Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04)

by Ann Parker

  Without a word, Harmony disappeared into the bedroom and returned, handing Inez a small brown bottle. Inez tucked it into her reticule with a smile. She turned to Aunt Agnes, saying, “I will be going to Ohio House to visit Miss Carothers today, so shall be on the lookout for rattlesnakes, dear aunt. But before I go, I have something I must discuss with you.” She located a wooden chair that had been moved aside to make room for Lily, William, and the ball, and arranged it so she could sit facing Aunt Agnes.

  Aunt Agnes pulled her head back, like a turtle that didn’t appreciate the sudden intrusion. “Well, then, what is it, Inez. Goodness, you can move back a bit. I can hardly breathe.”

  “I know you have lived with Mama and Papa these past few years, since Harmony married,” said Inez, staying where she was.

  “Of course.” The fan moved faster. “Someone had to be there for your mother. Your father is my brother, and none knows better than I how little he is around these days. Too, someone needs to keep an eye on things. And run the household, since she has been so weak. Harmony has her own household and your son to consider, so one can hardly expect her to take up the additional burden.”

  Inez didn’t miss the accusation, but chose to dodge that battle.

  “I understand that Papa threw away all the letters I wrote home.” Inez watched closely, to gauge her aunt’s reaction to this simple fact.

  Agnes sniffed. “He did not toss them. He burned them. Except for a few I was able to smuggle to your sister after her marriage, so you could re-establish your relationship.”

  Inez nodded. That was true. Harmony had told her as much. “I understand that Papa did the same with Mark’s letters. The ones he sent to New York, addressed to me, this past year.”

  She saw Aunt Agnes’ eyes widen, then dart furtively left and right, as if looking for an escape route. Finally, that penetrating blue gaze fastened on Inez with unblinking intensity. “He wrote to you? In New York? I don’t believe so. I never saw letters to that effect. If he told you so, he was lying.”

  Inez raised an eyebrow, without comment. No, dear aunt. He wasn’t lying. You are.

  Agnes continued, picking up steam, “He is probably just trying to worm his way back into your good graces.”

  “I thought you liked him, Aunt Agnes.”

  Her fan ceased its frantic fluttering, snapped closed, and Agnes tapped Inez’s gloved hand with it condescendingly. “Oh nonsense, dear child. How could I like a man who deserted you and your wonderful little boy, only to turn up now, as you are finally ready to return to your family? I’m doing my utmost to be polite, but really. I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either.”

  Inez smiled thinly and stood. “Well, I hope you have a pleasant morning. I shall be back later today, after the noon meal. I do hope you get out for that turn around the veranda. I suspect if all the consumptive guests are safe sitting on the piazza, you will survive as well.”

  ***

  As for lunch at the Ohio House, it went about as Inez expected. Marshal Robbins was more than happy to devour Mrs. Galbreaith’s fried chicken, potatoes and gravy, and blackberry pie, and consume quarts of lemonade, but was not inclined to listen to Inez’s and Susan’s theories on Calder’s death.

  “Ladies,” he finally said, pushing empty plates and the four photographs to one side. “Mr. Calder was an ace-high fellow. I can understand you wanting to argufy about the way in which he came to meet his Maker, because it’s a shame and a half. But there’s nothing that points to anything other than him being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “But there are no marks on the walls to indicate where a rock of that size would have come loose,” said Susan again, pushing the before-and-after images back toward him. “Look for yourself.” She set a magnifying glass by the pictures.

  The marshal crossed his arms, as if by refusing to touch them the photographs might magically disappear. “Probably came off the wall from higher up.”

  “But in that case, he would have heard the rock coming,” Inez pointed out. “He would have had time to move out of the way.”

  “Maybe he decided to try climbin’ the cliffs,” the marshal countered. “Some of these young fellas, they take on anything close to verticality, just for the sport of it. I’ve seen ’em do it. And if Calder was up there and grabbed a loose rock, well, that’s it. Down they come, and that’s the sorry end to it.”

  Susan opened her mouth again. Inez caught her eye and shook her head. She knew exactly what Susan was going to say, because the same retort was on her lips: If that were the case, more than his head would have been injured.

  Logic, Inez could see, wasn’t going to sway the marshal’s take on the incident. His mouth was set in a stubborn straight line. Arms folded across his chest. He was squared up to stand off any opposition, whether a stampede of raging buffalo or a passel of angry petticoats.

  “Who found him?” Inez asked.

  He uncrossed his arms. “Mrs. Crowson. She’d taken one of the hotel’s folks out for a constitutional after breakfast, in the invalid chair, you see. When they happened on the scene, she told me she could see there was no hope for him, so came back and reported to Mr. Lewis, who sent for me.”

  Mrs. Galbreaith appeared from the kitchen, with a tray of cups. “Coffee, Marshal?” she asked.

  “Don’t mind if I do. Mrs. Galbreaith, you make the finest Arbuckle’s this side of the Mississippi.”

  She smiled, acknowledging his praise, and set full cups all around, with the cream pitcher near to hand. “I will offer a prayer for Mr. Calder and his family,” she said. “How tragic for all of them. First the elder son, and now the younger. I suppose you had a physician determine cause of death? For the family’s sake, if nothing else.”

  He poured a generous amount of cream into his coffee and stirred. The dark liquid faded to caramel brown. “Well, ma’am, as you know, Manitou doesn’t have a coroner, but you can’t throw a rock without hittin’ a sawbones or two. When I arrived at the Mountain Springs House, they’d already rustled up Doc Zuckerman to attend. He came up the canyon with us, gave the situation the eyeball, and determined that it was a sad and sorrowful act of God and Nature that caused Mr. Calder to pass in his chips, and nothing else.”

  ***

  After the unsatisfactory conversation with the marshal, Inez made her way back across Manitou Springs, skirting the Navajo spring, crossing the bridge, and passing the Manitou Soda on her way to the Mountain Springs House. She had hoped that Harmony had somehow succeeded in convincing Aunt Agnes that no bears would come galumphing down into town to snatch them up. But none of the places held her family, so Inez walked on to her hotel.

  Her mind picked over the marshal’s remarks, turning his comments this way and that, attempting to bring order to disorder.

  Why didn’t Nurse Crowson say anything to me about having discovered Calder when I saw her this morning? Very convenient that Dr. Zuckerman was there to attend. Why didn’t they ask Dr. Prochazka, who is, after all, the hotel’s doctor? Was that Lewis’ doing, calling Zuckerman to be the attending physician? And just how much “eyeballing” did Dr. Zuckerman do? Not much, I’d wager.

  When Inez arrived back at the hotel, she stopped on the veranda, grateful for the shade. She moved along the front porch, choosing a rocker at the far corner, and sat for a moment to rock and cool down from her walk. A waiter carrying a tray stopped to see if she wanted anything. She turned down the offer of iced mint tea—Mrs. Crowson’s special blend, the waiter reminded her, and was then offered a lemonade. Again, she demurred. Finally, perhaps more vociferously than required, she turned down a sparkling mineral water concoction that the waiter explained was guaranteed to “animate the vital forces” and was approved by Drs. Prochazka and Zuckerman. She waited until the disappointed waiter left before slipping her handkerchief from her sleeve and tucking it into the seat of the rocker so that a small portion of the linen was visible. When all was set for the next part of her plan, she rose and strolled in
to the hotel.

  She was happy to see that the young desk clerk from the morning was still on duty. A quick glance around the lobby reassured her he was the only other person in the lobby and that the music room across the way was empty.

  Her timing was good in other respects: As far as she could tell, the majority of guests seemed to be out, resting in their rooms, or otherwise engaged in after-lunch activities away from the hotel. In any case, the lobby was quite deserted. She halted by the front desk and asked for her room key, making a show of fanning herself and leaning heavily upon the edge of the reception desk. As the clerk handed her the key, she searched her purse before looking at him helplessly. “Oh dear. I must have dropped my handkerchief on the rocker outside when I stopped to rest. I would retrieve it, but am so exhausted from traipsing about this morning.”

  “I’ll be glad to fetch it for you, ma’am.” The young man hurried from behind the counter. “Which chair?”

  “To the right as you exit the door, at the end of the veranda.”

  “Would you like to sit in the music room until I return?” His hand hovered near her elbow, as if uncertain whether he should offer aid or not.

  “I think it’s better if I just remain here and catch my breath. I do appreciate your coming to my aid.”

  “I’ll be back immediately.” He hurried out the front door.

  Inez glanced around once more. No one was in sight. She reached over the desk and felt for the drawer she knew was there. Grasping the knob, Inez slid the drawer open. A smile bloomed on her face as not one, but three large rings came into view—each holding an identical skeleton key.

  Inez hooked one of the rings with a finger, lifted it from the drawer, and slid the drawer shut. She dropped ring and key into her purse, and commenced fanning herself again, feeling quite pleased with herself.

  The front door opened, and the clerk returned, triumphant, with Inez’s embroidered handkerchief held on high. She thanked him profusely, causing his cheeks to pink in the most endearing manner. She almost felt guilty for the ruse.

  Almost.

  She made as if to start up the stairs, and then turned around as if she’d just thought of something. “Excuse me, but is Nurse Crowson around this afternoon? Nothing urgent, I had a small question for her.”

  “She’s taken a guest up to the Ute Iron spring,” the ever-so-helpful clerk explained.

  “Ah, the Ute Iron. That is quite a ways up Ruxton Avenue, is it not?”

  “Yes, a bit of a walk, but well worth it,” he added. “Some physicians feel it is one of the most medically beneficial springs in the area. Although all have their benefits. It depends on the ailment, of course, as to what treatments the doctors recommend.”

  “Of course. Any thought on when the nurse might return?”

  He twisted around to glance at the wall clock behind the desk. “They left perhaps half an hour ago. The springs can be crowded this time of day, and it is a bit of a stroll…I’d guess they won’t return for a good hour or two.”

  She nodded, more and more pleased. “Thank you.”

  “Shall I send Mrs. Crowson up to your room when she returns?”

  “Oh, no need of that,” Inez said hastily. “I will find her at dinner time. That is quite soon enough. Thank you so much. I shall make a point of telling Mr. Lewis what an asset you are to the hotel.”

  He brightened noticeably and stood a little straighter at his post behind the desk. “If there is anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Stannert, just ask.”

  She beamed. “Thank you! You have been immensely helpful.” More than you can possibly know.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Upstairs, in front of her suite, Inez pulled out the passkey. Into the lock, a twist of the wrist, and the door clicked open.

  Good. So I know it fits the regular rooms. I hope they didn’t go so far as to put different locks on the bottom-floor rooms.

  Inez entered her stifling bedroom, poured water into the basin, dampened a corner of the hand towel and patted her face to remove the dried sweat. She could imagine the sun, beating down on the rooftop, pushing the heat into the second-story rooms. She wondered how Harmony, Aunt Agnes, Lily, and William were faring.

  She cracked the window sash to bring in a bit of outside air. Turning away from the window, she took a deep breath to prepare herself. I must have a ready story, in case I am caught wandering about.

  The first problem was quickly solved as she recalled the women’s staircase that led from her floor to the dining area. No one would be in the dining hall at this between-hour, so she was certain she’d be able to slip down without being seen and avoid the lobby altogether. As for the second problem, Inez took Harmony’s empty tonic bottle out of her reticule and smiled. “Thank you, dear sister, for your help,” she said aloud to the empty room and pocketed the bottle. Inez placed room and skeleton keys in her purse and exited her suite, taking care to lock the door behind her. From there, it was only a few steps to the end of the hall and a quick descent down the women’s stairs to the dining room. At the bottom of the stairs, Inez paused to get her bearings.

  It was the dead time between the noon and dinner hour. Tables were prepared for the evening meal, napkins folded into arrow-like peaks and set over crystal goblets. Silverware reflected the mountain motif, with forks and knives balanced into small “teepees” at each place setting, and the menu set square for viewing. All was silent and waiting.

  Inez skirted the edge of the room, slipped out the doors and into the corridor between the dining area and the music room. She moved quickly down the corridor, away from the lobby, grateful for the window at the end of the long hall for the afternoon light it shed into the long doorless tunnel. Mrs. Pace’s directions had been clear: The stairs were nearly at the end of the corridor. There were no doors along the way, no reason for guests to be in that particular hallway.

  Sure enough, a stroll along the empty hall yielded a set of stairs, leading down. Inez paused, gripping her purse in hands which were suddenly sweaty inside her kid gloves. In the hallway, deserted though it was, explanations for her presence came easily. Just taking a turn around the hotel, looking for a little solitude. Strolling to the window, to look outside. All believable, understandable, quickly accepted and forgotten.

  But the minute she set foot on the stairs and, even more so, once she had entered the dark and shadowed underworld—a world where she did not, by any stretch of imagination, belong—it would be much harder to explain her presence. Her hand snaked into her pocket, touched her sister’s empty tonic bottle. This is my talisman. My passage back to the upper world, should I need it.

  With a deep breath, she headed down the stairs.

  At the bottom, feet on unfinished wood planks she paused again, looking to left and right. To the left was the storage area—shadowy shapes of crates, cans, and bags lined up along the floor and in ranks of shelves. She could understand why a small child would instantly take to a game of hide-and-seek in this world beneath. To the right, shelf-lined walls guarded an entry to a passageway that ended in a door. A door, she felt certain, tucked under the veranda.

  She held her breath, listening.

  Nothing.

  Not even the squeak of footsteps on the boards above.

  She moved into the hallway until she reached two doors, set with lockplates that looked encouragingly like the plates on the doors to all the hotel rooms upstairs. To left or to right?

  According to Mrs. Pace, Lewis’ rooms were to the left. He is safely out all day, no doubt busy pouring tales of Manitou’s marvelous future into Mark’s ear. The unknown rooms, perhaps belonging to Nurse Crowson, were to the right. The smell of mint was strong in that direction, almost mesmerizing in its promise. Open me, the door seemed to whisper. Open me.

  With that, she turned and inserted the key into the door on the right. She released her breath with a sigh when the key turned, the lock clicked, and the door swung ajar. Without thinking any further, Inez stepped in an
d pushed the door closed. She stood in a small sitting room. A small window with heavy dark green curtains pulled back an arm’s width to reveal sheer voile panels underneath, looked out on a shadowed world under the veranda. A couple of mahogany chairs covered in worn green velvet shared a set of nesting tables. One of the tables was missing, judging by the gap. Inez identified the chairs as cast-offs from the women’s parlor upstairs. Two empty teacups sat on the topmost table.

  The smell of mint was even stronger inside. Aware that she shouldn’t tarry, she scanned the room, which was almost Quaker in its simplicity, then focused on a door opposite from the window, leading further back into the building’s lower floor. It turned out to be the entrance to the nurse’s sleeping quarters. Inez left the door open to shed some light into the interior. Even so, it was quite dim. Inez wished she could light the candle that sat in its brass holder on the bedstand, but was concerned that, should Nurse Crowson return from her walk and come directly to her apartments, she would detect the smoke, even through the mint.

  The bedstand held a tintype, framed in paper. Curious, she carried it to the door for more light. The image showed two men in front of a tent, one sitting on a camp chair, the other on a box. Both stared straight ahead into the camera. A board hanging on the front of the tent said “Surgery.” Given that the men were in uniform and kepis, Inez guessed it was the Civil War, most likely the Union side.

  Inez readily identified one of the men as a younger Franklin Lewis, right down to the sideburns. The other man, a stranger, sported a chin beard and the smooth unlined face of untested youth. A table between the two men held a dark bag. Inez squinted, sighed, and fished around in her purse, finally pulling out her reading glasses, so she could bring the image into focus. It looked like a physician’s instrument bag. She flipped the photograph over. The backing was blank, but the glue that had sealed it to the front had long since lost its adhesiveness. She cautiously lifted the backing to expose the reverse side of the tintype. Scratched into the metal in tiny letters were two sets of initials: VLF and SCF.