by Ann Parker
Inez dashed out the door and slammed square into the bony frame of ex-marshal and livery owner Bart Hollis. Hollis grabbed her arm, snarling, “Watch it, stranger!” Then, after closer scrutiny, he said, “Oh hell. You.” And released her arm as if he’d grabbed a rattlesnake by the tail.
The barker hurried up. “Leaving already? The night’s still young.”
Screams and shouts erupted from inside. Alarmed, the barker drew his gun and dashed through the entrance.
Inez made a run for the hitching rail.
Hollis caught up as she struggled with the knot. “Hold on. I hear you’ve been pumping old Jack about Eli Carter. What’s your game, Miz Stannert?”
“No game,” she snapped, trying to undo the impossibly tangled granny knot and keep an eye on the door at the same time, hoping against hope that Delaney would not suddenly erupt from the saloon. “What’s yours?”
“Whaddya mean?”
She abandoned the knot and set her hands on the rail, leaning forward, glaring at him as he stood on the boardwalk looking down at her.
Rather than defend, she determined that the best course of action was to attack. “You say you and Eli fought together. But you did not. You say the two of you were best of friends. Again, you were not. He’d turned away from the war and its aftermath. You did not. You say he had no family, but he had a wife. So. Just how sorry were you really to see Eli go? I know you followed him out of town when he left. Did you have anything to do with his disappearance?”
Hollis retreated a step, face slack in amazement. “You think I killed Eli? Hell, I was as surprised as anyone when he packed up and left. I rode out after him, caught up outside Malta. I thought he’d gone crazed, touched in the head, t’ up and leave like that. We talked. Well, yelled, more like it. He said, ‘Take the damn business. I don’t want it, there ain’t nothing for me here.’ Told me he had something to do, an’ I wasn’t part of it. Took off down the road. That was the last I saw of him.”
Inez put a fist on the rail, furious. “You didn’t even try to stop him.”
“I wish to hell I had.” Hollis’ face was uncharacteristically sober in the flickering light spilling from the flyspecked window of the Red Garter.
“So, what are you doing here?” She turned back to the knot.
“Trying to set things right. Get some answers. Follow up on a couple things that Eli said to me once, and that Jack said.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you doin’ here?”
The knot gave way. “Leaving.”
Tossing the reins over Lucy’s head, Inez grabbed the saddle horn and hauled herself up onto the saddle.
A quick touch with one heel and a sideways pull of the reins turned Lucy away from the hellhole of a dance hall. Just before heading out, Inez glanced back. Hollis stood there, staring at her.
But what really caused her to clench the reins tighter was a figure emerging from the entrance and moving into the flickering illumination of the saloon’s window.
Delaney.
Half of his face was illuminated, the rest in darkness. But it was clear he was looking directly at her.
He lifted his hand, finger extended like a gun—and pulled the trigger.
She rode away as if the devil were on her heels.
Chapter Forty-Three
As Inez burst through the doors of the saloon, Abe said, “You don’t have much time, Mrs. Stannert.”
“I’ll hurry. I rode straight here, poor Lucy’s tied up outside. I probably won’t take her to the C&H tonight, since I’ll be out early tomorrow. Please ask Sol to take her to the livery around the corner.”
“Tomorrow?” Abe wiped his hands on a rag. “We’ve got the Fairplays comin’ in the afternoon. They’re countin’ on you to supply the music, remember.”
“Of course I remember,” she said too quickly.
Abe searched her face. “Just it seems you’ve got your mind on somethin’ other than business these days.”
“What I do on my own time is irrelevant. I’m here when I’m supposed to be. Plus some. Now, if some of my regulars arrive early, offer them a drink. We’re going to use the new room upstairs tonight but have them wait here until I come back down.”
Inez hurried up to her dressing room behind the office and stripped. She tossed the filthy clothes into the shadows and filled her washbasin nearly to the brim. She pulled out the oilcloth she used for the floor and stepped onto it. A hunt through the forest of bath and toiletry items on the shelves beneath the stand turned up clean towels and the odd flesh-brush or two before she uncovered the spirits of ammonia. She uncapped the bottle, swirled two teaspoonfuls into the cold wash water, and scrubbed vigorously with the brush, her skin prickling with goose bumps. After drying off with a coarse Turkish towel, she felt raw, but clean. Now I won’t smell of horse, dust, and that wretched whiskey from the Red Garter.
She returned to the shelves, finally finding the bottle she was searching for. Inez checked that the stopper was tight and shook the bottle to mix the glycerine, alcohol, and rose water. She rubbed the mixture on her hands, arms, throat, and face. Finally, she pulled out the hair dressing that Bridgette had given her: “Olive oil, good bay rum, one dram of oil of almonds. You just shake it up is all. It will bring out the highlights in your beautiful hair.”
I just want it to clear me of the smell of that place.
She poured some into her palm, raked it through her hair, whipped a brush through the strands, and used a battalion of pins to fasten it back and up.
Dressing quickly, she pondered over the day’s events.
Tomorrow, when Preston and I have no distractions, I shall find out the exact relation between Hiram and Eli. And once and for all, the identification of the railroad man that rode that stray horse.
She was back downstairs in record time to find only Doc, looking lost and forlorn, standing in the middle of the empty gaming room.
He turned, brandy in one hand, his cane in the other. “So, Mrs. Stannert, where are we meeting, if not here?”
“The upstairs room is ready for us.” She caught his arm. “Come on up. I’d like to talk with you alone for a moment, in any case. Seems like we don’t have any time together anymore.” She stopped by the bar to retrieve her brandy and coffee and instructed Sol and Abe to send up the other regulars when they arrived. “Jed’s bringing some newspaper men,” she added. “So let’s do our best to entertain them.”
As they ascended the stairs, Inez asked, “Doc, I’ve wondered all week. Why didn’t you press charges against Reuben when he shot at you during the fracas last Saturday?”
“I suppose we can thank General Palmer.” He gripped the banister with one hand, his cane in the other. “What came to mind at the time was Palmer’s brush with the young bushwhacker, and the good general’s response. I thought, if he could be magnanimous in war and absolve the youngster who shot at him, well, I could do the same for an act of passion committed during a brawl.”
“That was very noble of you.” Inez thought she herself would not have been so noble, under similar circumstances.
Inez then prepared to play her first bluff of the evening. “Doc, I also wanted to talk to you about Reverend Sands. I’m very worried.” She manufactured a low tone, injecting hesitancy and anxiety, and a small note of apology. “He asked me not to speak of his trip to anyone, but I know you’re aware of the details. So, I hope I can confide in you. You see, he promised he’d get word to me, let me know that all is well, and I’ve not heard a thing.” She hugged Doc’s arm to her side, at the same time helping him up the last five stairs. “This business he’s involved in for the railroad and Snow….” She allowed her voice to trail off, throwing a sharp look at Doc from under her half-closed eyes. Let’s see if my hunch is right or wrong.
Doc looked out of breath, but not surprised. He nodded, lips pursed.
She continued, “I’m concerned about the danger. And now I see Snow around town.” Without his daughter. A
nd where, pray tell, is she? Out gallivanting with Sands? “I can hardly sleep for worrying.” She tried to look distressed, not incensed, as befitted a woman pining for her man.
Her act, while perhaps not of the caliber of Maude Fairplay’s, was apparently good enough to convince Doc.
On the landing Doc stopped to catch his breath. “There, there. Don’t fret.” He patted her hand. “As you know, the good Reverend J. B. Sands is a man who knows his business. And not just the preaching business. Everything he did for the Union, so long ago. Behind enemy lines and so on.” Doc’s eyebrows jiggled up and down meaningfully.
Of course. All that wretched sneaking and spying.
She murmured encouragingly.
Apparently encouraged, Doc continued, “Snow’s only minimally involved, so his coming and going is of no consequence. General Palmer knows our good reverend’s qualifications. Sands is our eyes and ears, on the lookout for trouble. Can’t have trouble now. Even a hint of it. And the sabotage. They’re thinking, an inside job. Unacceptable. Palmer needed an outside expert to straighten things out. Palmer and Grant, after all….He told you about the notes?”
What notes? Inez nodded mutely.
“Well, he shouldn’t have, really. But then, m’ dear, you surely see, it doesn’t hurt that—” Doc looked around the empty landing and lowered his voice even further— “he’s done this sort of thing before. During and after the war. He’s capable of handling trouble, in any form.”
Unless that form is a woman. She tightened her mouth into a smile.
“Palmer has the utmost faith in our Reverend Sands. All those gentlemen from Philadelphia, they run in the same circles, know each other from the war, from business. The reverend has the confidence of those at the top. Else we’d not have pushed so hard for him to acquiesce to this bit of work. He’s perfect for the part, as I said. And with Grant’s visit, as point man for the organizing committee, I—” He stopped and looked past her to the stairs. “Ah-ha! Here comes Jed, trailing quite a crowd. The Colorado Press Association, I’d wager. And I see Cooper acting as rearguard. Now, not a word to anyone, right? Wouldn’t want Sands and the rest to think I can’t keep mum.”
Doc stumped over to the staircase, booming, “Evening, Mr. Elliston, and who are your companions?”
Inez’s mind churned with questions. Palmer, the head of the Rio Grande, wanted Sands to investigate the sabotage? Hasn’t he his own men to do that? And what’s this about Grant and all that business about Philadelphia? What notes? How do Birdie Snow and her father work into this or is Birdie a mere…diversion?
She plastered a smile on her face and moved toward the assemblage.
Jed looked up from the stairs, with a silly boy grin that seemed to say, “Told you so,” and said, “Mrs. Stannert, allow me to introduce you to these gentlemen of the press.” The gentlemen, eight in number, came to attention and removed their hats as if called to duty. Jed rattled off the names in a casual roll call: “Mr. Dawson of the Denver Tribune, Mr. Wood of the Colorado Springs Gazette, Mr. West of the Golden Transcript….”
After Mr. West, Inez lost track of the names and publications. Still, she inclined her head and delivered how-do-you-do’s and pleased-to-meet-you’s down the line. She noticed with satisfaction that they all, to a man, reverted to manners as no doubt taught to them by their mothers—bowing in return and murmuring polite variations of “pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Excellent. They’re clear that the Silver Queen is no “Red Garter” establishment. A vision of the aged female bartender in the Garter flew through Inez’s mind. She smoothed the skirt of her dark green velvet dress, glad that she’d taken the time to fasten a silver and pearl bracelet to her wrist and matching necklace and earrings.
“Gentlemen, please follow me. You’ve chosen a good night to visit the Silver Queen as we’re just going to christen our new gaming room.” She led them to the recently installed doors, still smelling of varnish and new wood, unlocked them, and entered. Jed trailed after her, followed by the rest.
She turned in the middle of the room, gratified to see how the etched glass lamp fixtures sparkled from the flames within, and how the waxed and polished wood floors and paneling, green and gold wallpaper, framed prints and paintings, and two new rugs—with more to come—harmonized into a pleasing whole. The original sideboard, brought up from downstairs, was well stocked, the decanters, bottles, crystalware, and coffee service present and accounted for. I must remember to tell Sol I approve. She knew he’d spent the better part of the afternoon preparing the room for the evening.
She waved a hand at the round mahogany table. “We’ll eventually replace this with a new one, when we can get it shipped up by train. The coming of the railroad is a blessing in that regard. As for the rest of the furnishings, we’re being discriminating in our selection. This is to be a very exclusive section of our establishment.”
Several of the pressmen pulled out pencils and notebooks and began scribbling. Good! The more publicity the better. Who knows? If some of the nobs from Denver and Colorado Springs read about this, they may decide that it’s worth their time and money to pay a visit.
“So Mrs. Stannert,” asked one. “Are you the only woman in Leadville running a place like this?”
“Well, gentlemen.” She turned and walked to the window, pulling it open to admit some of the sights and sounds of State Street. “I may not be the only woman in the ‘entertainment’ business, but I wager you’ll not find more decorous surroundings elsewhere in town.”
A general murmur of approbation heralded her statement.
She bestowed a benign smile on the attentive press, turned back to the window, and looked down the street. Moonlight shone on the mountains, silvering their heights. Lights blazed from the rooms of Frisco Flo’s upscale parlor house. Inez could see figures moving about, drawing a curtain closed, pulling it back. An open window here and there. A gentle breeze breathed on her cheek.
A faint boom echoed through the night. A whistle soft and purposeful whished past her ear, accompanied by an odd tug at the side of her neck, like the rake of a fingernail on soft skin.
Glass shattered behind her with an explosive sound.
Chapter Forty-Four
“Jumpin’ Jehosephat!” shouted a newsman.
Clapping a hand to her stinging neck, Inez spun around.
One of her newest acquisitions, a painting of Napoleon on a horse with an expanse of French countryside in the background, hung crookedly from its wire, its glass destroyed, a neat hole in the general’s hat.
Inez whirled back, taking care to step away from the window’s line of sight.
She saw a man, silhouetted, clamber out of one of Flo’s second-story windows and jump to the roof of the saloon next door, disappearing into darkness. He carried a stick-like object in one hand.
But Inez knew, it was no stick.
“The bastard!” she snarled. “He nearly killed me!” She took her hand away from her neck. Blood coated her fingers. The stinging increased.
Excited gabbling filled her ears. The newsmen, Jed in the forefront, crowded to the window, jostling for a better look, heedless of their own safety.
“What bastard?” Jed leaned out the window, peering to either side.
“I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to find out!”
Doc came forward, distress on his features, handkerchief extended. “Mrs. Stannert! Please, let me look at that.”
“Not now!” She snatched the proffered cloth from Doc and ran to the door, holding her skirts up with one hand, the handkerchief to her bleeding neck with the other.
Inez clattered down the stairs, aware of the thunder of feet behind her. She pounded through the dimly lit kitchen and shot out the back door. Anger boiled up and over the common-sensical voice that whispered against venturing out into the dark alley in her good clothes.
She stopped and pulled her small gun out of its secret pocket sewn into
the seam of her evening dress. Then, attempting to grip the pistol and hold her skirts out of the filth with the same hand, she moved purposefully through Tiger Alley, eyes to the deep shadows for a lurking gunman.
“Mrs. Stannert, wait!” Jed caught up with her, panting. “Hold on! You can’t just go running through the alley like this!”
“Oh no?” She kept moving, forcing him to keep pace.
Before long, she was surrounded by the pressmen, who, she suspected, were looking forward to writing up some sensationalist snappy story for their representative rags.
“Where’d the shot come from?” one asked.
“Frisco Flo’s boardinghouse.” Inez banged her toe on something hard.
“Boardinghouse?” came another voice, dubious.
“Oh, call it what it is,” said a third. “The cathouse down on the corner.”
A long, low whistle from the back. “That’s some shot. And at night. How far away d’ya think the gunman was?”
Someone began calculating aloud. “Well, the front of the lots are twenty-five feet wide. There’re what, nearly thirty lots on the block? That’s about….”
Inez stepped into something that squelched nastily into her second-best shoes, cursed, and slowed to a stop behind the Palace Hotel.
“C’mon Mrs. Stannert.” Jed headed down the side of the building. “If you want to find out who pulled the trigger, the best thing to do is head for the front door and ask Flo who was in that room.”
Grumbling, Inez conceded that Jed’s course of action was probably best.
The entire party arrived at Frisco Flo’s impressive brick fortress and attempted to crowd up on the tiny porch. A doorman opened the door and bristled at the invasion.
“Someone shot at Mrs. Stannert from one of your upstairs rooms,” Jed said accusingly.
Inez pushed to the front of the group and said to the doorman, who was nearly the size and shape of the door he guarded, “Tell Madam Flo that Mrs. Stannert would like to speak to her. Now.” The handkerchief, pressed to her wound, was beginning to drip. Her neck felt as if it were on fire.
