Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04)

by Ann Parker

  “Lovely,” said Crowson. Inez wasn’t certain if she meant her dress or the fact that she’d obeyed with a minimum of fuss. “I know because I, too, am a clever woman, and the only way I’ve been able to utilize that talent is by disguise and subterfuge. It was not the life I wanted.”

  “The War? Dr. Galloway?”

  “Ah yes. You’ve learned a great deal in a few days. Yes, the War. Everyone believed Victor was a brilliant surgeon.”

  Inez swallowed hard. She called him Victor to my face. This cannot be good. She glanced around furtively, for something close at hand that could be used as a weapon.

  Crowson continued, “I made myself be content to be his shadow, his younger brother, the assistant surgeon, but he and I, we both knew the truth. I was the hands behind the healing, the one who guided the blade he held at each and every surgery and amputation. I whispered the words he was to use, told him what treatments to apply. In this way, I was able to stay in the unit with him and assist in the operations, be an equal of the other men, looked up to for my abilities. Until Galloway.” Her hand shook, then steadied. “But that won’t happen again. Now, we have a second chance. I know he will listen to me when I explain the situation, show him the opportunity. He owes me that much. I gave up my life for him, and now it is his turn.”

  “You have committed murder and mayhem in the name of medicine,” said Inez. “A true healer would shrink away in horror and disgust. I cannot imagine he will listen to you, once he finds out what you have done.”

  “He’ll never know. He believes whatever I say. You’ve given me a splendid idea, which I will explain so you are not tempted to do something stupid. If I must shoot you, I shall simply put the revolver in the doctor’s hand. The story can be that you killed each other. A little messy to explain, but one can always conjecture. The motivation will be clear, however. I know, as did the doctor, that the DuChamps boy is really your son. I know the doctor told the DuChamps that he strongly advises that your son not go back to Leadville. Too high, you know. You learn of this. You are a passionate woman. You become incensed, distraught. And you are prone to drink. Yes, I know that. So did Dr. Prochazka, and he warned your husband of the dangers you were in, soon after his arrival. If I’m not wrong, I believe you have been drinking earlier this night. Again, excellent. We all know that alcohol quickens, excites, and animates the vital forces. So, in your passion and determination, you come to the doctor’s clinic to seduce him and convince him to change his mind.”

  The gun rose and fell, indicating Inez’s evening dress. “Perhaps it can even be suggested that your husband put you up to this act of immorality. He will deny it, of course. But his background is such that who will believe him?”

  She nodded, pleased. “I hate to lose Mr. Stannert as a possible investor, but there is no hope for it, so I might as well destroy any credibility he has here and drive a wedge between him and Mr. DuChamps. Yes, it is brilliant. It will work.”

  Her eyes snapped back into focus, glinting in the light from the table lamp. “So, Mrs. Stannert. You had best obey my every word, if you hope to convince me that it isn’t more advantageous to kill you. Now, to work.”

  “What am I to do?” Whatever it is, I’ll do it slowly as possible, and hope that I get an opportunity to act.

  Crowson pointed with the gun to a large crate below the counter where Prochazka conducted his research. “Just take everything on the surface, pull the photographs and notes from the wall, and toss them in. Be careful. The doctor was culturing various strains of tuberculosis on the Petri dishes. I don’t know what might happen if you cut yourself on the glass and some gets under your skin.”

  Glad that she was wearing evening gloves, Inez moved slowly over to the counter. “Since I’m to be your housemaid, perhaps you can explain to me why you killed Dr. Prochazka. He said he’d found the mechanism for consumption. He was thinking of leaving Manitou. If you wanted him out of the way, why not simply let him go?”

  Inez picked up one glass dish between two fingers and dropped it into the crate with a crash.

  “No, no, silently please. Why Dr. Prochazka? He told me of his research success this evening. He was exuberant, of course. But he didn’t see what that would mean to us. All the tonics and medicines would be useless. What good is a mineral springs against a bacterium? All the people who flock here would stop coming. Dr. Prochazka was correct about one thing: once the enemy is identified, it is just a matter of time before someone comes up with the proper weapon. We would be truly ruined, and Victor would not recover from such a devastation.”

  “But Dr. Prochazka’s colleague, Dr. Koch, is on the same trail.” Inez picked up a half-full flask and lowered it into the crate. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  “I’ll take some time over none. All I want to do is convince Victor he must return to the medical field and we will do as we did before. We have Prochazka’s tonics. I kept his receipt book. Victor can turn the running of the hotel over to someone else, and he can become the hotel’s physician and I will once again be his hands and guide him. We don’t need Prochazka anymore, and we certainly don’t need his ‘research’ on phthisis.” She gestured with the pistol. “A little faster, Mrs. Stannert. Dawn will be here soon.”

  “How did you kill him?”

  “Easy enough. Unlike Robert Calder, who refused my tea—and I knew he would, so I had prepared—Dr. Prochazka has some every night at about three in the morning, to help him sleep. He is an insomniac and finds the mint relaxes him. This time, there was more than mint.”

  “Why the statue?”

  “When I came in, expecting he would be in a swoon, he wasn’t. Alas, I had no choice.” She sounded sad. “Violence is not my way.”

  “Is not your way? What about Calder?”

  “Well, you know about the herb Paris. I had access. I had keys. By the way, right after you and your husband left this evening, I went into your rooms.” She reached into the basket and pulled out a passkey to the hotel. “So, I knew it was you. You were in Victor’s rooms yesterday and mine as well. I sensed someone had been there. The chair had been moved. There was a disturbance of things. Then, Mr. Travers showed me your husband’s card.” She shook her head. “How much wiser you would both have been to simply take your walks and enjoy the scenery.”

  “So, Calder.” Inez removed a tower of Petri dishes, bent to bring them close to the floor of the crate. They slithered in, clattering.

  “I thought if his horse became ill, he would stop his silly questions. Perhaps he would be injured as well, or at least inconvenienced. I didn’t know events would unfold as they did. Then, he became wild. You saw him in the garden. I knew I had to take direct action, because eventually he would destroy Victor and perhaps uncover my part as well. So, I made certain I was out walking that evening. He stopped, as any proper gentleman would, and offered me a ride to the hotel. I told him my conscience would not rest, I’d been out walking, trying to decide what to do, and that I had to confide in him about his brother. He came to my rooms with great eagerness to hear what I had to say. He refused my tea, and instead took the offer of a glass of port from a sealed bottle.” A pale smile ghosted across her round face. “Sealed. Do you not see the folly of his choice, Mrs. Stannert?”

  “You poisoned the bottle of port.”

  “There was no other way to quiet him. It was quick, painless. He became unconscious. I injected his heart with air, just to be sure. I put him in the invalid chair and rolled him up the canyon. I didn’t want him to be found near the hotel. I didn’t want any connection with the hotel. We have had enough troubles as it is, and I do not want to drive paying visitors away. No one saw me. If they did, well, so what? The pre-dawn air can be beneficial for some, easing the breathing. That would have been my story.”

  “So you dumped his body in Williams’ Canyon, maneuvered the boulder on that bench of rock into the invalid chair.” Inez’s hand shook. She picked up a heavy microscope.

  “No, no, leave thos
e there. I’ve decided it will be better for the story I’m to tell. So, yes, I used the chair. However, I miscalculated. The boulder was so heavy, it nearly broke the chair’s mechanisms. Still, it all worked. You needn’t mourn Calder too much. As I said, he was well dead by that time.”

  Inez shuddered. “Did you want Mrs. Pace to die also?”

  “Absolutely not. As with the horses, events that were supposed to unfold in a certain way, did not. After the mishap in the Garden of the Gods, I determined I would be in control of all the factors.”

  “What was supposed to happen with Mrs. Pace?”

  “I extracted the digitalis from the foxglove. Measured the amount carefully. Pulled out only as much tonic as needed, and injected the digitalis in its place. If Kirsten Pace had taken the proper dosage, her heart would have weakened at altitude, but that is all. She would have become short of breath, and they would have returned quickly, contritely. The Paces would have seen that we were right and they were wrong: it was dangerous for them to go to Leadville. Why would Mr. Pace want to look for investment opportunities there, when the Mountain Springs House is here? Leadville doesn’t need his money, we do!”

  The naked ferocity in her voice caused Inez to clutch the doctor’s notebook to her breast, as if paper and leather could be armor against a moving bullet. Her mind raced, trying to see things the way the nurse might.

  “So, it was just supposed to be a lesson,” offered Inez. “Not lethal at all. Because, after all, you want the Paces to be on your side.”

  “Yes, yes. That’s it. A lesson.” Mrs. Crowson’s head bobbed. “But things went awry. Mr. Pace took ill. I assume the altitude, although why he and not his wife felt the effects, I don’t understand. And then, he drank the entire bottle! The entire bottle! I made it very clear: only a teaspoon, and only three times a day.”

  “So, he essentially killed himself.”

  “Exactly, Mrs. Stannert.” She sounded pleased that Inez understood.

  “The notebooks too?” Inez held it out to her, as if she might want to keep them. “Seems such a waste. All his work.”

  “Toss them. Especially them.”

  She did. “How are we to explain the doctor’s death?” Assuming I can stay alive and not become a part of this ghastly tableau.

  “My plan is this. He needs to be taken out of here.” She looked down at the crumpled body and mess of blood on the floor. “His papers and experiments must be destroyed too. I was thinking that a fire in the clinic would do. Perhaps they will think he simply died in the fire.”

  “But people will rally and attempt to put out the flames,” pointed out Inez, a half-empty flask dangling innocently in one hand. “If you are going to hide the body, perhaps just put out that he left in the night? Just disappeared? People do that all the time.” Mark did. “We can suggest that he was planning on returning to Germany. Perhaps, being the eccentric sort he is, he just gathered up his papers and left. He might have mentioned his success at his experiments and plans to return to others, so, while it might seem odd for him to vanish, it might not be entirely out of character.”

  Crowson thought, then smiled broadly, approvingly. “I knew I did the right thing in not shooting you when you walked in the door. We will be most excellent confederates, and you will convince your husband to invest well and heavily in the hotel.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I will tell you this, lest you might be tempted to cross me and talk to your husband, your sister, the marshal, my brother, anyone at all. Mr. DuChamps has agreed to allow his wife, that is, your sister, and your son to winter over in Manitou, at our hotel. What a tragedy it would be if either your sister or your son should, well, suddenly fail dangerously in health. You may think that by telling them to not take the tonic, you could save them. But they must eat. They must drink. They must breathe. And I have all the keys.”

  Inez stared, horrified. “You would kill an innocent child?”

  “Not I. You would by your own indiscretion. You would kill your own son. I know you don’t want to do that, do you? Now, quickly, time is passing.” She hitched the gun meaningfully.

  Just then, a groan at her feet.

  Inez stared, incredulous, as Prochazka’s outstretched fingers twitched. She wanted to scream: Be silent! Don’t move!

  But it was too late. The nurse looked down and said, “Dear me.” She brought the statue up high and whipped it down.

  Inez threw the half-full flask at the nurse.

  The statue contacted the doctor’s skull with a sickening thud, just as the flask’s contents splashed over the nurse.

  Mrs. Crowson screamed. She staggered and dropped the statue, then grabbed the edge of her cloak to wipe her face.

  Inez grabbed another flask, hiked her skirts up to her knees, and headed for the door, flinging the second glass as she dashed past Mrs. Crowson, who dodged and lifted her gun.

  The shot cracked throughout the clinic. Inez swore she could feel the bullet buzz past her head. She broke into a hobbled run, only to find a bulky male figure looming at the clinic’s door, silhouetted by the dawning light.

  Lewis grabbed Inez and spun her out of the way, shouting, “Shelby! Stop!”

  The second bullet, meant for Inez, hit him square in the neck.

  The scream came not from Lewis but from Crowson.

  Inez flattened herself to the floor next to the hotelier, who was bubbling up blood. She scrabbled in his pockets for a pistol, a knife, anything.

  He was unarmed.

  Crowson bore down upon them, eyes wild. She grabbed Inez by her silk-clad shoulder and shoved her away from the dying man.

  Sister knelt by brother. She set the gun down and tried to staunch the wound with her hands. Blood oozed between her fingers to the floor, soaking into the thirsty dry wood.

  Inez backed away, on gloved hands and stockinged knees, and gripped a chair leg, dragging the chair around so she could swing it. She was determined to take down the nurse with hardwood, if nothing else. Assuming she got the chance before the next shot.

  Crowson ignored Inez. Whispering low to her brother, she put an arm behind his back and pulled him up to a half-seated position. Lewis choked and a surge of blood spilled from his lips, splashing over his jacket. He went still.

  Through the open door, Inez could see the back porch of the hotel. Several men were gathered in a knot. The knot loosened, and one figure limped down the steps and came through the garden, moving quickly: Mark.

  Mrs. Crowson lowered Lewis to the floor, gripped his wrist as if seeking a pulse, and closed her eyes. Inez dragged the chair toward herself and rose on her knees, tensing to swing.

  The nurse opened her eyes and gazed at Inez. Her expression was as one who lived through battles and wars, only to be brought down by an invisible burden, too heavy to bear.

  “I did everything I could, everything in my power to bring him back to who he needed to be, so we could return to who we were,” she whispered, still clutching his wrist. “Now that he’s gone, that can never happen.” She raised her revolver.

  The final shot shattered the air before Inez could bring the chair around.

  But it didn’t matter.

  After all, the bullet was not meant for her.

  Chapter Forty-five

  There was no way to hush up the scatter of bodies in the clinic and the lingering sense of catastrophe that greeted the hotel’s patrons and patients at the dawning of the day.

  Epperley did the next best thing and closed the clinic building, putting a hefty lock on the door. The hotel manager then put out an urgent request to Dr. Zuckerman, who agreed to put off his trip to Denver and take over the Mountain Springs House’s patients immediately.

  Epperley stepped into the breach, deciding that it was best to put it out and about that the whole sorry business was a family affair, brought on by Crowson’s sudden mental collapse. As he explained privately to Inez and Mark that evening, from behind a screen of cigarette smoke and during a shared bottle of brandy in the manager’s smal
l but comfortable office on the main floor, “All the people who matter, including the marshal, know about Mrs. Crowson’s unceasing work here at the hotel and in the community. They won’t blink an eye at the suggestion that all the strain brought her to the edge of hysteria and that something simple pushed her over. The overwhelming responsibilities of being on the front line of the healing profession and what not. Besides, Dr. Prochazka was not the easiest chap to answer to. He’d drive anyone to madness, honestly. I’m certain the hotel’s reputation can survive this unfortunate incident, provided I can count on your discretion.” He raised an eyebrow and added another generous tot to their glasses.

  When Inez inquired as to what would happen to Prochazka’s research, Epperley waved a desultory hand, sending a coil of cigarette smoke into a swirling chaos. “You started the job quite neatly with your enforced housekeeping in the back room. I had a maid I trust finish the task. Burned the papers to keep them away from prying eyes.”

  Inez couldn’t help it. She gasped.

  Epperley continued. “Threw the rest of the glassware away. Oh, gave the microscopes and Dr. P’s tonic recipes to Zuckerman, at his request. It was all he wanted, and he’s welcome to them. By-the-by, as you probably know, Zuckerman is as heavily invested in the hotel as I am. He’s backing up this sorry tale of woe with his considerable reputation, so we’ll have no problem from the medical side of things.”

  “But Dr. Prochazka told me he’d discovered the cause of tuberculosis,” Inez said. “Think of the lives that could be saved, if his work could be salvaged.”

  Smoke puffed from Epperley’s nostrils in a derisive snort. “Assuming he really did, who would present those results to the medical establishment and the world?” He tapped the growing ash into a crystal ashtray. “Are you volunteering for the assignment, Mrs. Stannert? Or perhaps you’re thinking of Dr. Zuckerman? He’s no researcher, just the local pill pusher. A well-regarded one, but still, no academic. He’d be laughed out of any serious gathering of medical men. He’ll make a mint from all of Dr. P’s tonics, and that’s all he cares about. As for the building…”