my experience, that usually means the woman is.…" He floundered, then proceeded doggedly, a man charging up a steep slope into the unknown. "I was taken to task by those who know you better. I apologize and hope you won’t hold my previous behavior against me."

She let the silence hang. His face remained open, contrite.
How much is real, how much is bullshit? Well, he’s asking for a truce. It would be heartless to turn him down. Not to mention rude. If he’s after something else, I expect I’ll find out before this conversation ends.

"Apology accepted. I suppose we both erred, since I judged you as well." Inez smiled.

He leaned back against the couch, taking a relaxed posture at last. His eyes, however, were vigilant. "We have something else in common. A desire to help the Roses."

Ah. Now we’ll see.

He continued, "I understand you’re settling Joe Rose’s business affairs. It would be best if you wrapped them up quickly."

"What’s the hurry? Emma said she wasn’t leaving until the new year."

"True. But if she can leave earlier, all the better."

He’s not answering the question. Let’s see what he knows.

"Reverend, Joe didn’t leave Emma a cent. Even worse, he put his business up as collateral for a large loan. Now, I’ll ask again. What’s the hurry?"

"Joe Rose took out a loan? Do you know why?"

Now he’s interested.
She crossed her arms and remained silent.

The reverend studied her. "My turn to raise, call, or fold, hmmm?"

The flag of truce dipped. "You fold, so help me, I’ll shoot you as you walk out the door and claim that you brought it on yourself. And it would be the honest truth."

Reverend Sands laughed in genuine amusement. "You’d shoot a man of God in the back? By Jove, I believe you would. Well, Mr. Jackson did say you were a dangerous woman." He pulled out his silver pocketwatch and flipped open the cover. "There’s no time now for the kind of conversation we need to have. Forgive me, but I’m going to call your bluff on this one, Mrs. Stannert." He stood and held out his hand.

"In that case, Reverend Sands, I’ll grant you a reprieve. But we must have that conversation. And soon." She took his proffered hand and rose.

He smiled. "I think we’re beginning to understand each other. And I’m glad we had a chance to talk." His tone imparted more significance to that last word than she would have imagined possible. "Perhaps," his warm clasp tightened slightly, "since you extended the invitation, I will drop in tonight. Perhaps we could talk further, after your game."

The implied question hovered in the air between them.

Inez’s flustered gaze fell on the desk and the blank assay certificate from Joe’s office. A memory clicked. "I knew it!" She pulled her hand from his grasp and pounced on the paper. "There’s one more person for you to meet. A painter, who’s doing some work for us. I think he did work for Joe as well."

Downstairs, Llewellyn was covering his caulking tin and preparing to leave.

Inez set the certificate on the bar. "You did these for Joe Rose."

He looked at the paper as if it might bite him.

"It’s your work. I saw this very design on a scrap of paper in your workshop."

"I’m sorry, Mrs. Stannert. Jobs come and go. Assay certificates, bank drafts, stationery—"

"May I?" Reverend Sands picked up the certificate. "Nice work. Very professional. So, painting and engraving. Printing too, perhaps?"

"And signs," Inez added.

"Hmmm." Sands’ expression reminded her of his remark on sheep and wolves. "I need some marriage certificates. A design like this will do."

Llewellyn stuffed caulking tools into his satchel. "Engrav-ing’s only a sideline."

Sands leaned over the bar. "But you do it often enough to forget the clients, right? This," his finger jabbed the paper, "is exactly what I’m after."

Llewellyn shrank back, then regrouped. "Of course, Reverend, if you insist. But I probably won’t get to your certificates right away. I’ve got Mrs. Stannert’s project, I’ve got other commissions—"

"I’ll come to your workshop. We’ll talk business."

"I’m not always in."

"I’ll find you." Llewellyn paled at the ominous tone. Sands addressed Inez. All courtesy. "May I keep this?" "Suit yourself." "Thank you." It disappeared inside the black overcoat.

"Until later, Mr. Tremayne." He smiled at Inez. Winter

retreated. "See you tonight, Mrs. Stannert." Llewellyn watched Sands leave. "Who did you say that was?" "Reverend Sands. The interim reverend for our church." He shouldered his ladder and bag. "The less I have to do

with him the better." Inez leaned her elbows on the bar and watched Llewellyn hurry out. Abe appeared and lifted the cat from her curled-up comfort on the bar. "What was all that about?"

"The reverend wants some marriage certificates done up. I think Llewellyn’s got himself another customer. Not that he’s very pleased about it."

"That’s not what I meant." She sighed. "Reverend Sands wants a truce. For the Roses’ sake." "Hmmph. You tell him about Nils?" "No. Of course not." "Glad to hear. Just because he packs the Good Book don’t

mean he’s honest." Abe put on a clean apron. "Fella puts on some outfit that makes him into someone folks trust: an apron for a bardog, a black suit for a minister. Mix a bit of truth with the lies, real smooth, no one knows what’s what. Just remember, he ain’t here permanent. Six months, mebbe sooner, he’s gone. He’s got no real stake in the Roses, Leadville, or you."

The words unexpectedly stung. "Don’t preach, Abe. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, if we’re going to sidestep all who aren’t what they seem, that’d be nine-tenths of the town."

"Yeah, but pourin’ drinks, fixin’ wheels, or pullin’ teeth is

Inez adjusted the small silver butterfly perched on her chignon as she conducted a quick visual inspection of the spittoons in the card room. Her lapel watch showed a
quarter to eight
. Her players would be arriving soon.

She glanced around. Comfortable upholstered chairs snugged up to a round mahogany table, parlor stove spinning out warmth. The rug underfoot echoed the leaf pattern of the gold-flocked wallpaper. Ornate bronze lamp sconces cradled lamps set high to banish shadows. All reflected Mark’s vision of elegant interior decorating, conducive to the masculine pursuits of whiling away time and money.

A staccato roar of voices cut off with the click of a closing door. Turning from the sidebar, Inez saw Useless holding a box of high-grade liquor. "Over here, Useless." She shifted the crystal glasses to one side.

When he didn’t respond, she looked up.

He stood, trapped behind the box, staring at the square low-cut neckline of her dress. The words that finally ground out were innocuous enough. "You sure look nice, Mrs. Stannert."

Inez looked down, brushing the watered silk maroon bodice. "I haven’t worn this since summer."
Since Harry
. Earlier that evening, she’d pulled the shimmering dress from the depths of the upstairs wardrobe on an impulse. An impulse engendered by the reverend’s lingering hand clasp that morning and his promise to "drop in."

She continued, "This was one of my husband’s favorites. He always said, the lower the neckline, the less attention men pay to the cards. I swear, if he’d had his druthers, he’d’ve had me prancing around looking like one of Cat DuBois’ boarders."