by Ann Parker
Inez glanced around. The street was quiet, with no nearby foot or street traffic. She grabbed the house key from Mark then said to Tony, “We best go inside to talk. You should be keeping a low profile until the Britishers leave town.”
“I have a new job. I got different clothes. They won’t recognize me.” said Tony. “Where’s Maman?”
“I’ll tell you what I know when we are inside.” Inez turned to Mark. “Go to Evan’s Mercantile. Pick out readywear for a girl, from knickers and undervest to a warm dress, coat, shoes, stockings, gloves, the works. And a bonnet with as large a brim as you can find. If you get any questions, say it’s for Miss Carothers’ niece, who is visiting but didn’t bring proper clothes for the weather.”
“I don’t need girl clothes,” interrupted Tony. “I need my gun. Do you have it? And where’d they take Maman?”
Mark said, “If you want a decent fit, it’d help if we went inside and she shed that jacket. And the shoes, so I don’t get shoes four sizes too large.”
“Guess large if you must,” said Inez, exasperated. “I’m sure it won’t be the first time you’ve picked out an ensemble for a woman you just met.” He jerked his head back as if she’d slapped him, and she regretted her sharp words the moment they were out. “I apologize. That was uncalled for. I need to get Tony inside and explain things and,” she took a deep breath and told the truth, “I trust you, Mark, to do this. I know you’ll do it right. Please.”
He smoothed his mustache. “This is hardly goin’ the way I planned, but very well. I’ll run the errand, you two skedaddle inside.” He leaned in toward Inez and added, “There’s something special inside I’d hoped to show you myself. Look in the parlor, darlin’.” With that, he began walking toward Harrison, swinging the walking stick in time to his stride.
Inez hurried Tony to the porch, and, as she fussed with the key in the gleaming new lock, Tony said in wonder, “Is this your house?”
“That remains to be seen,” muttered Inez, as she struggled to turn the key in the stiff lock.
“What does that mean? If it’s your house, why aren’t you living here? Why are you living in the bar?”
“Long story, Tony. What we should focus on is your story right now. There.” The door latch retracted with a shiny clack. Inez went in, footsteps echoing in the empty vestibule. Tony followed. Inez closed the door then turned, asking, “Did you go back to your home?”
Tony nodded.
“When?”
A longish pause. “Early this morning. After dawn. ”
Inez tried to hold on to her patience. “When else? Did you circle back after I went chasing after you last night?”
An even longer pause, then “Someone told me you killed a man once.”
Inez almost said only once? but curbed her tongue in time. “Who told you that?”
Tony scrutinized her. “Did you?”
Inez opted for blunt honesty. “Yes. I did. In self-defense.”
Tony nodded. The set of her small mouth was grim. “You said you want to help me? Then kill the person who killed Maman.”
Inez wanted to sink to her knees right there in the cold empty hallway and give Tony a fierce hug, tell her it would be all right, justice would be done. But Inez knew from bitter experience that life didn’t always deliver justice to those who most deserved it. “Tony, I will do everything I can to find who did this.”
“I know who did it.”
A thrill of shock raced through her gut. “You do? Who?”
Tony took a deep breath. “I did go back last night, for my gun. And those…bad hats, the nobs. They were there.” A sob caught in her throat. “They’d killed Maman, and they came back for me!”
“The nobs?” Inez quieted the urge to argue. “How do you know it was them?”
“I saw them on my way home, before I found her. They were behind the theater, and talking about it. They said no one would think it was them. That they were free and clear.” Tony circled her wrists, holding onto her cuffs, looking lost. “They said they were gonna find me and finish me off before they left. Then, when I came back later, after you’d gone, they were inside, looking around.” Her voice rose in pitch. “They were saying, ‘She couldn’t have gotten far.’ They were looking for me! They want to kill me too!”
At that, Inez did reach out. She gripped Tony’s shoulders. She could feel the girl shaking through the thin jacket, and vowed silently she would be sure Tony was properly clothed and warm, whether in jacket and trousers or dress and stockings. Inez crouched, bringing herself eye-level with Tony and said, “Tony. Listen to me.”
Tony’s eyes, glazed with terror, slowly came into focus.
“Are you sure they said she couldn’t have gotten far? She?”
Tony nodded.
“Then, they weren’t talking about you. They think you are a newsboy. A boy, not a girl.” Inez felt the tension in the shoulders ease a fraction.
Inez continued. “I’m guessing they were looking for your mother. I believe that was the reference to ‘she.’” The wheels in her mind turned, and gears clicked into place as she recalled the partial quarrel she’d overheard between Percy and Epperley, and the earlier conversation with Chet Donnelly.
“If I were to hazard a guess, I think one of them—who recently came into a great deal of money—might have taken your mother’s fortunetelling a little too seriously and made an impulsive investment that dismayed his colleagues and perhaps didn’t turn out so well for him. I’m guessing they came back to reckon with your mother, only to find the place empty. As we did.”
She looked deep into Tony’s eyes. “That is what I wanted to tell you. When we came back with the officer of the law, your mother’s body was gone.” Her fingers kneaded Tony’s shoulders while Tony stayed silent, apparently trying to absorb what Inez had said. Inez continued, “As to who did this to your mother, I saw any number of shady characters in the vicinity last night. People who might have had reason to wish your mother harm. If I could track their movements, it would help. Did you see or talk to anyone else?”
Tony opened and shut her mouth, then said, “The voodoo lady from Coon Row. She was there.”
The poppet in the cabinet popped to mind. Inez suppressed a shiver. “When?”
“This morning,” said Tony. “She thought I was there to get my fortune told. She said,” Tony wiped an eye, “Maman was gone. That she’d sent her away.”
It looks like I shall be paying a visit to Madam Labasilier sooner rather than later.
“Anyone else?” asked Inez, trying to tamp down the urgency in her voice.
“Just before I found Maman, I saw…” Tony hesitated.
Inez, watching her closely, saw her eyes flicker from side to side, and suspected Tony was seesawing between prevaricating and wanting to confide. “I want to find who killed your mother, Tony,” she said. “I want to see whoever did it punished. If you saw anything, even the least bit odd, I must know.”
Tony’s shoulders slumped, conceding, beneath Inez’s hands. “I saw the coffin-maker, Mr. Alexander, and his wife. She was wanting to go into the row and he was trying to stop her. She’s crazy.”
The Alexanders? How peculiar. Mrs. Alexander shows up with Drina Gizzi at the Jacksons, the mister comes to the saloon, all of a sudden they are showing up everywhere. “And?” Inez prompted.
“I’d seen her before,” said Tony. “I saw her coming out of our home just yesterday. She’d paid Maman a lot of money, a hundred dollars, to tell someone’s fortune. Maman didn’t like it. She told me,” Tony squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to call up the conversation, “that the missus was testing her and that Maman had to speak true. I guess Maman did it, because she was real unhappy. She told me what she did was wrong, that some things should not be said.” Tony opened her eyes. “The missus thought I was a boy. She was disappointed, said she thought Maman
had a daughter, not a son.”
“Hmmm.” The connections were growing more complex. Inez was growing concerned about Tony’s role in it all, whether the girl wasn’t getting herself firmly ensnarled in a spider’s web of lies and hidden truths. Inez decided that sharing a little information might encourage further confidences. “I have heard from others that the Alexanders had a girl-child who died,” said Inez gently. “I suspect Mrs. Alexander may be searching for proof of ‘life beyond the veil,’ perhaps for a way to communicate with those who are gone. It is not an uncommon practice. Leadville is rife with spiritualists, tableknockers, and so on.”
Inez pondered a moment. “Mrs. Alexander attends my church. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I will be there.” It would be Justice Sands’ last service, a thought too painful to contemplate, so Inez mentally turned her back on it. “I will find a way to talk with her, see if I can bring the conversation around to your mother and her ‘gifts.’ Perhaps Mrs. Alexander saw your mother as someone who could be a channel to her own deceased daughter.” Inez detected a flicker of a shadow cross Tony’s face. “What?”
Tony slid out of Inez’s grasp. “The new job I took. It’s with Mr. Alexander’s coffin-shop.”
Inez rocked back on her heels, stunned.
“I didn’t know it was him when I went to the door. But I’m glad it is. I can learn more about them. Maybe the missus killed Maman? She’s tall. She’s crazy. Maman wouldn’t expect such a fine-dressed lady to hurt her.” Tony suddenly looked older than her years.
“That seems highly unlikely,” said Inez, then retreated at Tony’s stubborn expression. “Not impossible, just unlikely. Mr. Alexander? Perhaps. But why? To what purpose?”
Tony shook her head. “The mister, he’s too nice. He’s paying me good money to sweep up and clean. He’s not crazy, like her. He’s kind of a mollycoddle.”
“Sometimes the meek ones surprise you,” said Inez, standing up.
She mentally scanned her list of those with known connections to Drina or who were nearby at the time, considering those who seemed to have an active grudge against the fortuneteller first. Madam Labasilier was top of her personal list. The specialty corset laces gave Inez pause, but it was possible such laces could have been obtained at another time and in another venue.
Then, the Lads from London. She couldn’t discount them entirely. It was possible their innate propensity for violence when inebriated had taken a nasty turn in the early hours before dawn. They had been eager purveyors of the drummer’s wares, although Inez couldn’t recall if a set of silver and gold corset laces were among the items paid for.
Now, with what Tony had told her, she felt she should include the Alexanders, although she couldn’t see either Françoise or Burton as the murderous type. He was, as Tony noted, too “meek and mild” a man to kill anyone, particularly in that manner. A rash bullet, perhaps, as anyone might have a sudden tightening of the trigger finger in a moment of desperation or anger, but to strangle someone required a killer so blind with fury that they could ignore the inevitable thrashing and desperation of the victim. Or someone so cold-blooded and dispassionate that the victim’s agonies made no impression.
Dr. Gregorvich and his burlap sack materialized in her musings. However, he had no motive she could discern. He certainly didn’t seem the kind of man to engage with fortunetelling and spiritualist goings-on. As far as she knew, Dr. Gregorvich was, like Doc and Reverend Sands, one of the “saints” who went into the rows to heal and help when possible, and lay the dead to rest when it was too late.
Finally, there was the drummer, the stranger passing through town: Woods. As the seller of the silver and gold laces, he had a ready hand to an ample supply. He said he had only two pair, but was that true? And according to Flo, he had unhealthy appetites. Had bumping into him the previous night truly been just a “wrong place wrong time” coincidence? Inez recalled his wild-eyed stare, his sweating in the frigid night air.
Pondering the odd collection of possible perpetrators, Inez had to concede there was always the possibility the killer was someone completely unknown. Someone whose fortune went awry, someone too full of alcohol to think straight, someone who had heard of the hundred-dollar payment and wanted the money for themselves. The possibilities, including random chance, were overwhelming.
As she mused over the shrinking chances of finding Drina’s killer, much less her missing corpse, Inez watched Tony. The girl ran a tentative hand over the fancy woodwork in the wainscoting of the entryway and examined the turned balusters and newel of the nearby staircase to the second story with unabashed interest. Tony tipped her head back to look at the upstairs landing, and Inez suddenly realized where she had last seen Tony’s “new” rust-colored derby. “Where did you get the new headgear?”
Tony pivoted, clamping the hat to her head with a protective hand. “One of the newsies gave it to me. T’ help with my disguise.”
“I would like to know how he came by it,” said Inez.
Tony shrugged. “He said it came from a drummer who took a scarper in the wrong part of town and left it behind. We find all kinds of stuff in the alleys.”
It looks like I shall have many questions for Woods when he shows up at the Silver Queen tonight to sell his wares.
Inez said, “Mr. Stannert will be back soon with clothes that will be a far better disguise.”
“A dress.”
Inez ignored Tony’s scornful tone. “Anyone looking for you is looking for a boy. Dressing in women’s clothes is probably the best way for you to ‘hide in plain sight.’ I have a good friend, Miss Carothers, who is a photographer here in Leadville. She has agreed that we can present you as her ‘niece.’ As soon as you’ve changed clothes, we will go to her studio so you can meet her.”
“What about my job at the coffin-shop?”
Inez’s brow furrowed. “Under the circumstances, it seems unwise, even dangerous, for you to be there until we know how the Alexanders fit into your mother’s death. If they fit at all.”
“If I’m there, I can find out. And maybe,” her voice became almost a whisper, “maybe whoever took Maman will bring her there.”
“If she is there, you must tell me. I will ensure she is given a proper burial,” said Inez gently. “That is the least I can do, along with making sure no harm comes to you, her beloved daughter.”
The cold from the entryway had begun to seep under her woolen coat and the vapor from their breath misted the air. Realizing that Tony’s arms were now crossed tight against the chill indoors, Inez added, “Let’s find out what Mr. Stannert was so anxious we see in the parlor and see if a stove is in there as well.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Tony sure as shooting hoped there was a stove in the parlor. While standing in the entryway, she had become uncomfortably aware that the jacket Ace had given her “for disguise” wasn’t going to keep the cold out once the temperatures fell. She looked around the Stannerts’ house, thinking she’d have to find some warmer woolen drawers for nighttimes and for working at the coffin-maker’s. Undertaker, she reminded herself. He calls his place Alexander’s Undertaking. Sounds more high-toned, I guess. Better’n coffin-shop.
She was glad she’d told Mrs. Stannert everything, about who she’d seen, what they’d said, and even that she was working for the undertaker now. She couldn’t see Mr. Alexander as a bad guy, but it couldn’t hurt to have someone besides Ace know where she’d be in the evenings.
When Mrs. Stannert went to open the door to the parlor, Tony crowded up behind her, anxious to get inside the room and the promise of possible warmth. Mrs. Stannert walked in first, and Tony heard her gasp.
Tony stepped in, and then stopped, feeling maybe she should’ve left her dusty, worn shoes outside such a fine room. Not only was there a parlor stove at one end and a fireplace at the other, there were two fancy upholstered chairs, a cozy-looking rocker with a footstool, and
a loveseat all in soft brown patterned fabric. Little tables sat here and there and at the far end, close to the fireplace, was a piano. It was beautiful, long and low, polished, made of fine dark wood that gleamed. It was as different from the honky-tonk keyboards as Mrs. Sweet’s shiny uptown girls were from the shabby whores working on the rows.
Mrs. Stannert walked toward the instrument all dream-like, pulling off her gloves as she went. Tony took a few tentative steps into the room, then stopped and looked down. Covering most of the floor was a carpet, just like the one she’d seen in the windows of Owen & Chittenden on Harrison. Like the one she’d wanted to buy for Maman. It was a carpet, she realized, that she’d never have been able to afford, no matter how many pennies and nickels she would’ve managed to save. Something like this could only be bought with gold, and plenty of it. Just like the piano. Or the house, come to that.
Tony stepped carefully off the carpet and onto the smooth plank floor, and skirted around the edge to where Mrs. Stannert stood by the piano, running a hand over the keyboard cover.
Spying one hopper full of wood and another of charcoal by the fireplace, Tony asked, “Can I lay a fire?”
Mrs. Stannert turned to face her. “Absolutely! Let’s warm this room up.”
While Mrs. Stannert prepared the stove, Tony worked on the fireplace, marveling how new and unused everything looked. There weren’t even ashes in the hearth. Done with the stove, which popped and pinged as it heated up, Mrs. Stannert came over and put a light to the fire using the box of lucifers on the mantel. As the fire leapt upward, Tony held one hand out, grateful for the increasing warmth. It was then that she heard the first soft notes from the piano. The liquid music took her by surprise, infusing her with a glow that started somewhere deep inside and spread out, warming her from inside like the fire warmed her from without.
