A Dying Note

by Ann Parker

  Thomas half rose and bowed perfunctorily.

  This was clearly Nico’s show.

  “Shall we begin with a little Mozart?” Nico raised his violin into position, he and Welles exchanged a glance and nod, and they launched into a series of perfectly executed Mozart sonatas.

  Inez was impressed both by their individual virtuosity and the perfectly timed, invisible communication between them. Nico and Thomas Welles made it seem effortless, seamless, a musical conversation handed back and forth. But Inez knew how difficult it was, how much work went into making it look so very easy. She allowed herself to float on the music while observing their styles of playing. Welles seemed to disappear into the flow of music, much as she did, except for the times when he and Nico, as if by previous agreement, would exchange a look, a nod. Nico, she had to admit, knew how to play to the crowd, bringing the song out of the instrument and the emotional intensities hidden in the sonatas. When the musicians finished, Inez let out a sigh and was surprised to hear a surrounding chorus of feminine sighs echo her own. Flo gave a little start, and Inez realized the madam had been half-dozing.

  Under the cover of muffled clapping from gloved hands, Flo opened her fan, leaned toward Inez, and murmured, “Are they done?”

  “One more piece,” said Inez, joining the applause.

  With a “Huh!” Flo closed her fan before applying three fingers of one hand to the palm of the other in lukewarm praise.

  The second piece was the promised Beethoven Sonata Number 9, The Kreutzer Sonata. The performance, a transcendental union of music and musicians, pulled her into an embrace which did not release until the final perfect notes fell and faded into silence.

  The guests all rose to applaud with enthusiasm. Flo stood and tugged at her overskirt, remarking, “A bit excessive, wasn’t it?”

  “It was marvelous!” said Inez.

  Flo lifted a shoulder and looked around. “Where did those waiters go?”

  Women of all ages surrounded and engulfed the musicians. Inez turned away, resigned that she would not be able to leave immediately.

  Flo brightened. “Ah! There is the champagne and I am dying of thirst. I’ll be right back. I’ll bring you some, too.” She took off across the room.

  Inez moved over to one of the shrouded bay windows and pulled a corner back on one of the ornate brocade curtains to peek at the cityscape. A masculine, “Ahem,” behind her caused her to drop the heavy fabric back into place and whirl around. Poole stood there, skewering her with his penetrating gaze. “Did you enjoy the concert, Mrs. Stannert?”

  “Indeed. It was remarkable.” She surveyed the room over his head, hoping to catch sight of Frisco Flo with the promised champagne or of Nico breaking away from his admirers. Poole swiveled around to see what caught her eye.

  “If you will excuse me, Mr. Poole.” She circled around him, ready to escape.

  “A word, Mrs. Stannert, before you go.”

  She could hardly run away in the face of such a direct request. Reluctantly, she faced him. “Yes, Mr. Poole? What about?” Inez hoped it would be about an innocuous topic. Such as her opinion of Mozart.

  “Come come, I believe you know. And I am certain you would prefer we talk here, where we have a bit of privacy.”

  Taking some cold comfort from the fact she was taller than he by several inches, Inez pulled out her fan to give her hands something to do and decided the best plan of attack was to be blunt. “I understand you are here in San Francisco on personal business, Mr. Poole. The business of revenge.”

  Poole’s head snapped back, and he regarded her narrowly. “You wish to get to the point, Mrs. Stannert? I can appreciate that. Very well, we shall be direct with each other. Yes, I came to find the man who drove my daughter to her shame and her death. Robert Gallagher. When Harry made sudden plans to head this way, I knew the game must be afoot. He had his investigator on the trail, and all I needed to do was follow along, let my fellow follow his fellow, and then be first to jump when the bastard who destroyed her was rooted out.”

  Inez crossed her arms, tapping her fan on one sleeve. “You wanted him dead.”

  “Of course I did,” he said through gritted teeth, then made a visible effort to unclench his jaws. “I’m glad he died and so viciously. God’s will was done.”

  “I doubt God had anything to do with it.”

  “Then justice was done, if you prefer. The kind of justice man brings to man, when the courts are useless. He would never pay legally for what he did to my little girl. This, his murder, was far more satisfying. To make Harry suffer as I have.” He broke off and brushed a sideburn with one hand, a nervous tic, Inez surmised, when he was overwrought.

  He continued, “I’d not be sad to see Harry’s empire fall into ashes as well. Once I’m shut of him and our agreements, I’ll not do business with him again.”

  “You claim you had nothing to do with his death? You didn’t set ‘your fellow who followed the other fellow’ to cut off young Gallagher mid-tune?”

  She waited to see that unconscious hand rise up and brush the sideburn again, but it didn’t. Instead, his face turned red and he balled his fists. Then, apparently aware of the picture he must present to the room at large, stretched his fingers out and flexed them. Almost as if he wished he held her throat in his hands. “You are right in one regard. I could have hired some thug to do the dirty work. If I’d been able to find him first, I would have. But I did not. I swear on my daughter’s grave.”

  “Then, I believe our conversation is over,” said Inez calmly and made to move aside and let him pass.

  But Poole wasn’t done. “Last time we met, Mrs. Stannert, was in Leadville while you were still married and owned a saloon in a not-so-esteemed part of town. Imagine my astonishment upon seeing you here and learning you are now in charge of a respectable, well-regarded music store. It seems Robert Gallagher was not the only one looking to bury his past in San Francisco, eh?”

  Inez felt the blood drain from her face.

  He leered, triumphant. “Just keep in mind, Mrs. Stannert. Things buried eventually come to light and stink and rot.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “Rot? What rot?”

  Inez turned to see Flo with Nico by her side. They each held two glasses of champagne. Flo wrinkled her nose, perplexed.

  “Nothing, nothing at all, my dear Mrs. Sweet,” said Poole. “Mrs. Stannert and I were just chatting about old times. The air in Leadville, you know. The odious smell of sulfur and whatnot.”

  “Old times?” Flo shot a nervous glance at Inez. “Oh, I think we should just focus on the here and now, don’t you agree?”

  “Assolutamente,” said Nico handing Inez a glass. “Signora Sweet and I, we thought we should all toast to a successful evening, yes?” He raised his own and said, “Signore Poole, thank you for your patronage. I hope when you are next in our fair city, you will consider doing this again.”

  “Why not?” said Poole amiably. “It’s been a profitable trip, all around. Quite satisfying. I shall be certain to employ your and Mr. Welles’ considerable talents when I return.”

  Inez raised her flute along with the rest, sick inside. When the champagne hit her tongue, the fizz and overwhelming sweetness only intensified her nausea. “Is it not to your taste?” Nico inquired, gesturing to her glass.

  “I suspect I am simply tired,” said Inez.

  “Ah! And I promised to have you back early.” Nico swept up her glass and turned to Poole and Flo. “It’s been an honor, Signore Poole. Signora Sweet, please do visit the store again sometime. We could show you some of our finer pianos, for your daughter, perhaps? How is she doing with her lessons?”

  “I shall make it a point to drop by,” Flo chirped, twisting one blond curl around her finger. Her eyes shifted from Nico to Poole and back again.

  As Nico and Inez turned to go, Inez heard Po
ole say, “I had no idea you were interested in the finer points of music-making, Mrs. Sweet. And what’s this about a daughter?”

  Inez left it to Flo to work her way out of the situation. Inez had her own future to ponder. She suspected Poole had not been chary in telling Nico about her past, which meant she would have to “face the music” with Nico probably sooner rather than later. As they prepared to leave, Inez asked, “What about Mr. Welles?”

  “He has his own way home,” said Nico. At the cloakroom, he helped her on with her manteau before shrugging into his new cloak. “Going back, it will be just us two.”

  Which meant the reckoning could be sooner.

  In the carriage, after he was sure Inez was settled on the bench across, Nico set his violin case on the seat beside him and sat back, gazing thoughtfully at Inez. The carriage squeaked into motion.

  “So. I understand you are not a widow, Signora Stannert. Is this true?”

  Damn it. How am I to keep this from coming down around my ears.

  Inez looked out the window, grateful they had left the brightly lit central court of the Palace Hotel and rolled into the dim streets where he could not read her expression. “True, unless you count being a ‘grass widow’ as being a widow, which I do. My former husband is dead to me. As dead as if he lay six feet underground.”

  A silence stretched between them, then Nico said, “Your husband. What did he do to earn such disgust from you?”

  Inez regarded him, surprised at the personal turn of question. She had steeled herself, expecting questions about the saloon, demands about her part in its running, speculations about her social standing, and perhaps an interrogation into her familial lineage. Or even, God forbid, pointed inquiries about Reverend Sands, as it was possible Poole had somehow gained knowledge of her affair with the reverend. All of these topics she was prepared to dodge, if possible, or answer with shaded truths, if pressed.

  But she was not expecting or prepared for this.

  Still, it would be easy to answer, although not pleasant to say. “Well, if you must. I suppose I owe you that much, Mr. Donato, given how you no doubt feel I have deceived you, or at least led you astray in some respect as to my status and past. To be brief, he lied to me in one of the most heinous ways a husband can lie to a wife. He disappeared, without a trace, for more than a year. Then he returned, wanting to continue as if nothing at all had happened. I was tempted to do so until I found out he had been living as husband and wife with another woman, and this woman—” Inez took a deep breath to brace herself against the words—“was with child. His child. She came to town, confronted him and me in a very public location, and demanded he set me aside for her.” As she spoke, tears welled up.

  She blinked them away, but Nico must have seen them or heard them in her voice. He handed her his handkerchief. “I am sorry. It is no matter. As Signora Sweet said, it is better to think of the present and the future. The past is gone. I care not what went before in your life. Although I was taken by surprise when Signore Poole told me.”

  “What else did he tell you?” Inez was determined to hear it all, so she knew how much damage was done and how she might, if possible, repair it.

  “It does not matter what else was said.” The carriage squeaked to a stop, and Nico looked out the window. “Ah. We are at the store. Will you indulge me for a few minutes before you return to your lodgings and Antonia?”

  Inez acquiesced, glad there would be no more questions. Still, she wondered what Nico knew and what, more immediately, he had in mind.

  Nico unlocked the store and ushered her in. He went over to the grand piano, remarking, “I have a request, Signora. I realized tonight you and I, we have not played together. In fact, am I right in thinking this was the first time I have performed for you?”

  “Well, Mr. Donato, I would not presume you performed for me tonight. You and Mr. Welles enchanted everyone in the room, as I’m sure you know. However, you are correct. I’ll admit I also thought how strange it was, that in all these months, this was the first time I heard you play.”

  “Since I practice at home and not at the store, it makes sense. But it does not excuse this lapse on my part. I have only heard you on the piano once, when you first visited my store. I was impressed, even then. I remember, you had such a light, sensitive touch. So. Tonight, I am decided. We will remedy this deficiency immediatamente.”

  “Now?” She watched, bemused and intrigued, as he set his violin case on a small, round table of oriental design and opened the grand piano lid.

  “Now.” He held out the chair for her.

  She hesitated, but only briefly. After all, what harm can come of this?

  Besides, her fingers had been aching for the coolness of ivory and ebony keys for some time. She had not sat at the piano for the past week, what with all that had been going on. Even before then, she played intermittently. The situation here was not like in Colorado, where she could turn to her parlor grand in her own home for solace, for reflection, whenever she pleased.

  “Very well.” She took the chair and lifted the fallboard, exposing the keys.

  He pulled out his violin. “What shall we play? The Kreutzer Sonata? Would you enjoy that? The piano score is here in the store, I know.”

  “Perhaps another time. I would need to practice so as to not embarrass myself or frustrate you,” said Inez, a little horrified at the thought of attacking the involved Beethoven sonata cold, in the semi-dark, with Nico.

  She glanced up at the ceiling, considering, and realized Antonia’s bedroom was directly above. “Antonia loves Beethoven’s Bagatelle Number 25 in A Minor, Für Elise. I usually play it at least once a week for her. But I’ve sadly neglected my duty lately.”

  “Well then, it is decided!” Nico smiled down at her.

  Inez smiled back. She now understood why he was pursued by so many of the feminine persuasion. He could be exceedingly charming. And when he looked at her like that…

  She redirected her focus to the piano and ran her gloved fingertips lightly over the tops of the keys.

  Nico said, “Play it once, solo. Then again, and I will join you.”

  Inez nodded. She pulled off her gloves, set them aside, and touched the cool keys. She could almost hear herself reminding her students: wrists relaxed and level with the hand, fingertips on the surface of the keys.

  She closed her eyes, blocking out all but the piano, letting the quiet fill her until she was ready to replace the silence with music. She launched into the short piece, letting the familiar melody and theme carry her away, playing at the slower tempo she had adopted for Antonia. When she finished and circled back to the beginning, the notes of the violin wound in and around her own, pulling her out of the music. As the two instruments joined together, blending their individual styles and tones to form a deeper, richer whole, Inez relaxed again, able to let the harmony and melody flow over and through her.

  They played it twice together. At the end, Inez left her hands rest in final position and allowed echoes of their performance to slowly die away.

  “Bellissimo,” said Nico, somewhere above her. In the dream state playing sometimes brought to her, his voice almost seemed a continuation of the music.

  “Why did we wait so long?” He took her hand, and Inez thought he only meant to help her to her feet. But as she rose, he pulled her closer, and she realized that was not his intent at all. Time seemed to slow, even as her mind and her heart began racing faster.

  Her first thought: why not?

  It had been a long time since a man had been so attentive, so admiring. A long time since she had been touched in this way, buried, as she was, in work, in worry, in care for Antonia. She had purposely stayed in the shadows to protect them both, for it had seemed that only by being anonymous and unnoticed would they be able to create new lives in this new city.

  Her second thought: why not Nico?<
br />
  He was charming. He was attractive. He was desirable. With all this, and endowed with the gift of musical talent and sensitivity as well, it was easy to understand why women swooned and dropped their gloves and signaled with their fans and laughed with that lighter-than-air breathless expectancy when he appeared.

  Besides, she was curious.

  Curious to taste the unknown.

  So, she let him guide her to her feet, pull her close and closer until there was no space between them, then touch his lips to hers. First, a light kiss. Then, a second, more lingering. And a third….

  Inez, eyes closed, responded as harmony spoke to melody, left hand to right. She allowed long-dismissed passion to uncurl inside her, warming her with pleasure and inducing a growing longing. Her hands and arms had, of their own volition it seemed, pulled his head down to her throat. There, in the dark, in the silence, he was faceless. He could be anyone.

  He kissed her neck, brushed her ear with his whisper, “Why did we wait so long?”

  The trancelike moment shattered and awareness rippled through her.

  What am I doing?

  This isn’t just anyone. This is Nico.

  It was as if someone had switched on the bright gaslights in the darkened room, blasting insubstantial dreams into hard-angled reality. If she needed to satisfy her thirst for intimacy, Nico was probably her worst possible choice.

  Inez cleared her throat and untangled her fingers from his hair. She slid her arms from around his neck, her hands slipping over the soft fur collar of his cloak. “Mr. Donato, we must stop.”

  “Surely we are past the point of Mr. this and Signora that.” He sounded mystified and even a little affronted.

  Inez realized she had to tread carefully. “Please, this is all very sudden. I mean, perhaps not sudden, but…I need time to think.”

  “Thinking can come later.” He began to pull her back into the embrace.