Silver Lies (59 page)

Flo reached up and removed Inez’s hat. "Honey, that’s Harry Gallagher. A good man to have on your side in Leadville. Come on."

Movement on the stairs caught Inez’s attention. She almost whooped in relief. Angel descended, dressed in white lawn more fitting for sultry weather than the dead of winter. Inez recognized the man behind her, straightening his cuffs, as a

prominent Denver politician.

"Her." Inez stepped away from Harry’s scrutiny.

Flo’s gaze flew to Angel; her full red lips turned down in a pout. "What’s the hurry? I thought we’d get to know each other better."

Inez dug into her waistcoat and extracted a fifty. "Is this enough for…"
How long do I need?
"A couple hours?"

Flo’s eyes riveted on the money. Realizing that the fifty was probably overly generous, Inez added quickly, "Keep the difference. For your trouble." She tucked the bill into Flo’s ample cleavage. "Maybe next time."

Flo emerged from her trance and twinkled, clutching the banknote.

"Honey, you’ve got a date with a girl who can’t say no." She winked. "Angel’s no talker, so I hope you weren’t looking for conversation. But she’ll take good care of you. Angel," her voice turned businesslike, "treat Mr. Smith here nice for the next couple of hours so he’ll come visit again."

Angel nodded. Flo turned and fluttered her fingers a last time at Inez. "Bye, honey. Nice seeing you again. Maybe next time, we’ll do more than talk." She sashayed back to the parlor.

999

Inez followed Angel upstairs to a dark, narrow hallway punctuated by doors. Angel opened the last door and beckoned. Inez halted.

Angel beckoned again, impatient. Inez stepped over the sill and looked around while Angel lit the one lamp. The small room was neat, but simply appointed: a horsehair-covered trunk, a cheap lithograph of nymphs in a forest, a bed covered with a brown shawl, a braided rug, a washstand, and a small heating stove. Inez walked to the window and lifted the curtain. Angel’s room had the same view as Inez’s office, minus one block.

Inez turned to see Angel loosening the pearl buttons of her dress with a professional smile and distant eyes.

"No!" Mindful of thin walls, Inez whispered, "It’s me. Inez Stannert."

Recognition chased confusion from Angel’s face.

"Abe and I need your help. You know he’s been arrested—"

Angel covered her mouth, shook her head.

"You didn’t? But, that was two, three days ago! Where have you been?"

Angel gestured angrily about the confining room, then pantomimed locking and throwing away a key.

"Here? Who’s holding you prisoner?"

She swept her fingers across one cheek: feline whiskers.

"Cat DuBois?"

She nodded.

Inez moved forward and clutched Angel’s soft brown hands. "Abe’s accused of attacking Joe Rose’s wife and being part of a counterfeit gang. But if we can prove he’s not part of the bogus money game in Leadville and, better yet, reveal who is, I’m certain the charges will be dropped."

Angel gazed at her, no response.

Inez pushed on. "Llewellyn Tremayne and Cat came together from Denver. He engraves plates when he’s not painting portraits. Cat’s got her fingers in this too, I can smell it. You gave me Joe’s watch at the party—"

Angel looked away.

"Your note was written on one of Llewellyn’s scraps. You live here. You must have seen Llewellyn and Cat together, seen shipments come and go. There must be
something
. Something that will free Abe."

Angel withdrew her hands and grabbed the shawl from the bed, wrapping it tight around her. She took two hatpins from her washstand. Turning the lamp low, she cautiously opened the door and drew Inez across the hall to the backstairs. Angel put a warning finger to her lips: Quiet.

They crept down the stairs and entered a dark and silent kitchen. Angel flitted over to a door and set down the lamp.

She inserted the two hatpins into the lock. A tense moment

later, a click announced her success.

Inez smiled. "Reading and writing isn’t all Abe’s taught you."

A shy smile bloomed in answer.

They crowded into a long, narrow storeroom, Angel pulling the door closed behind them. She made a beeline to the back wall while Inez followed more slowly past crates of foodstuffs and liquor. She paused to marvel at a label identifying the contents as twenty-four bottles of very expensive brandy.
Business must be good if Cat buys this by the crate.

She hastened to Angel, who pointed at a crate stamped
Denver Mine and Smelter Supply Company
. Inez slid Mark’s knife from her boot top and pried at a board while Angel busied herself with a locked metal trunk.

The nails loosened with a squeak. Inez pulled up the end of the board and groped through straw, finally finding the wrapped banknotes.
This is why Gus Brown was so interested in Joe’s Denver supplier.

Angel tugged Inez’s jacket. The trunk was open; piled higgledy-piggledy inside were sheets of foolscap, bits of penciled drawings and etchings, four half-etched copper plates, and cans of ink.

Inez looked at Angel. "Cat has finally run out of lives. She can’t wiggle out of this. Now, we’ve got to close it all up and make sure someone else finds it. And soon." She paused, her triumph draining away.
Who?
For the first time, she regretted bolting from Denver without a word to Gus Brown.

Angel relocked the trunk. Inez pounded the sprung board back into place with the knife hilt, then slid her insurance back inside the boot. Back at the door, Inez stopped and laid an ear against the wood, listening.

Not a sound.

She gripped the handle, turned it slowly, and cracked open the door, intending to look around and check behind the door.

The handle was ripped from her hand.

Useless loomed on the other side, fist drawn back.

Inez awakened in another eruption of pain as her face and body slammed into the ground.

She groaned and opened her eyes to complete blindness. The only sound a heavy breathing overhead. A tug—and a burlap sack was ripped off her head. A none-too-gentle foot rolled her onto her back.

Staring down at her from what seemed an enormous height, Useless fumbled in his pockets. He finally extracted his filthy red kerchief and stuffed it into her mouth. It tasted of dirt, sweat, and mucus. She gagged and tried to tear it from her mouth, only to discover her arms were trussed up tight behind her.

Another kick rolled her face down again. Useless’ footsteps and heavy breathing receded.

A door slammed.

Silence.

Inez sniffed, identified the liquid dripping from her nose as blood, and wondered if her nose was broken. Then, she realized that escaping her current predicament with only a broken nose would be a blessing.

Where am I?

She concentrated on what her senses could detect.

A ticking clock. The ornate legs of a chair or table. The wooly nap of a rug beneath her ear. The subdued flicker of an unseen fire behind a screen.

It’s too deserted to be in the parlor house.

A rustling caused her to turn her head gingerly. Angel, arms similarly restricted, rolled against Inez in a soft whisper of linen. She sat up and scooted out of sight, toward Inez’s feet.

Inez wiggled her right foot:
The knife is here.

A tide of voices warned them of approaching company. Angel flattened herself to the floor and rolled away from Inez. Listening, Inez discerned Useless’ urgent tones and Cat’s musical ones.

"This better be important." Cat’s words grew clear as the door opened. "I don’t like to be dragged away from clients on trivial matters."

Footsteps, the clatter of a lamp glass, and a sputter of light came into being.

"What have we here," Cat drawled, her shoes coming into Inez’s limited ground-level view.

With a slither of silk, Cat sat down, her feet and the hem of her skirts not two feet away from Inez’s face. One satin shoe disappeared and reappeared as she crossed her legs. The shoe in the air seesawed, inches from Inez’s nose. "Angel, Angel, is this your doing? What am I to do with you."

"She stabbed me with a damn hatpin," Useless interjected.

"What is she doing with a hatpin and no hat? And why did you drag them both across the alley and into my home? Was this gentleman trying to take unpaid-for liberties? If so, you should have thrown him in the alley."

"Ain’t no gentleman, Mrs. DuBois." Useless’ hand curled into Inez’s hair and he jerked her head up. "Look."

Inez’s eyes watered from pain. Through shimmering tears, she saw Cat twirling opera-length pearls with a closed fan. Cat frowned and leaned closer.

Her plucked and penciled eyebrows shot up. "Mrs. Stannert? What have you done to your hair? And what are you doing here? I thought you’d left town." She leaned back. "Tell me, Useless. Don’t leave out anything."

Useless dropped Inez nose first onto the floor. Red stars streaked across her vision and nearly sent her back to oblivion.

"Flo wanted me to check that Angel was okay. Her room was empty, so I went down the backstairs, heard Mrs. Stannert, and saw a light under the storeroom door."

"That door was locked. How did they get in?" Cat sounded

irritated. A nearby door squeaked open. "Catherine? Is it safe?" "Yes, love. Come in. You should hear this." Quick, furtive steps approached. Inez turned her head and

saw Llewellyn transformed. Long hair exchanged for short, extravagant mustache replaced by the merest line above his lip. He circumvented the rug in rough and simple clothes, looking completely miserable without his ruffles.

Llewellyn squinted at Angel, then Inez. "Who…?" "Your patroness, my love. She of the epic painting." "Mrs. Stannert?" His face paled. "In the storeroom? Did

they find—" "Since they managed to unlock the storeroom, I think