by Ann Parker
But that was not what happened. Seduced by the possibilities in the silver mining boomtown of Leadville, they had lingered in the city in the clouds, then settled in.
She took a deep breath of the air. Cool, but not the piercing cold that sliced into the lungs in the Rocky Mountains this time of year.
Glancing up at the overcast sky, she wondered if she had made a mistake in not insisting that Antonia take an umbrella to school. “She at least has her bonnet,” Inez said to herself.
She had just entered the store and was checking that the sign still displayed CLOSED when Otto Klein appeared and tapped on the glass of the door. She opened it and he squeezed inside, juggling a canvas bag and his cornet case. “I am sorry to be early, Frau Stannert, but glad you are here.”
“I wanted to bring you this.” He hefted the bag. “But first, I want to ask, is there news about Jamie? Herr Welles came by the boardinghouse last night, that is the house I moved into, where Pérez, the Ashes, and Laguardia also board. He said you wished to speak to everyone before the store opened today. I am assuming the worst.”
Here it was.
Her first test.
Inez crossed her arms and steeled herself. “I am sorry to say, the longshoreman who came to see you was right. It was Jamie Monroe by the bridge.”
“Ach.” Otto’s ruddy face paled. “I was afraid of that. Mein Gott. He did not deserve this. No one does.”
An unexpected lump rose in her throat, originating from somewhere behind her breastbone. Otto pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face, although Inez saw no sign of perspiration.
“You are right, Herr Klein, no one deserves such an end. I find it hard to believe that he is gone. All we can do is hope the police find who did this to him.”
“What do we do now?” Otto pushed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Should we start a collection for him, to have him buried properly?”
It was the perfect opening for the words she had prepared. “The authorities found his family. They are taking him home for burial.”
There.
Short and sweet.
All true, provided she continued to skirt the details. No lies to trip her up later.
Just enough information to assure Jamie’s friends that his body would not lie unclaimed, nor rolled into a pauper’s plot. They would mourn, recover, and go on with their lives.
They had reached the back of the store, and Otto sank into a chair by the round table. “If possible, please pass along my condolences to his family.” He set the bag carefully, respectfully, on the round table. “These are Jamie’s and should go with his trunk. I finished emptying everything from the old room and found some of his clothes in the dresser.”
It occurred to Inez that perhaps those clothes held further secrets or clues. “Did you check the pockets, perchance?”
“That would be disrespectful.” Otto sounded horrified. “Prying.”
She thought it would have been one of the first things she would have done, if the clothes belonged to a vanished roommate who owed back-rent, but all she said was, “I shall make sure they are delivered along with the trunk.”
“I also found two more items. This—” He handed her a brass key.
Inez blinked. Unless she missed her guess, it was the key to Jamie’s trunk upstairs. “Thank you. And, the other?”
“This, it is strange. I found it under the mattress. On the slats.” He held out a sheaf of papers, folded in half, lined, creased, and somewhat the worse for wear.
At Inez’s raised eyebrows, he had the grace to blush. “Sometimes, under the mattress, it is a little hiding place, you know. A good place for keeping things close, and requires no key.”
Inez wondered what Otto had hidden on the slats under his mattress.
She sat down by Otto and unfolded the papers. “A list of names.” She fanned the pages. “A lot of names.”
“Ja.” Otto craned his head to view the list with Inez.
She skimmed the first couple of pages. Last name, followed by an initial, and a number. “These numbers look like they indicate amounts of money. So-many-dollars and cents.” She frowned. “The first name has a checkmark by it, but none of the others do. Hmmm. And here, I cannot be certain, whoever wrote this had a terrible hand, but isn’t this Nico? It must be, unless there is another ‘Donato, N.’ Or unless the last name is Darata, or Dorano, or some such. Goodness.”
“I believe you are right, Frau Stannert. Yes. I think it is Donato.”
More names marched down the other side as well in the small, crabbed script she did not recognize. “Who are these people?”
“I recognized only two names,” said Otto, proving to Inez once and for all that, although he said he hadn’t gone through his roommate’s suit pockets, he’d had no qualms perusing a list concealed under his friend’s mattress. “Donato, as you said. Now, go to the last page.”
She flipped to the back. His finger glided down the list, stopping near the bottom. “Here.”
Inez peered, wishing she had the spectacles she kept on the desk for close work. “What does it say? I can hardly read this writing.”
“It says ‘Welles.’ With a ‘T.’ for Thomas.”
She flipped the pages again, searching quickly for other familiar names, but spotting none. “Thank you, Otto. For being so thorough and for entrusting this to me.”
“Of course. I almost threw it out, but since Jamie thought it important enough to hide, and there was a chance he might show up, I thought I should give it to someone. I thought Nico, but I must be off for a job at a lunch counter this morning.”
“I’ll take care of this,” said Inez. After I’ve had a chance to ponder what it means.
He chewed on his lower lip. “The others, you will tell them about Jamie?”
“I plan to tell them exactly what I told you just now.”
His hunched-up shoulders eased down. He heaved a big sigh. “At least we know what happened to him. And as you say, I hope justice is found.”
He picked up his cornet case and left.
With the help of her spectacles, Inez pondered the list, even as she organized the paperwork that she had neglected from the previous day. She now realized that the checkmark was done with pencil, while the writing was in ink. The pages appeared to have been torn from a ledger of some kind. So, what was it and what ledger did it come from? And why did Jamie have it and hide it?
She didn’t have much time to ponder, because John Hee showed up, slipping in the back door. Inez followed him to his repair area and gave him a brief summation of the fate of Jamie Monroe. Given what de Bruijn had said, she watched Hee closely for any sign that this news was not new to him, any sign of guilt, nervousness, or mock dismay. But all she saw was sorrow.
Inez said, “Earlier, you told me that there were some who did not care for Jamie. Are you saying he brought this upon himself?”
Hee shook his head. “I cannot say.”
Inez regarded him narrowly. Or you will not say.
She decided bluntness might at least have the element of surprise, and provoke a response, perhaps cause him to let something slip. “You were seen at the waterfront that night. Someone, I do not know who, is casting suspicion upon you.”
He paused in the act of raising the curtain to the alcove. Unfortunately, his back was to her, and she could not see his expression. Hee let the curtain drop, and faced her. He didn’t act afraid, or angry. He seemed more amused than anything. “Am I suspected of murdering Mr. Monroe? Why? Because of who I am? Pig-tail. Coolie. The Chinese Must Go! Never trust a Chinaman. Because of this, and I am seen at night, on business for owner of this store, I am accused?” He shook his head. “Ask owner of this store, who makes life possible for me and you, too, Mrs. Stannert. Mr. Donato will tell you I was at warehouse and left after our business was done. I did not see Mr. Monroe.
His ill fortune was his own making, not mine.”
“A program for the Chinese Theater was found in his pocket.”
“And eyes go to me? Mr. Monroe want to talk with Chinese musicians about unions. I work there, I told him, no interest in unions. He listen? Most like, no. He was a stubborn young man. Anything more, I do not know.”
When she did not respond, he ducked under the curtain.
Inez backed away, returning to the office. She was not certain she believed him, but found his sincerity had struck a chord. She knew what it was like to be regarded with suspicion for being “different.” Men in Leadville, who did not know her, assumed that any woman who ran a saloon sold more than liquor. How much worse it had to be for John Hee and the others of his kind who lived under constant harassment by hoodlums, the followers of the Workingmen’s Party, and normal citizens alike. No wonder they keep to themselves in Chinatown. Strength came from numbers, at least Jamie and others had the truth of it there.
The tribe of musicians arrived shortly thereafter. They filed in the back door somberly, led by Welles. She said, “Gentlemen, I have some sad news.” She had set out shot glasses and a bottle of Scotch on the round table, thinking that, even though it was before noon, a little liquid courage would soothe the shock of what she had to say. “Jamie Monroe fell upon misfortune earlier this week. How it happened is as yet unknown, but on Monday, he was found in Mission Creek, by Long Bridge.”
“Drowned?” asked William Ash horrified.
“No,” said Inez, wishing someone else was delivering the information. “He was murdered.”
Laguardia crossed himself, whispering “Gesu, Guissepp’…” Other exclamations of shock and sorrow rippled through the group of friends. They huddled closer, as if seeking comfort from each other. All except Welles, who held himself apart, arms crossed, head bowed, lips compressed.
“He needs a decent burial,” said Laguardia. “If we all chip in, we could manage something. Surely Mr. Donato will contribute as well.”
Now, for the rest. “The authorities found his family. They are taking him home to his final resting place. That is all I know.” She hoped her brevity of explanation and denial of additional knowledge would forestall the natural flood of questions about “where” he was going and “who” was taking him.
She moved to the table and poured shots into each glass. “I wanted you all to know, and bringing you together to tell you seemed the best way. Otto was by earlier—he is working this morning—and I told him as well. I’ll just add this. If you have any thoughts, insights, theories as to anyone who might have wished him ill, we could pass that information along. I know you all have your own lives to attend to.” She hoped the vague “we” would encourage them to come specifically to her.
Walter Ash picked up a glass and turned to the rest. “We all came west to reinvent ourselves, right? To find new lives, new hope, here in San Francisco. And Jamie was one of us. Full of hope, looking to the future. And he cared, deeply. We may have shrugged off his passion for organizing, his insistence that we musicians should act together to better our lot, but we are surely all in agreement that he was a staunch friend and a good soul.” He raised his glass. “To Jamie Monroe. May God rest his soul and help the authorities find the evil that brought an untimely end to his life.”
With responses along the lines of “aye,” “absolutament,” “hear hear!” the liquor was tossed down. A second, and then a third round was provided, along with more toasts. Inez, mindful of the visits she would have to make later that day, touched her lips to her glass but did not drink. She noticed that Welles, standing a little behind the group, did the same.
The young musicians scattered soon thereafter, promising to let Inez know if anything came to mind that might help.
Welles turned to Inez. “Does Nico know?”
“About Jamie? No. Not yet.”
“Someone needs to tell him. I can let him know when he comes in this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Inez was mightily relieved to avoid that task. She guessed Nico would not be put off by her vagueness and would push for more information.
Welles continued, “I’m sure he’s going to want to be the one to break the news to Carmella.”
Inez wanted to slap her forehead and curse. Of course Nico would want to tell Carmella. And Carmella, thinking Jamie’s death was still a secret, would be caught completely off guard. Lies and secrets, they always complicated matters. She added another task to her day’s activities: getting word to Carmella that the others knew of Jamie’s death and that his body was taken care of. The rest of the story would have to come later.
Welles glanced toward the showroom. “I might as well open the store. How are the music lessons going?”
For a moment she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then she remembered. “Oh, very well, very well, indeed. I have more lined up this afternoon. Before you open, I’d like your help with something.” She pulled out the folded list from her pocket and handed it to him. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
He took the list and held it up close and then further away, frowning. “The hand is atrocious. It is difficult to make heads or tails.”
“I agree. But look, here is your name on the last page. And Nico is also listed.”
Welles gave her a sharp glance. Inez realized she had inadvertently called Nico by his given name. Her face grew hot, and she said quickly, “They are the only names I recognize. Do any of the others seem familiar to you?”
Welles carried the papers over to the alley window, where the light was stronger. “Ah. Now I see. Hmmm. I can’t be entirely certain, but this appears to be a list of the union members from the time we organized in the mid-70s. The numbers, though, look like dues paid or accounts.” He pursed his lips and cut his eyes to Inez. “Where did you come by this?”
“Does it matter?” Inez shot back. She quickly retreated, injecting an apologetic overtone, “Otto found it in the room he had shared with Jamie. Any thoughts on who might have more information about this?”
“Try Haskell. He and the treasurer were friends from back then. I believe Haskell took all the books, records, and so on when the union dissolved. No one else had the space or desire to hang onto all that. Besides, as I’m sure you’ve heard, no one was all that keen on the stuff. Once the treasurer vamoosed with the funds, he was dead to us all.”
“What was the treasurer’s name?”
Welles hesitated for what seemed a long time before finally saying, “Greer. Eli Greer. I hate even saying his name. Brings it all back. Why do you ask?”
Inez folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. “Curiosity, mostly. I have heard bits and pieces about the demise of the union, but not the full story.”
Welles’ face darkened, casting a chill shadow over Inez. He said, “Sorry. It still gets my goat. If not for Nico, me and my family would’ve been out on the streets. I’d been counting on the return of my portion of the funds to make ends meet. It taught me a valuable lesson, though. Never count on the cash until it’s in your pocket.”
“It sounds as if it was a very painful time for those of you in the union. No wonder you were not particularly interested in Jamie’s efforts to organize.”
“It wasn’t just that.” Welles pressed his lips together in a slight grimace, as if he was trying to keep from blurting something out.
Inez waited, certain that he would eventually fill the silence between them.
He did.
“I hate to speak ill of the dead, but this particularly rankles. You see, Jamie was great at getting folks fired up, saying we musicians had to band together and stand firm, be comrades, arm-in-arm, and insist on better wages and working conditions. Then, not a week ago, he walked right in and underbid me on a position that I’d been counting on.”
Up to this point, Welles’ tone had been carefully cont
rolled. Now, it became more intense. “It would’ve been long-term, steady. My kids are growing, we’ve got another on the way. I want to move us to a bigger place, but for that, I need a steady income. No more of this hand-to-mouth life. It’s fine when you’re young and single, but not when you’re a family man with responsibilities. Anyhow, I’d told Jamie about it, telling him the job was as good as mine. So what does he do but go in and offer to do the job for less.”
“That’s awful!” Even as she exclaimed in sympathy, Inez thought of Jamie and his apparent financial woes. He’d bought a gold ring for Carmella. He’d promised they would wed, run away if need be. All that cost money. And he’d stopped paying his board, leaving it to Otto to make up the shortfall. She could understand the temptation. But to underbid a friend, one who needed the job just as much, if not more…
Welles bobbed his head, a jerk of agreement. “Not exactly comradely, is it? So, that’s why I find it a little difficult to join in all the songs of praise for him, now that he’s gone.”
“Can’t you get the job back?”
Welles almost sneered. “When a musician doesn’t show, they yank in a replacement off the streets. There’s always someone banging on the door, looking for work.” He shook his head. “I’m just grateful Nico came when he did and asked if I was willing to help in the store. Trust me, Mrs. Stannert, I’ll do whatever I can around here to make your life easier. Funny, isn’t it? Nico has always been there for me, since the early days, and especially after the union went bust. Whenever he needed a pianist for a performance, and one wasn’t already lined up, he’d bring me in. Threw jobs my way. Me and my family owe him everything.”
Inez said, “It sounds like Mr. Donato has been a true friend to you.” She turned to the nearest display case, ostensibly to examine a collection of odd little musical instruments—Oriental in nature, she suspected—but in reality to hide any suspicion betrayed in her expression. She’d seen just a flash of hot anger in him and wondered if that rage could turn murderous.
