Silver Lies (29 page)

Cat laughed in delight, a descending scale of notes. She snapped her fan open and closed, seemingly relishing the exchange. "Why, you’re quite wrong. She
is
my property. Angel, why don’t you tell Mrs. Stannert how I saved you from becoming meat for the maggots. No? Then I will."

Cat faced Inez with a vengeance. "I found Angel in a
Denver
alley. Fucking for crusts of bread."

Mrs. Hoffman sucked in her breath. Cat ignored her.

She lightly tapped Angel’s breast with her closed fan. "That pile of rags in the gutter beside you. Your brat? You never did say. Well, it was dead. But you lived. Thanks to me and me alone. Oh yes, I own you, body and soul."

Cat slapped the closed fan against her open palm. The crack sounded like a whip in the dressmaker’s shop.

"It works both ways, Mrs. Stannert. I give Angel shelter, food, beautiful clothes." She indicated the elegant dress. "Put her in a position to be adored by men of wealth, position, and power. And she gives me…" Cat tipped her head, red lips thinning into a smile. "We’re back to money. Think, Mrs. Stannert, if your recently departed husband had left you with no bank account, no property, where would you be now? Who knows? You might be working for me."

"You’re despicable!" Inez forced her still raw voice into service. "It’s clear you take advantage of this girl and take pleasure in speaking in a particularly foul manner. You don’t shock me. I’ve heard those words before and more. And, one more thing."

Inez moved forward into Cat’s lilac scent, close enough to see the face powder caked into creases around her painted mouth.

"We’re not the least bit alike, Mrs. DuBois," she whispered. "You don’t know me. No more than you know what lies in Angel’s heart."

Inez turned to Angel, who stood, lips parted, following the exchange. "Should you ever decide to leave the trade, remember the Silver Queen Saloon, corner of
Harrison
and State. I’ll help you find another way, a way that allows you to keep your dignity."

Cat sneered. "Don’t give her any grand ideas. Angel’s just a whore, like the rest of us. Not worthy of your attention. Angel, get your cloak!"

Cat pulled bank notes from her purse and threw them down. The paper money scattered around Mrs. Hoffman’s long skirts like leaves. "For the dress. At this price, I expect alterations with no whining. Ladies, we
are
the same, in this way: We provide services for money. Mrs. Hoffman, I suggest you provide those services with a smile."

The door slammed behind Angel and Cat. Mrs. Hoffman collapsed onto the platform and drew a handkerchief from her sleeve. Inez started forward, but Mrs. Hoffman held up a hand. "No, please, it’s just that
woman
." She spat out the word as if it were spoiled food. "If pride goeth before a fall, she’s headed straight for perdition."

"It’s not pride that drives Mrs. DuBois," said Inez. "It’s ambition."

Mrs. Hoffman dabbed at her eyes, then stooped to gather the currency. "I would never have taken her business, only most of the decent women left town for the winter and won’t return until late spring. I need the money."

Inez recognized the tone of dread, the unspoken fear of not being able to cover the business costs and grocer’s bills.

When Mrs. Hoffman returned from putting the money away, the handkerchief was back up the sleeve, and her face was composed. "I’m sorry you walked in on that. Now, what can I do for you, Mrs. Stannert?"

Inez also tried for a normal tone. "I’m looking for something suitable for the soiree. Nothing flashy," she added hastily, remembering Angel’s skin-tight, revealing dress.

Mrs. Hoffman nodded. She ran her eyes over Inez’s figure, as if extracting a mental file of pertinent measurements. "It’s too late to sew up anything." Her face brightened. "But I have something that might do."

She hastened to one of three massive oak wardrobes and pulled out a dress. Laying it on her worktable, she said, "I made this for Mrs. Smythe, but she left town. It’s a lovely mix of greens."

Mrs. Hoffman smoothed the satin insets on the velvet overdress. The material fairly begged to be touched. "And, if I’m not mistaken—" She held it up to Inez. "Perfect for your complexion." Her expression became thoughtful. "Ruffles at the hem and sleeves for length." She glanced at Inez’s waist. "You’ll have to lace tighter."

"Mrs. Hoffman, please, I want to be able to dance without falling over in a faint." Inez looked down at the dress, tempted, but still doubtful. "I’d like to be able to wear it on other occasions as well."

"The underdress with your black cashmere would work for Sundays and special occasions." She faced Inez, the underskirt bunched in one hand. "Given that the twenty-

seventh is less than two weeks away, it’s the best I can do."

"How much?"

She told her.

Inez swallowed hard.
At two hundred, I had better find many occasions for wearing it.
She removed a glove and ran a hand over the different textures and shades. "Very well. I’ll pay half now. But I’ll need one more alteration. A pocket. A little deeper than—" She held her hands apart, the length of her pocket Remington.

Mrs. Hoffman squeezed her eyes shut, looking like a child that had just been offered a spoonful of cod liver oil. "This, this is an
evening
dress."

"You’re a marvelous seamstress. I’m certain that, when you’re done, the pocket will be invisible. Now, when should I come in for a fitting?"

"The twenty-third." Mrs. Hoffman watched Inez count out coins and currency. "That gives me a few days if I need to make further alterations. I would have it ready sooner, but…" Her expression fell.

Sun slanted down Tiger Alley, lending a false warmth to the early morning air. At the back door of the Silver Queen, Inez scraped snow off her sturdy walking shoes. Her gaze traveled down the path where
State Street
’s buildings revealed their less public aspects. For a moment, she imagined Joe walking the alley in the dead of night. She shook her head to banish Joe’s ghost and went inside.

Abe was finishing off a fried breakfast steak.

"Good morning, Abe, Bridgette."

Abe speared another chunk of meat and offered it to the calico meowing at his feet. "Mornin’ to you too, Inez. You’re soundin’ almost normal today." A quick snap of feline teeth, and the cat vanished into the storeroom with her prize. "Meant to ask, Inez, have you seen my knife past few days?"

"No." She dumped Joe’s notebooks and ledger on the table. "Oh Abe, not your knife. You’ve carried that since the War. How long has it been gone?"

"Since Monday." Abe absently thumbed the edge of the cutlery knife. "Didn’t want to mention it, you bein’ so busy settlin’ Joe’s business."

"Those men, the Exodusters, slept here Saturday and Sunday. You were with them. Could one of them have…?"

Abe set the knife on the plate. "Well, if one did, he probably needed it more’n me. I’ll just get another. How’s it comin’ with Joe’s books?"

"Done." She sat down across from him. "I tried to return them to Emma. She said, ‘What good will they do me in
California
? Throw them out.’" Inez sighed and flipped the ledger pages. "All I’ve left to do is return Chet’s bags and the five dollars he gave Joe to perform the last assays."

"Reminds me, Chet was here last night lookin’ for you. He’s been holed up on his Fryer Hill claim with the twins. Turns out, they’ve broken through into one of Silver Moun-tain’s drifts. They’re hunkered underground, eyeball to eyeball with Harry’s boys, shotguns at the ready. Chet figures Harry’ll make an offer pretty soon. He wants to be there so’s the twins don’t give it away."

"I imagine Harry’s not too happy about that."

Abe rocked his chair back on two legs. "Best thing in my opinion, not that you asked, is you hand over those bags to me and I take them on up the hill to Chet. Sounds pretty tense up there."

"I’ll go. Lucy can use the exercise. Besides, I have questions for Chet." Inez poured coffee for herself and Abe, taking care to leave the broken egg shells in the pot.

"Thanks, Inez." Abe’s chair thumped back down. "You heard about Emma’s good fortune, the loan bein’ paid and all."

"Mmm-hmm." She sat again. The heat from the stove warmed her back though her fingers still tingled with cold. "How did you hear?"

"Your reverend. He dropped by last night about
midnight
." Abe sipped his coffee. "I think he was a mite disappointed you weren’t here."

Inez bristled. "He’s not ‘my’ reverend."

Abe took his time brushing a few crumbs from his silver and black vest. "Sure he is, Inez. It’s your church, right?" He looked at her, his brown eyes steady. "It’s interestin’, though. You get in trouble and he’s right there, turnin’ up at just the right time. I reckon he must have a direct line to the Almighty, so he knows just when to show."

Bridgette bustled over and grabbed Abe’s empty plate. "A man of God’s supposed to look out for his congregation. That’s his job." She waved the plate under his nose. "Another steak? To keep some meat on those long bones of yours?"

"No thanks, Bridgette." Abe examined Inez much as Mrs. Hoffman had the evening before. "So, Inez, what about you? Gonna have somethin’ besides coffee for breakfast? It’ll just eat a hole in you, sloshin’ around on its own."

"I’m not hungry." The thought of a heavy lump of meat grinding around in her stomach was not appealing.

"Hmmph. You still look a mite peaked from that knock on the head."

"Lack of appetite can be a sign of many things," chirped Bridgette. She swished a towel around the table and returned to the stove, humming.

Inez decided to ignore Bridgette’s remark.

"Abe, about December twenty-seventh. That’s a Saturday—"

"Right, I know it’s Saturday—"

"She means," interrupted Bridgette, "it’s the night of the big do. And Mrs. Stannert, she’s going and will need the night off."

"Bridgette!" Inez sputtered.
How did she find out?
She faced Abe. "I plan on canceling the game unless you want to take my place."

"Come on, Inez. Those boys don’t show up for the better part of a Saturday night to play poker with a nigger. And I can’t leave Useless at the bar by hisself. Now, am I supposed to guess who asked you to this fandango?"

"No need to guess," interrupted Bridgette with the air of a satisfied matchmaker. "It’s Reverend Sands of course."