Silver Lies (9 page)

At one time, Doc’s physique had been impressive, giving him the look of a lumbering grizzly as he limped down the boardwalks of Leadville on his rounds. But the past year had sheared the meat from his frame, leaving skin that, around his face in particular, looked pouchy and deflated, as if it could use a good bit of steam or some of Bridgette’s meals to fill it out.

Useless staggered by with a crate of bottles and set it on the backbar. Inez found Doc’s favorite brand and hunted up a clean snifter. "Bad night?"

Doc removed his top hat and smoothed back iron gray hair. "Lost Mrs. French and her baby." He sighed, and his face sagged further. "The miners and their endless consumption is bad enough. But losing a woman in travail.…" He shook his head, mutton chops quivering. Inez hesitated, then filled the snifter further, before pushing both the bottle and glass toward him.

"I’m sure you did everything you could."

He rested his huge hands around the bulbous glass. "Thank you, my dear."

Inez watched sympathetically as he drained the drink with hardly a pause. He sighed and wiped his mouth with a damp pocket handkerchief.

"Ah, the medicinal properties of alcohol. Some call it the devil’s drink. Yet, I maintain it brings solace and strength to thousands." Doc moved to take up his hat. Inez held it to the counter.

"Speaking of tragedy," she leaned forward, "you heard about Joe Rose?"

"Ah yes. Yet another casualty of the violence that periodically boils out of this city. The coroner called me in for my opinion."

Inez hesitated, then pushed on. "What happened to Joe? I was asked to identify him when they found the body."

Doc eased his hat from her grip. "Not a pretty sight. But the trauma from a trampling never is. I saw it often in the War."

"So he was run over by a cart? A sleigh?"

"No evidence of that." Doc patted his chapped nose with the crumpled handkerchief. "Most likely a horse. Certainly equine. Straight and simple."

She drummed her fingers on the wood, frowning. "Most horses would throw a rider before stepping on someone."

Doc nodded and carefully refolded the limp white square of linen. "Yet, Mr. Rose did not suffer from an isolated misstep. He was thoroughly trampled and probably dragged as well."

Inez clutched the collar of her faded flannel shirt. Behind her, she heard the musical tinkle of glass against glass as Useless lined up the bottles.

Her gaze switched to Doc. "I’d swear that Marshal Hollis thought we had something to do with Joe’s death. What you’re saying proves otherwise. Did you tell this to Hollis?"

Doc settled his hat on his head. "I voiced my opinions to the coroner and the marshal, of course. The law will follow whatever course it deems appropriate. I suspect, in the end, Rose’s luckless demise in Tiger Alley will be just one more item in the ‘Breakfast Bullets’ column of the
Chronicle
." Doc patted her hand. "There, there. We’ll all do what we can to help Mrs. Rose. Take a care to the living, and so on. Will you be back in business by Saturday night? The evening’s the
high point
of my week, you know."

Inez, focused on his previous words, flashed him an absent smile as she withdrew her hand to pick up his glass. "On the house, Doc. Of course we’ll be open Saturday. In fact, we’re hoping tomorrow, right Abe?"

"Just need a handful of chairs and a couple more tables." Abe walked the limping physician to the kitchen door. "See you Saturday, Doc. Sooner, if you get thirsty."

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Thank you." The doctor scrunched his shoulders at the doorframe, his hat nearly brushing the lintel.

Abe walked back, looking grim. "I sure hope you’re not thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’."

Inez said to Useless, "Go get the forty-rod that was delivered last week."

Useless glanced from Inez to Abe, then headed toward the kitchen.

Inez waited until he was out of earshot, then faced Abe. "You and Doc are always saying, ‘Take a care to the living, the dead take care of themselves.’ Well, I’m taking care of Emma and Joey by tidying up Joe’s business affairs."

Abe crossed his arms. "I heard what you said to Doc. That Joe was murdered. Maybe so, maybe no. As long as the marshal leaves us alone, I say let sleepin’ dogs lie."

"But what was Joe doing in Tiger Alley in the dead of night? Look down the block. There’s our place, a restaurant, a hotel, a dancehall, five saloons with the requisite gamblers and girls, and Cat’s place. The next block, the cribs get smaller and the drinks get weaker." The brass check flashed through her mind. "Abe, did Joe ever frequent the brothels on State?"

"What in blazes makes you ask that? Think I’d know the man’s private business? Joe was a family man, plain and simple."

She gripped the rounded edge of the bar. "Family men stray. It happens all the time. As you and I know well."

The clanking of bottles heralded Useless’ approach. He bent, knee joints popping, and set the crate of whiskey on the floor. "Here y’are. Want me to put ’em on the shelves?"

She turned a furious eye on him. "Go search out a hammer and nails. You can help Abe salvage some of the furniture."

Useless disappeared to the back again.

"Inez." Abe gripped the broom handle so tight the knuckles of his dark skin paled. "I know you don’t cotton to advice. But I’m serious here. I don’t see any advantage in pursuin’ this accident."

"Trampling, dragging, hardly seems like an accident. And it’s very peculiar that he argued with Harry Gallagher just before he died."

"Now why don’t you let that man be?" Abe sounded impatient. "Harry’s a payin’ customer, a regular on Saturday nights. Been a model of courtesy since that business last fall. Let bygones be bygones, Inez."

That business
. The unspoken veered into the open. Inez abandoned cleaning the bar and glared at Abe. "How can you say that. Harry nearly swindled us out of the Silver Queen. I admit I was stupid, blind, to fall for him like I did. I let my guard down, what with Mark gone and sending William east. When he started coming around I thought… well, you know what I thought. But how could that even begin to explain
his
behavior?"

Abe’s face closed as if somewhere inside a door had slammed shut. "That ain’t the way it happened, Inez, and you know it. All I’m sayin’ is, you’re followin’ a road best left untraveled."

A metallic symphony drew their attention. "Oh jeez." Useless knelt to gather the nails that had rained from the box when he’d tripped.

Abe hunkered down to help Useless. Inez, fuming, turned her back. In the past, flare-ups between herself and Abe had always been mediated by Mark, who knew how to smooth the ruffled feathers and lead them to middle ground. Since Mark’s disappearance, it often seemed that she and Abe were tiptoeing around each other, careful not to start something that neither would know quite how to stop.

Until now, they’d scrupulously avoided any mention of "the business" with Harry since its denouement. Their first and last discussion on the topic had occurred on an Indian-summer morning in September, the day after Harry had left on a month-long business trip. She’d been working on the books on the second floor, the air sweltering, even with the window open. Abe had folded his long frame down onto the horsehair couch before delivering a short, gruff speech: "Harry Gallagher stopped by on his way out of town. He wants to buy my share of the Queen. Said you and he had an arrangement. Now, he didn’t say what kind of arrangement, but I’ve got eyes. He offered a price more’n fair, wanted me to sign right then." Abe had shifted on the couch, uncomfortable. "Wish you’d talked to me about this, Inez. It put me in a real awkward position with a man who doesn’t like ‘no’ or ‘maybe later’ for an answer. I’m willin’ to sell and move on, if that’s what you want. But I gotta hear it from you. Not Gallagher."

Inez’s cheeks stung at the memory. What a fool she’d been. And it had taken Abe to rip open her eyes so she could see.

The flowers. The gifts. The words. All lies. That day at
Twin
Lakes
most of all.
It still hurt, how she’d opened her heart to him. Her heart and more.

All he wanted was the property. And if that meant taking me in the bargain….

"Useless." Abe picked up a chair leg that Useless had split while attempting a repair. "Why don’t you help Mrs. Stannert with that crate."

"Sorry." Useless looked miserable. "I never was much of a carpenter."

"Well, it just ain’t your talent, son, that’s all." Abe picked over the sticks of furniture, found another leg, and pounded it into the chair seat as if he could hammer down the silent walls that lurked in the room.

999

The day’s work done, Inez trudged down
State Street
, ignoring the jostling throngs of humanity. Miners coming off shifts on Fryer Hill and Stray Horse Gulch mingled with workers from the smelters. A few women moved through the crowds, lugging parcels home from bakeries and butcher shops, small children clinging to their coats. Occasionally the sea of bodies would part, allowing a brightly dressed denizen of the street to glide past. The men admired. The women averted faces. The children stared.

Inez glanced up as she turned onto the alley that ran behind her home. The afternoon sky shaded from pearl gray overhead to beige at the horizon.
Doc’s right: More snow’s coming.

Nearing the Roses’ property, she heard the whack of wood on wood. Joey stood behind an outbuilding, whipping at a spindly fir with a stick and a vengeance.

Inez called, "Joey." He looked up warily. "It’s Auntie Inez. Want to visit the livery?" He nodded. "Go ask your mother." A few minutes later, he joined her, slipping his mittened

hand into her gloved one. "Mama says I have to be home in half an hour."

Inez loved the smell of the livery, the dusty smell of hay mixed with the sweet scent of horses. They entered the cavernous barn, moving slowly toward the back stalls.

A small, dark shape darted in front of them. "Ugh!" She jumped backward. "A rat!" Joey clutched her hand tighter. The rat zigzagged across the hardpacked dirt before scoot-

ing between nearby hay bales. "It’s all right, Joey. It’s gone now." Joey peered up through the gloom. "Are you scared of

rats, Auntie?"

"Scared?" She stamped her feet, trying to rid herself of the feeling that traveled up her spine. Almost as if little rodent feet were skittering up her back. "No. I just don’t like them. I suppose I’ve spent too many nights lying awake, listening to them scratch around."