What Gold Buys

by Ann Parker

  Inez closed her eyes and took in a deep and shuddering breath. I can’t. I can’t do it. I haven’t the strength for that kind of life. But I don’t want to lose him. And I can’t ask him to give up his calling for me. Just as he can’t ask me to give up who I am for him.

  She opened her eyes, and did what she did best: Pushed it away to focus on the present. First things first.

  She had to perform her ablutions, dress, and go downstairs. Face Mark, Abe, and most likely Bridgette as well, and offer some slimmed down explanation of the night’s events to Mark, which meant to Abe and Bridgette as well.

  Then, she had to prepare herself to meet Mrs. Sweet, otherwise known as Frisco Flo, and do what needed to be done. She told herself sternly that there was no backing down now. She’d made her decision: that train was running down the tracks, full speed ahead.

  Also on the list was to meet briefly with her lawyer, Mr. Casey.

  Much later that night, she had to be prepared to meet, greet, and play hostess to her usual coterie of card players. She wondered how many of the “usuals” would be there and if the Lads from London would make an appearance. Only time would tell.

  Between the morning’s undertakings and the requisite evening’s activities, other tasks demanded to be addressed.

  She was determined to track down Tony. The sooner the better. And work out a plan for keeping the youngster safe until the Lads were on the train and returning to the Springs. And then, to help Tony work out a plan for her future. Did she have any other family? Inez realized she knew next to nothing about Tony’s background, aside from her “maman” and some dastardly fellow named Brown.

  Finally…

  She removed her wrap and then her nightdress, picked up the now-steaming kettle of water atop the stove, poured it slowly into her washbasin, mixed in a little cold, and tested the warmth. Picking up a washcloth and a towel, she spared a glance at the corner cabinet.

  …I must ascertain where Madam Labasilier lives, arrange a visit, and extract answers to my questions, poppet in hand.

  Chapter Twenty

  Clean and sober by virtue of a vigorous scrubbing with the rough washcloth and a splash of ice water from the nearby pitcher, Inez donned an equally sober dark walking outfit after making sure the back laces of her corset were adjusted such that she could take a deep breath, which was a great relief after last night’s tighter-by-necessity support that the evening gown required. She pocketed her Smoot revolver, then checked the tight neat knot of hair at the nape of her neck using the mirror on the wall and the heavy silver hand mirror. Satisfied that she exuded an air of serious intent and purpose, Inez retrieved a simple winter hat and her walking coat and gloves, before marching downstairs and into the kitchen, resolve as firm and bolstered as her spine by the steel stays.

  The smell of frying bacon and coffee hit her full force, inducing an unexpected wave of nausea. Mark, Abe, and Bridgette looked up when she entered. Conversation halted.

  Bridgette resumed first. “It’s a good morning today, ma’am, although the sky looks like we shall have more snow before the day is out. Last night’s flurry is all mud now, although how it could be mud as cold as it is, is a mystery to me! Now, you sit down and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  “Thank you, Bridgette,” said Inez primly, hanging her hat and coat on a nearby hook.

  Mark jumped up and pulled out her chair for her. “Here you go, darlin’.” Just as she’d predicted, he looked as if he’d just come in from a full night’s sleep, hair brushed to gleaming, mustache waxed and neat. He wore a waistcoat she had given him as a gift before he disappeared more than a year and half previous. Or more accurately, he wore a replica, since the original had gone up in flames when the house had burned to the ground earlier that summer.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stannert.”

  Abe, who sat across the table from Mark, was eyeing her as if somehow divining from her somber appearance all the ghastly events of the previous evening. One arm slung over the ladder-back chair, he toyed with the knife he’d been using to cut a slice of ham.

  “Any news from home, Mr. Jackson?” she asked

  He unwound from the back of the chair and returned to his ham. “Nope. Angel’s not sleepin’ much. Lots of pacing and belly-achin’. Not that I blame her. Mrs. Buford’s there when I’m not. Told me she’s never seen a woman so late in her delivery.” His knuckles showed white beneath the taut brown skin. He set the knife down. “Sorry, Bridgette. Just can’t get much of an appetite goin’ right now.”

  “Well, now, Mr. Jackson, that’s quite understandable.” Bridgette opened the maw of the hulking iron stove and pulled out a pan of biscuits. The warm smell, redolent of comfort and cheese, wafted over them all. “Just try one of these. You need to keep your strength up! I know, first-time fathers, why, they need as much care and feeding as the mothers, but so often folks don’t see that.”

  “More cheese biscuits?” Abe eyed the baked puck of dough as Bridgette deposited it on his plate. “We close to the end of all that cheese yet?”

  “Now you recall, Mr. Jackson, it was you who brought it in, such a deal, you said. In answer to your question, I’ve used up just over half.”

  Abe sighed and picked up the biscuit.

  Mark, who had been watching Inez since she came in, said, “Now that you’ve got your coffee, any chance you’ll fill us in on last night?”

  Inez took a deep breath, picked up her cup, and noted with satisfaction that her hand was steady. “Abe, do you remember that little fortunetelling woman, Mrs. Gizzi, who was with Mrs. Alexander yesterday?”

  Abe leaned back in his chair, and put the biscuit, untouched, onto his plate. “Yeah.”

  “Well, Drina Gizzi is Tony’s mother. She was killed last night.” The two men leaned forward, intent. Inez could almost swear that Bridgette, busy at the stovetop, also leaned backward the better to hear.

  “I ran into Tony.” Inez resolved to go along with Tony’s dissembling while Bridgette and Abe were about, and to avoid any mention of Reverend Sands, if possible. She had no stomach for sparring with Mark after the previous night’s events. “Tony was the one who found Drina’s body.”

  “Damn,” said Mark softly.

  “Mr. Stannert!” said Bridgette sharply, then with a quick change of tone, “Poor little mite! He’s one of Mr. Elliston’s newsboys, isn’t that right? Wears a red cap?”

  “That’s right,” Inez saw that the cup in her hand was now trembling. The motion had set up tiny waves in the surface of the coffee, which looked darker than night and stronger than sin. She set the cup on the scarred wood table with a clack.

  “Somehow,” Inez continued, “between the time I saw Drina’s body and found a representative of the law, the corpse disappeared.”

  Abe leaned forward. Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “She’s gone.” Inez shook her head. “I don’t know who, why, or even how. Officer Kilkenny thinks she ‘came to’ and walked out. But she was definitely dead. Even if I were to give credence to Kilkenny’s supposition, I cannot imagine she would leave her shack in French Row in the dead of night to go wandering about. She was a fortuneteller, not a—” Inez stopped, aware of Bridgette. The cook had given up the pretense of cooking and was standing there, a slab of raw bacon hanging from her long-tined fork, listening avidly. Inez discarded the word “whore” and continued, “She was not a lady of the evening, as it were. And I cannot see her leaving her child behind.”

  The sight of that raw bacon, pink meat and glistening fat impaled on the sharp end of Bridgette’s fork, caused Inez’s stomach to roil. She pushed herself away from the table, leaving her breakfast untouched. “I have some errands to run. If Tony should come to the back door, please let him know it is important I talk to him. I should return by noon.”

  Mark rose and, too late to help her out of her chair, helped her into her coa
t instead. Holding the passdoor to the saloon’s main room for her, he said in an undertone, “You were in French Row last night? Inez, what the hell happened? What were you doing there?”

  She brushed his concern away as she swept through the dim and silent room, the click of her walking boots echoing off the wood floor and walls. “I am fine, Mark. I was not dressed appropriately for the weather, but short of ruined skirts, I survived.”

  “Was Reverend Sands with you?”

  She faced him, raising a warning hand and speaking deliberately. “Mr. Stannert, our agreement stipulates that we lead separate lives. You do not interfere with my private life nor I with yours.”

  He captured her hand and held it so she couldn’t move. His expression, tight with frustration, held her equally still. “Yet you continue to wear the rings I gave you, rings that signify our marriage, Mrs. Stannert. I am still your husband by the laws of God and man. I do believe that affords me some leeway in asking after your whereabouts.”

  Unable to lower her arm, Inez clenched her hand into a fist, feeling the double bands of silver and gold bite into her fingers.

  He let her go and stepped back. “Darlin’, I’m not looking to argufy. Don’t get on your high horse just because I was concerned for your wellbeing. Look at it from my perspective. You traipse off into the night in high dudgeon, then trail in hours later, all disarranged.” He smoothed his mustache, as if pondering his next words. “If you were with the reverend, that means you weren’t swannin’ around in a bad part of town in the middle of the night by yourself. That’s all.” His voice softened. “Also, I want to show you something today, this morning, if possible, before you do anything else.”

  She’d begun bristling for a fight and his unexpected retreat left her off-balance. She responded, “Not this morning, Mark. I have an appointment with Miss Carothers. You should stay here, in case Tony comes around.”

  Mark seemed to consider, then nodded. “All right, Inez. I’ll wait for you.”

  Inez departed, feeling a little guilty. She pushed that feeling aside, telling herself that what she was doing was all for the best. After all, it was Mark who had first introduced her to the technique she’d just employed on him: When lying by omission, be sure to wrap the empty space with a thin layer of the truth.

  ***

  Inez hastened to her friend Susan Carothers’ photographic studio on Chestnut. Susan had accompanied Inez to Colorado Springs and had become entangled in the events that had transpired, much to her ultimate sorrow, so Inez’s words to Mark were true: She wanted to see how Susan was holding up, after her trials in the shadow of Pike’s Peak. However, that wasn’t the only reason Inez was anxious to be at Susan’s studio that morning.

  Ignoring the CLOSED sign in the window, Inez twisted the brass doorknob, gratified to find it unlocked. She entered to the clink of the tiny bell above the door. Feminine squeaks and muffled laughter floated from the back punctuated by Susan’s calm admonitions: “Miss April, Miss June, please don’t make faces at Miss May. She needs to hold absolutely still if I am to get a decent exposure.”

  Inez walked toward the voices, calling, “Susan, it’s Inez.”

  Skirts rustled, and Susan came out of the room, pushing back the curly fringe of dark hair across her forehead. She smiled. “Inez! How good to see you. When did you return?”

  “Late yesterday.” Inez walked forward and put both hands on Susan’s shoulders, searching her countenance. “I came as soon as I was able to catch my breath. How are you?”

  The question was laden with genuine concern.

  Susan’s smile wavered, sorrow lingering at the corners of her mouth. “Work is the great healer, and I have been busy since my return from the Springs. Although this latest commission,” she rolled her eyes toward the portrait room in back, “is proving to be more vexing and to take longer than I thought it would.”

  “I would imagine Mrs. Sweet is recompensing you handsomely for your efforts?” Assured by Susan’s nod, Inez said, “I saw your sign is turned to CLOSED. Still, you might consider locking your front door as well.”

  “Good idea.” Susan unhooked a key from the chatelaine at her waist and did as Inez suggested.

  “I also have a favor to ask of you,” Inez continued. “There is a young girl of my acquaintance, the daughter of a woman recently come to town who has just died under mysterious circumstances, most likely murdered.”

  Susan turned to her, brown eyes wide. Inez hastened, “It is a sad situation. The girl has no other relatives that I know of, and, for reasons I won’t go into now, I need to keep her relationship to the murdered woman confidential. I would claim her as a distant relative, but I cannot, with the way things are. My question is this. Would it be all right with you if I pass her off as a distant relative of yours, a niece, who is visiting Leadville?”

  “Of course! I’m so sorry to hear of this.” Susan touched the signboard and set it swinging on its chain in the window. She then drew the curtain to block sight into her anteroom. “Poor child. If there’s anything else I can do, if she needs a place to stay, just ask.”

  “I will let you know. I would like to introduce her to you, I hope later today. Thank you, dear friend, yet again.” There was a thump from the sitting room and a freshet of giggles. “Meanwhile, it sounds as if you have your hands full. I will have a word with Mrs. Sweet and be on my way.”

  Susan pointed down the tiny hall in the opposite direction of the portrait room. “She’s waiting in my parlor. Help yourself to tea, and please tell Mrs. Sweet I am working with Miss May, and still have Miss June to go.”

  Susan returned to her camera and clients. Clutching her handbag tight in both hands, Inez took as deep a breath as her stays would allow and walked into the parlor.

  Frisco Flo sat in the red plush overstuffed armchair, idly perusing an issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book, delicate china teacup and saucer on a nearby occasional table. She had crossed her legs in an unfeminine fashion at the knee, and one stockinged ankle, fully displayed, circled idly. A fleur-de-lys pattern, picked out in salmon-tinted embroidery on ivory silk, marched up the half visible calf and disappeared under a layer of frothy red lace petticoats beneath the knife-sharp folds of her proper gray skirt. Flo lifted her baby-doll blue eyes from the page.

  “Mrs. Stannert, welcome! I told my girls to deliberately drag their feet and be silly during their sittings so we’d have time to conduct our business.” Flo patted her blond curls, checking that her pert dove-gray hat stayed at its rakish angle. “Please, sit and let’s get started. Tea?” She gestured with the periodical to a cozy-covered teapot and second cup and saucer on the table.

  “No thank you, Mrs. Sweet.” Inez perched on the edge of a matching loveseat.

  Flo set aside the magazine. “I hope your extended holiday in the Springs was pleasant?” Her red-painted mouth twitched.

  “As pleasant as could be expected. I saw my son, my sister.” Inez’s fingers played restlessly along the edge of the handbag as if picking out a random tune on the piano. “Mr. Stannert belatedly joined us, as I think you know.”

  “Oh, yes. His absence was noted with some sorrow, just as his earlier return caused quite a stir in certain circles.” Flo lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as if to indicate the angels themselves had descended to warble hosannas at his coming. The blue gaze returned to Inez. “In fact, after you left for the Springs but while he was still in town, he stopped by our new house on Fifth Street. Strictly on business, I assure you.” Her mouth quirked again. “He looked around, made all the right admiring noises about the décor and the new girls, and congratulated me on making an astute and well-timed move to the ‘better part of town.’ Then he asked, oh so casually, whether my building on State might possibly be for sale.”

  Inez raised her eyebrows. “He did?”

  “Oh, yes. We had a merry little waltz around that topic. Such a charmer, that
husband of yours. He can talk the paint off the walls. However, your secret is still safe with me.” She uncrossed her legs, and the embroidered ankle disappeared from view. “So, you are still moving forward with your plans? I heard no different from you. But there is probably time if you want to change your mind.”

  Inez shook her head. “I am proceeding as planned. Did you have any problems from your end?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. All I needed to do was drop a hint of the whereabouts, the payment involved, a guarantee of success, and,” Flo snapped her fingers through lace gloves, “done.”

  “When? The timing is critical, as I explained in my letter.”

  “Most likely this coming weekend. Certainly no later than the end of the month. That’s what you wanted, correct?”

  “Correct.” Inez reached into her handbag, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table to Flo. “Thank you. You will let me know when arrival is imminent? I want to be prepared.”

  Flo smiled lazily and, with one delicate, lace-covered fingertip, slid the envelope back. “No hurry. I’d rather we wait until we know that everything works out to your satisfaction, partner.”

  “Ah, we must discuss that next. Complex circumstances, you understand at least in part what they are, have made it necessary for me to withdraw from our partnership on the State Street building.”

  Flo’s gaze narrowed.

  “I am sorry,” Inez added.

  Flo sat back and regarded Inez. “Our deal was once I had completed the move to the Fifth Street residence, which I have done, you would pay me the balance for the State Street building. You gave me a down payment and we signed an agreement. I’ve had many offers for the building since then, which I turned away as a result of that agreement. This is most unfortunate. I’m doing well, but the girls and I aren’t exactly awash in gold and silver. I was counting on the balance from that sale.”