What Gold Buys

by Ann Parker

  Quick said, “Oh, he’ll show up all right. Probably still cavorting with that redhead he was so keen about yesterday. Although I do say, it’s not like him to abandon his mates without a word.”

  Inez tuned out their bickering and watched as one of Leadville’s deputy marshals approached, grim purpose written in his face. He stopped, tipped his hat to Inez with a short, “Mrs. Stannert,” before addressing the Lads. “Am I right to assume you gentlemen are associated with a Mr. W. P. Brown?”

  Epperley blinked. Tipton frowned. “What’s this about?” said Quick. “We have a train to catch.”

  “I’ll get to the point. Your compadre was found in a bad part of town, not healthy for much of anyone and definitely not healthy for him. In fact, sorry to tell you this, he’s deceased. Must’ve really ticked someone off, because they not only shot him, but strangled him as well.”

  Quick stumbled backward as if punched him in the chest. Epperley looked outraged. Tipton emitted a faint, “Oh fuck me!” that earned him raised eyebrows from the deputy.

  The lawman dug into his copious pocket, saying, “I have something here, found next to the body. Thought it might belong to your friend because of the initials.” He pulled out a pistol, holding it by the barrel. “It’s a mighty fancy piece for someone to leave behind after an attack. This look familiar to any of y’all?”

  With shock and dismay, Inez took in the unmistakable ivory grips of Tony’s gun, etched with the damning initials, WRB.

  Chapter Thirty

  She corrected the deputy marshal on the initials, pointing out the “P” was really an “R.” This fine point didn’t really clear up anything and just seemed to perplex him all the more. “So, it’s not his firearm, eh? Mighty similar initials. Maybe belonged to the fella who shot him? But why would he throw the gun aside? It’s all mighty strange,” he concluded.

  Inez wanted to extract more information from him, but she only had time to express her astonishment and sorrow over Percy’s death and ask where and when he was found before the deputy verbally dismissed her. “Can’t really discuss that right now,” he said. “I need to chat with these gents, if you don’t mind.”

  After settling the deputy and the Lads at a table in the Silver Queen for their “chat,” she pulled Sol aside and asked him to keep an ear out to what transpired. Inez returned to the sky-blue house on Fourth Street, packed up her few things, washed the few teacups, and put them away. She managed to keep the memories of the previous night at bay until she turned to the piano and lowered the keyboard cover. Smooth, polished, it silently begged her to stay. Inez ran both hands over the top, recalling the feel of Reverend Sands’ arms around her.

  An overwhelming sorrow engulfed her in a dark wave. Sorrow for the reverend’s impending departure came first, but then, as the black tide advanced, much, much more followed. Sorrow for Tony and her situation, sorrow for the snuffing out of lives known and unknown. And, despite the reverend’s call to heed the desperate needs of others, an overwhelming, personal sorrow for her own mess of a life.

  Fingertips resting lightly on the sweet, smooth polished wood, she wished she could go back in time. Back to the early days with Reverend Sands, when it might have been possible, just maybe, for them to have left Leadville together and go, go somewhere where she could imagine her old life had never been. But then, what of William? What of Susan, and Emma Rose, and Abe, and Sol?

  Further back then, to the day of Mark’s disappearance, to stop him from taking that fateful walk. We were together as a family, but we weren’t happy then either, not really. We were like the couples I see every day, unhappy wife at home, making the best of her lot, the husband never home, busy with work, busy with colleagues.

  Perhaps further back, to the day Mark, she, and Abe had first set foot in Leadville. What would have happened if they had not stayed, but moved on, kept moving west, to Virginia City, and eventually to San Francisco, as planned? What then? A whole different life would have unfolded.

  Inez shook her head.

  This self-pity was unlike her. And looking back never solved anything.

  “No use crying over spilt milk,” she said aloud. There was only reckoning with the present and planning for the future.

  She locked the house and returned to her chambers in the saloon, wrote a note to her lawyer, enclosed her calling card, and sealed it in an envelope. The envelope went into the hand of an urchin lingering by the kitchen door and hoping for a late Sunday handout, along with a nickel and a cheese biscuit from Bridgette’s dwindling supply. Inez instructed him to drop the note off at the office and residence of William V. Casey, Esquire, and promised a dime when he returned with a response.

  Inez hovered in the kitchen, loath to go elsewhere until her little messenger returned. Sol showed up with the dirty crockery from last night’s poker game and set it all in the sink to wash. “The Britishers are still here,” he commented. “You did say it’s okay for them to stay a while after the deputy left?”

  Inez nodded, pulling her thoughts back to the present. “What did the deputy want to know?”

  “Well, mostly he asked when did they last see Percy and where. And he wanted to know about the pistol.” Sol looked at her curiously. “It belonged to a newsie, right? The one who tried to shoot Lord Percy and put a hole in the ceiling instead?”

  “Yes.” Inez determined not to volunteer any more information than necessary.

  “Geez, so young to go so bad.” Sol shook his head.

  Inez pondered whether to go talk to the deputy, but what could she say that wouldn’t make things worse? She’d given the gun back to Tony. There was no one to vouch that Tony had mislaid it, except for Tony herself. And Inez could just imagine how that explanation would go over with the law.

  “The blond one, Epperley, he’s really on the warpath,” commented Sol. “Says he’s got to get back to Manitou Springs, that he has a business to attend to. He told the deputy the youngster needs to be smoked out and strung up for Percy’s cold-blooded murder.”

  Inez shuddered.

  I should be sure that Tony cannot be found by those who are looking.

  She asked, “What was this about Percy being strangled?”

  “Yeah, strange, that.” Sol leaned against the sink, which gave off a faint metallic rattle. “Seems to me, if you shoot someone, you hightail it out of there, don’t stick around to squeeze his neck as well. Or, if you shoot someone once and the job’s not done, why not shoot him again?”

  “Did anyone hear the shots?” Inez asked. “Where did this occur?”

  Sol scratched his chin. “Apparently it happened in an abandoned shack in Stillborn Alley.”

  A chill ran up Inez’s back. She sat up straighter. “What?”

  “Yeah. Used to belong to a tea leaf reader or something like that. Anyhow, she left, I guess, and the place was empty. Huh. Wonder if she might’ve been mixed up in this? Didn’t Percy go to a soothsayer who told him to invest? Maybe it didn’t work out, he went back and threatened her or demanded she return his money, and she panicked and shot him. Maybe she didn’t leave after all and is still in town, hiding from the law.”

  Inez reflected that, as of the previous night, Percy had been cheery with the results of Drina’s prognostication of future fortunes. In any case, Drina was definitely “departed,” in the most permanent sense possible, although there was no way to prove it.

  ***

  Inez found it hard to sleep that night, and spent restless hours turning things over in her mind. Early Monday morning found her pacing in front of her lawyer’s home, waiting for the appointed hour at which she could knock on the door. When her lapel watch read eight o’clock, she mounted the stairs and gave the bell a twist. The door opened immediately, almost as if Casey had been waiting for her.

  He greeted her warmly. “Mrs. Stannert, I received your message yesterday evening and I see by your
presence that you received my reply. You said the matter was urgent. Please come in.”

  Inez entered and he ushered her into his office. She glanced around the room, all was the same as when she had first begun her consultations with him in July. The neat, almost-to-a-fault, walnut desk held a collection of sharpened pencils marching in a row along one side of his leather-bordered blotter. In the exact center of the spotless blotter was a squared-off sheaf of papers. The top sheet was covered top to bottom, side to side, with neat, penciled handwriting. Inez assumed these were his notes from their previous meetings. She hoped that they were just legal notes and didn’t include his private assessment of her prevarications the past summer as she had wavered to and fro over the wisdom and timing of pursuing a divorce on grounds of desertion. She also hoped that he’d kept his thoughts to himself regarding her sudden plunge forward into the process, only to have her yank back on the reins upon Mark’s unexpected return.

  The welcome scent of fresh coffee drew her eyes to the coffee service on the sideboard beneath the shelves of legal volumes lining one wall. “May I offer you some coffee, Mrs. Stannert?” Casey’s kind voice only reinforced her feeling of being welcomed, as it were, by an old friend.

  She nodded. He prepared her a cup, saying, “As I recall, you take it black,” gave it to her, then moved to sit on his side of the desk, gesturing her to the chair on the other side. She took one sip allowing herself a brief moment to appreciate the rich dark flavor, then set the cup aside on its saucer.

  He was watching her with a steady gaze, twirling his half-glasses idly in one hand. It was the first time she could recall seeing Casey exhibit any sign of tension. She laced her hands and placed them on the edge of his desk, preparing herself.

  “How was your recent trip to the Springs?” he inquired.

  She was taken aback that he even knew. “It went well,” she said cautiously. “I saw my son and sister. You may recall, she and her husband have been acting as guardians for little William in all but name.”

  “Your husband was there as well?” The glasses swung back and forth from one temple piece, like a metronome.

  “He was there,” she said tersely, then gathered her courage. “I want to proceed with the divorce. Now. Right away.”

  The glasses ceased swinging. He folded them, and set them on top of his neat stack of notes. “Right away as in?”

  She talked fast, hoping that the information that she recalled from their previous visits and that she had pieced together from here and there was correct. “The next county court session begins the first Monday in November with Judge Updegraf, am I correct?” Without waiting for him to respond, she rushed on. “I want to be there, that day, with suit in hand, asking for a dissolution of the marriage on grounds of desertion. The fact that he has returned does not negate the time he was gone, correct? I have been a resident in Colorado for three years, far more than the one-year minimum. We published a summons in the newspapers. I stopped the procedure when he returned. Well, now I am certain. I want that divorce.”

  Casey leaned back in his chair, which squeaked as if wanting to flee from her intensity. However he responded calmly, as if it was a normal occurrence for a woman to march into his office and demand that he effect a dissolution of marriage right now. “The timing of this does not look good, Mrs. Stannert.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will speak frankly. It is common knowledge since yesterday that the reverend from your church is leaving. It is, perhaps, only somewhat less common knowledge that you and he…” His eyes flickered to one side and she could almost see his mind at work, busy picking up and discarding words, looking for the right ones. “You had a ‘relationship’ that, whatever its true nature, has the unfortunate appearance of being improper, even illegal. So, your haste has the appearance of being suspect.”

  “You are saying that I am painted as an adulterer in the public eye and that there is the expectation that I am eager to get a quick divorce so I can jump on the next train out of town to join him,” said Inez bluntly.

  After a slight pause, Casey continued, “Judge Updegraf is an honest judge. There are still cities and towns in the Western ‘frontier,’ even in Denver, I understand, where you might find a judge who will wink and nod as he delivers a speedy divorce decree in favor of an attractive woman.” He held up a hand. “I’m speaking hyperbolically, but not by much. The point is Judge Updegraf is not one of those. When we come before him—you, I, your husband, his lawyer—you need to be aware of the possible adverse consequences.”

  She unlaced fingers and gripped the edge of the desk, leaning forward. “Mr. Stannert will not be there. He will send no lawyer. He will accede to whatever requests I have. I guarantee it.”

  Now Casey looked surprised. “Did he say this to you?”

  “I can promise you he will.” Inez used her considerable force of will to project her assurance. “I need to pick the right moment to discuss it with him. When he and I talk, there will be no argument from him.” She pushed forward. “What are the legal limitations to having the divorce go smoothly through the court? Assume Mr. Stannert is not there, he offers no resistance, the charge of desertion stands, and I can produce witnesses of impeccable reputation who will aver that he has been gone for the stated period of time. What other barriers might arise?”

  Casey broke eye contact to gaze out his window. He seemed to be addressing the curtains as he said, “If there is any hint of collusion, the judge will take issue. For instance, if it appears the two parties have manufactured a charge of cruelty, simply to obtain a divorce, the judge will throw out the divorce request. Similarly, if both parties have been guilty of adultery, when adultery is the grounds for the complaint, no divorce will be decreed.” He swiveled back to face her. “There is also the matter of alimony. If it rises above the amount of two-thousand dollars, the case becomes the jurisdiction of the district court.”

  “No alimony,” she said. “I only want the divorce.”

  He put on his half-glasses, chose a sharp pencil from the parallel row alongside his blotter, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper from a desk drawer, and began making notes. “What of your son?”

  She told him her plan. He shook his head but kept writing. “It may be enough,” he acknowledged, adding, “perhaps. And you say Mr. Stannert agrees to this?”

  “He will.” Inez gripped the edge of the desk even harder, feeling that she was in the midst of the most important poker game of her life, and despite her careful preparation, she was counting on Lady Luck and bluffing to see her through.

  Casey asked her a few more pointed questions, to which she responded as best she could. He finally sighed and set down his pencil. “If you want this suit to be in the first day of the November calendar, I must prepare the summons paperwork immediately and have it served on Mr. Stannert today. The newspaper summons we placed in July is no longer valid, so as you correctly surmised, he needs to be served again. The law requires that he have a minimum ten-day window to respond. Although, you are saying he will not respond, and he will not appear in court.”

  “He will not.”

  They stared at each other for a long time, across the wide walnut expanse. Casey finally said, “It’s a long shot, Mrs. Stannert. I would not be honest if I didn’t state so in the bluntest possible terms. I can see but small chance for the outcome you wish, and a great possibility of failure of the most catastrophic kind. The case could very likely proceed to a higher court, but that’s not the worst of it. You might not receive your divorce at all, at any court level. It may be that, no matter how much you—and even Mr. Stannert—want the divorce, no matter how estranged the two of you are, it may not happen. To me, that is the greatest injustice of all, but it is the law.”

  Inez gripped her right wrist with her left hand, trying to steady the shaking that threatened to envelope her. The two rings, one silver, the other gold, pressed uny
ielding against her flesh.

  He tapped a finger restlessly. “I must admit I have some reservations with moving forward on this, at this time. Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Stannert. I am not obsessed with my professional win-to-loss ratio as some lawyers are. I am concerned about what this may mean for you personally, if we lose the suit for any reason, including whether Judge Updegraf remains unconvinced that the suit has merit or whether his breakfast eggs were undercooked and he is having an ‘off’ day. However, I will do my best. I can see you have decided and are not to be swayed from your course. Just keep in mind: once you throw the dice, to use a gaming analogy, you cannot call it back for another throw, you can only leave the game.”

  “I understand. Thank you.” Inez couldn’t look him in the eye any longer. Instead, she focused on his desktop, the blotter, the square stack of papers, his tapping finger. It was then she noticed that he had placed his pencil aslant, the only item on his desk not at perfect perpendicular and parallel.

  ***

  A little shaken, Inez retraced her steps to the saloon. She wondered when Mark would receive the summons. According to the agreement they drew up in Colorado Springs, Monday was his day to tend bar with Abe and Sol, and her day “off.” Sol was already present and accounted for, polishing the bar with sweet-oil and a piece of old soft silk. Inez could hear Bridgette rattling around in the kitchen, humming to herself. If Abe had been back there with her, Bridgette would be exclaiming, clucking, and commenting, not humming.

  “Where’s Abe?” Inez inquired.

  Sol adjusted a sleeve garter and looked up, a strand of copper-colored hair hanging loose over his forehead. “He sent word that he’s at home, probably be there all day. Things are finally…moving?” Sol seemed unsure about his phraseology, “With Mrs. Jackson?”