Silver Lies (52 page)

Pity followed by dismissal crossed those baby-doll features. "No boarders with children. Find a suitable place for him. If you’re still looking for work, come back then."

Inez halted the closing door. "Mrs. Silks? I’m not looking to ‘board.’ I’m here on behalf of Emma Rose, the wife of Joe Rose." She handed Mattie Silks the folded letter.

Mattie opened it, glanced at it, and handed it back. "Emma must trust you a great deal. Whoever you are." Suspicion was plain in her face.

"I’m Mrs. Stannert. A friend of the family." Inez placed Joey before her. "This is Joey. Joe and Emma’s boy."

Mattie leaned down in a rustle of silk and tipped Joey’s chin up. "You look like your father. I know your parents, but I don’t know this woman. Who is she, love?"

"Auntie Inez, ma’am." Joey responded, obviously mindful of Inez’s advice to speak when spoken to.

"Your real aunt?"

"Not really. But almost."

"Almost." Those blue eyes flashed up at Inez then returned to Joey. "And what, pray tell, does Auntie do in Leadville?"

He didn’t hesitate. "She rides horses. She plays piano. She plays poker. She shoots guns, sometimes. And she owns a… drinking establishment." He pronounced the last two words one careful syllable at a time, with Emma’s studied cadence.

"Well, well." The suspicion was now tempered with amusement.

"A business woman," said Inez. "I’m a business woman."

Mattie Silks nodded. "As I am." She turned to Joey. "Where’s your mama and papa?"

"Papa’s in heaven. Mama’s," he reached for Inez, "in the hospital."

Mattie’s face softened. After a pause, she moved aside. "Come in."

Inez and Joey stepped onto a crimson carpet so deep it threatened to bury their shoes. The reception hall could have swallowed half of Inez’s house. Crystal chandeliers tinkled as the cold air stole in through the front door. Straight ahead, a walnut-banistered staircase led upstairs.

Mattie glided ahead, tossing over her shoulder, "George, have tea prepared for Mrs. Stannert and myself." Halfway down the hall, a brunette with the face of a madonna appeared in an arched entryway.

"Alice." Mattie stopped in front of her. "Would you watch this young fellow while I speak with his ‘aunt’? Go ahead, Joey. There’s a piano in there that you can bang away on. Maybe Alice will teach you some scales."

As they proceeded past the stairs, Mattie said, "Alice has a son about his age. He’ll be fine."

They entered a long dining room, now vacant. Passing chair after silent chair, Mattie remarked, "Forgive me for questioning him. But children that age don’t lie. Or, if they do, they lie badly." She opened a side door. A cozy parlor looked out over back gardens crusted with snow.

Mattie waved Inez to a chesterfield covered in crimson plush and took a matching chair. "So." She lit a thin brown cigarette and dropped the extinguished lucifer into a silver

ashtray. "You know the Roses."

Inez nodded.

"I find it hard to believe Emma Rose would be friends with—much less confide in—a woman who runs a saloon," she said half to herself. "What is the name of your…drinking establishment?"

"The Silver Queen. Do you know Leadville?"

Mattie lifted one shoulder.

"It’s at the corner of State Street and Harrison."

"I know the area." An enigmatic smile. "You sell…only liquor?"

It was Inez’s turn for a cryptic smile.
Let her think what she wants. It might work to my advantage if she believes we’re in the same business.

"Emma’s ill?" Mattie brushed invisible crumbs from her silk day dress.

Inez decided to be frank. "She was beaten, nearly killed."

Mattie exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Poor girl." Her tone implied Emma might as well be a child of ten, even though Inez estimated Mattie to be in her late twenties, early thirties, the same age as Emma and Inez. George appeared at Inez’s elbow with a silver tea service. He set it on an occasional table and vanished.

Mattie approached a well-appointed sideboard. "We’ll need something for our tea. This looks to be a painful conversation." She held out two bottles. "Mrs. Stannert?"

Inez indicated the less ostentatious bottle.
No contest between French cognac and donkey piss.

Mattie nodded approval and poured a dose in each cup. "You have the key?"

Inez placed the small key on the table by the sterling teaspoons.

Mattie’s shoulders eased down; the vigilance in her posture vanished like her obedient butler. Inez decided to go one step further.

"When Joe died, I found this in his wallet." Inez set Mattie’s token next to the tea service.

Mattie picked up the brass check, turning it idly. The afternoon light shone through the heart-shaped cutout. "We go back, Joe and I. This was our little joke. I gave him one for my Georgetown house too, in seventy-four. Told him he could redeem it anytime." She tossed it back on the table beside the key. "The only time he tried was for Emma."

Inez set her cup down. "Emma never told me that she worked for you."

Mattie arched one eyebrow and remained silent.

Inez leaned forward. "I’m not judging Emma. I just wondered, could someone from her past be carrying a grudge against the Roses?"

"You mean her Georgetown admirer? I doubt it. That was all long ago." Her light brown eyebrows drew together. "Tell me again. What happened to her?"

"We found her, wrists bound, nearly strangled with one of her own stockings. Violated. Beaten. She’s not regained consciousness."

Mattie’s red-painted nails tapped on the exotic wood armrest of her chair. Finally, she spoke. "I never take a girl into my house who has had no previous experience of life and men. Most of the girls were married and left their husbands or at least had been involved with a man." The tapping stopped. "I broke that rule only once. With Emma. She showed up on my doorstep in Georgetown. A runaway, like so many others. Someone had told her that I treated my girls well. She was so lovely, with all that red hair. So I took her in, despite her inexperience and my misgivings."

Mattie looked toward the small fireplace. The firescreen, painted with a scene of cattails and herons, glowed with the light from behind. "Silver and money flowed through Georgetown then, just like in Leadville now. Investors, mine owners, speculators. Emma had many admirers. Too bad the one who offered the most had certain requests."

"Requests?"

Mattie pouted, blew out a thin stream of smoke, and eyed Inez for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. She finally set her cigarette in the ashtray and with a graceful motion, thrust out her arms, crossed at the wrists. A diamond bracelet winked at Inez.

She watched with amusement as comprehension dawned and set Inez’s face ablaze.

"How entertaining you are, Mrs. Stannert. You must only sell liquor after all." She picked up the cigarette again, remarking off-handedly, "It’s not an unusual request. Men of influence and money buy approval, agreement. After a while, all that bowing and scraping gets old, I suppose. Sometimes, they like a girl to resist."

She continued, "We have rules, of course. Silk ties only. No bruising. No gags. And nothing," she drew a line at her own white throat, "around the neck. Too easy to have something go wrong."

Inez clutched her teacup convulsively, picturing the ugly red marks around Emma’s neck.

Mattie blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Some girls would consider it a game, a chance to play the actress. Not Emma. She hated it. And, I think she was a little afraid of him. But he paid well. Very well. One night with him covered room and board for a week, plus incidentals; he insisted she take no other customers. I told her that if she didn’t want to continue to just lie there. Don’t fight. Don’t struggle. He’d lose interest and I’d find him someone else. Of course, that meant she’d be back in the parlor every night."

The smoke curled around her head. Her tea remained untouched.

"Then Joe dropped in one day. He saw Emma and…" Mattie dramatically lifted one hand to her heart. "He tried to use his check, but I told him she was spoken for. So they talked in the parlor. After that, he came by every afternoon. Two weeks later, they married. Just as well. Emma wasn’t cut out for the sporting life. Her customer wasn’t happy, but he got over it eventually. They usually do." Mattie half-smiled through the smoke.

"Who is he?"

Mattie returned with a strongbox, gun-metal gray, about the size of two stacked books. She pushed the tea tray to one side and set the box before Inez.

Inez realized she was holding the key so tightly its edges were biting into her palm.

She fit the key to the lock and turned. The top released with a snap. Both women leaned over, heads almost touching, to see what was inside.

"No diamonds," Mattie remarked. "No pearls. No silver bars. Pity."

Inez smiled wryly. She’d expected another bundle of bills, negotiable or otherwise. Mattie removed a small rectangular object wrapped in leather and tied with a thong. A thin stack of folded papers lay beneath.

As Mattie picked at the tight knot, Inez unfolded the first paper. She scanned neatly penned words before zeroing in on three signatures.

Joe’s precise hand, Chet’s shaky scrawl, and—

"Oh Joe," Inez said under her breath "Whatever possessed you to dance with the devil?"

Mattie stopped tweaking the recalcitrant knot. "Who?"

"Catherine DuBois." Hatred squeezed through her words. "The bitch."

When Inez looked up she saw her loathing mirrored in Mattie’s face.

"Calling Cat a bitch," drawled Mattie, "is an insult to all female dogs."

Inez laid a hand flat on the paper. "You know Cat DuBois?"

Mattie’s eyes narrowed. "She waltzed into town and tried to set herself up as queen of Holladay Street. I ran her out of Denver with her tail between her legs. Her and that little
artiste
of hers. She had the nerve to take one of my girls with her. Flo had been with me since Kansas." She gripped the leather package as if to strangle Cat by proxy. "What business did she have with Joe?"