It was a cousin to the one she found by the river.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

A knock on the door shattered the moment.

Inez dropped the cloth with a start to the blotter. "Who's there?"

"Mrs. Stannert?" It was Maude Fairplay.

"Just a moment." Inez hurriedly tucked the letters back into the pigeonhole and wound the cloth around her hand like a skein of yarn.

Maude Fairplay eased open the door and strolled in, her maid behind her, struggling to pull the hand trunk over the sill. "No, no, please don't rise. If I might use your back room to prepare?"

"Let me be sure it's ready." Cloth balled in her fist, Inez left her chair and hurried to the door leading to her dressing room. "I won't be a minute."

Once inside with the door shut behind her, she feverishly yanked open the dresser drawer and pulled out the other strip. The cloth pulled from the riverbank was dirty, stained, and worn. The one from Eli's envelope, less so. Yet, it was the same color scheme. The same pattern. Only Eli's was longer, complete, two white stars set in blue, equal distance from the banded narrow ends. "Eli and the railroad man knew each other!" Inez said fiercely to herself. "Rio Grande business or not, I'm going to find out who the man was with Eli!"

Inez wound the two strips of cloth together, put them in the very back of the drawer, and gave the washstand's accoutrements a perfunctory inspection. She opened the door, intending to announce that the room was ready, and found Maude standing by her desk, holding William's photograph. "So." Her voice, usually so melodramatic, was soft, wistful. "Your son?"

Inez walked over, her first inclination to rip the case from Maude's hands and slam it closed. But Maude's tone, combined with the lingering sorrows from Lillian's letters, stopped her. Instead, she held out her hand. "Yes. That's my son, William."

She gave the photocase to Inez. "So like his father."

Inez snapped the case shut, still looking at Maude. "Dodge City."

Maude backed up a step. "So you knew. All along." Her face twisted. "You look as if you wish to stab me through the heart. But truly, since we are both here, through some horrible trick of fate....'The wheel is come full circle.' Edmund, from King Lear. Fathers and their children. Oh, Lear had his. You have yours. But I, I have none. And my heart will never heal from that sorrow."

"That's no excuse for what you and Mark did."

"Of course not." Maude sank onto the loveseat. "I cannot dissemble. The name Stannert...I thought, it's possible there are many Stannerts. What are the chances that it would be him and you? When you said he was dead, I thought, maybe I could avoid you, since you seemed intent on avoiding me. But it isn't possible to avoid the past." Maude's eyes were tired, haunted. "Well, we're alone now, Mrs. Stannert."

The maid by the door stood still as a statue, frozen with an expression of dread etched on her features.

"So I suppose this is the proper moment to say I'm sorry. That what occurred between your husband and me was-" Maude fluttered her fingers. "A dalliance, on his part. Clearly, he'd no intention of it being more than a single encounter. My reasons were, alas, complicated, and far from n.o.ble. I hoped that, by clearing the air, we might make peace between us. If you wish, Mr. Fairplay and I will cancel the rest of our appearances here at your saloon. I've no desire to put you through an excess of pain. The decision, Mrs. Stannert, is yours." Maude settled back into the curve of the small sofa.

Inez had crossed her arms fiercely during Maude's speech, holding herself together by sheer will.

But in the silence that prevailed after Maude's words, something curious happened. The knife of anger, which had twisted its point into Inez's heart, melted, and left a sensation that Inez had trouble identifying at first.

Rather like sorrow. Tinged with fatigue, and a lingering sense of loss.

Forgiveness.

Inez finally released a sigh. "Oh heavens, Mrs. Fairplay. All that was long ago. It probably would be no surprise to you that Dodge wasn't the first or last time my not-so-sainted husband strayed. Please, no dramatics in my office. Save your energy for your performance." She held out her hand.

Maude said, "Thank you, Mrs. Stannert," took Inez's hand, and stood.

"There now," Inez said briskly. "Much better. You seem a bit unsteady. I have a special stock of brandy that should settle your nerves. Send your maid downstairs if you'd like some, and I'll arrange it."

With a tremulous smile, Maude murmured her thanks again and moved to the back room, her beribboned skirts swishing softly over the floorboards.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

The bell tinkled over the front door of Susan's studio as Inez entered. The studio appeared empty-not, Inez hoped, an indication of the current state of Susan's business.

Susan popped her head out of the back room, looking expectant, then surprised. "h.e.l.lo Inez! I'll be there in just a minute."

She disappeared into the back.

Inez sat down in the waiting area, set a pine gun case on the floor, and flexed her aching fingers. She'd lugged the heavy case from her home to the post office, where she'd mailed a letter addressed to "Postmaster" at Eli and Lillian's small Missouri town. Inez had included information of Eli's almost-certain demise-at least, she felt, deep down, that Eli was dead, no matter what others said-and asked about the ident.i.ties of the mysterious Mr. D and Mr. H of Lillian's letters. If I can get a name, perhaps I can move another step forward in all this. Or maybe not.

Anxious for a distraction from Eli and the mystery of his life and death, Inez picked up a copy of E. b.u.t.terick and Company's summer catalogue. She flipped through it, pausing to examine the walking skirts.

Susan reappeared, wiping her hands on her stained ap.r.o.n. "I was just gluing some prints to their mounts. I expect the customers will be around for them later today."

Inez nodded, then frowned at the catalogue. Rows upon rows of tiny engravings of skirts bedecked with tucks, horizontal folds, pleats, shirring, flounces, and other draperies marched across the page. "The skirts are narrower every season. It's beyond me how we're to walk around in skirts so tight they don't allow one to take a decent step."

Susan crooked her head to see what Inez was looking at. "Oh yes. A customer recently arrived from New York brought that in. I thought some of the ladies would like looking through it while waiting."

Inez tossed the catalogue onto a nearby low table. It slid across the surface, coming to rest at the farthermost edge. "How nice it would be if there was a single catalogue that would allow one to buy all kinds of things-clothes, rugs, cabinets, watches, stoves-all from the comfort of one's home and deliver them as well!"

"Are you thinking of buying a new stove, Inez?" Susan dropped into a nearby chair.

"Eventually. Certainly before winter. We're finishing the gaming room upstairs in the saloon. Besides the warming stove, I'd like a new sideboard. And a cabinet. I was lucky enough to find suitable rugs at Daniels, Fisher and Company. A mine manager had placed an order and then left town after the strike, so I was able to buy them on the spot. But ordering furniture is likely to take quite a while. Although the railroad's arrival will speed the delivery."

Susan half rose. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, no. I'm just making my rounds. I need to stop at Evan's store next. But I have something to show you."

She pulled the vaguely ominous missive to Eli from her pocket. "This came to Eli Carter, who owns the C&H Livery with our own ex-marshal, Bart Hollis. Eli was probably one of the fellows you saw on the track. He rode the horse from his own stable and was apparently leaving town for good that day."

Susan read the scrawled note and frowned. She handed it back. "An oath. What kind of oath?"

"I'm not certain. But I do think it's significant that it mentions a general. Particularly given the 'kill the generals' statement you heard before your accident. Had you ever met Eli?"

Susan shook her head. "When I hired the horse and burro, I spoke with Mr. Hollis."

"So you wouldn't have recognized him if you saw him on the track," Inez said, more or less to herself.

Susan played with one of the curls fringing her forehead, pulled it straight and allowed it to spring back into shape. "I can't remember what they looked like anyway, so it wouldn't help even if you described him. Sorry, Inez. Are you going to show the note to Marshal Ayres?"

"I'm afraid he'd just pooh-pooh it all. As he reminded me, without a body, there is no crime. And I don't think he's in town at present."

"How about the city marshal? Or someone at the railroad?"

"The city marshal could care less since this whole business happened outside city limits. But the railroad. Now that's a thought. I wonder who would be the right person to notify. Mr. McMurtrie? He's chief engineer. The lawyer, Mr. Snow? He's out of town, I gather. Maybe the professor-he works for the lawyers. Hmmm. Mr. Holt." She perked up. "He's a payroll guard, but I get the definite impression that's not all he does. In any case, he might know who would care about this note. If anyone would, that is."

"Oh!" Susan jumped up. "Speaking of the railroad. Let me show you something before you go." She hobbled into the back room and returned, holding a stack of cardboard-mounted cabinet cards. "It's my latest work. Here are a couple of the boarders."

Inez recognized Terry O'Loughlin next to an urn set on a pedestal. She rested an elbow on the urn, which trailed ivy and held a plant with spiky fronds.

"Mrs. Flynn had her sitting recently." Susan half smiled. "She brought a half dozen outfits, all very up-to-date and proper, and wanted photographs of herself in each and every one. It took nearly an entire day to do them all and paid for a good portion of a week's room and board. I haven't mounted those photographs yet, but I think I'll put a couple in my display window when they're done. They should be a good draw for the genteel women in town. Mrs. Flynn's very photogenic, what with those dark eyes and brows, and her light hair....Oh! Speaking of very proper, you'll never guess who's been at the boardinghouse 'to call' twice this week. With calling cards flying back and forth and all."

"Who?"

"Mr. Braun. And guess who he was calling on."

Inez thought back. On Widow Flynn's smiles and sidelong glances in the wagon and as she settled herself on the blanket at the picnic. "Your landlady?"

"None other! Now, here's one of the men from the railroad." Susan pa.s.sed another cabinet card to Inez.

"Why, that's the professor!" exclaimed Inez.

"You know him?"

Inez looked at her curiously. "He drove the wagon that brought you to the hospital."

"Yes, that's what he said."

"You don't remember?"

Susan shook her head. "The first thing I recall is waking up in the hospital. It was night, but one of the Sisters was there, keeping me company. Anyhow, I eventually had to confess I didn't remember him at all. I don't think he quite believed me. He was nice, though. All the time I was setting things up, he kept inquiring about my health." She handed Inez the last card. "And here are the Holts. You can certainly tell they're related, don't you think?"

Preston and Reuben Holt-jackets b.u.t.toned up, collars straight, hair slicked back-sat in matching chairs, the spiky plant and urn between them. Each held a rifle, muzzle up, b.u.t.t to the floor, the long lines of the barrels forming a vertical frame. The plant, its fronds reaching for the sky, looked for all the world like a hostage. Preston was to the left, Reuben to the right.

Inez examined the photo closely, remembering the kitchen episode, with Preston reaching for his pistol on his left. Then, Reuben at the poker table, reaching for the cards with his right hand. "They're differently handed."

"Ah. That explains it. I originally had the elder Mr. Holt on the right, but they wanted to switch sides so they could hold the guns like that. Makes them look rather formidable."

Inez privately thought that Reuben's fierce scowl was overdone. At sixteen, it's probably more important to look tough and threatening than civilized. Preston stared into the camera, face impa.s.sive, gaze steady. His eyes seemed to look straight through her. A small thrill trickled down her back.

Inez shook herself. "Very nice, Susan." She handed the cards back. "When do you expect they'll return?"

"They were in town last Sat.u.r.day, so I suppose they'll be in town tomorrow." She looked up from her handiwork. "Would you like me to show Mr. Holt or the professor that letter?"

Inez hesitated, then said, "Maybe just let them know I'd like to talk with them." She stood and tucked the letter away. "The other horse belonged to a railroad man. I would like to know who." She reached down and retrieved the long pine case. "That man must have known Elijah Carter. The letter was posted from Colorado Springs, where Palmer's headquarters are. So there might be a connection. One never knows."

Inez stopped in at Evan's mercantile, only to learn that the storeowner was in his mining supply store next door. Business had been so good over the past year for him that he had bought the building next to his original store and split the business into general merchandise and mining-related goods. She found him in deep discussion over the relative merits of pack animals. "No question about it," he was saying. "If you're headed to the Ten Mile District, with the amount of supplies you're handling, a burro is the way to go."

After the customer left, Inez stepped forward and set the pine case on the display case. "I need you to tell me about this gun."

Evan grunted as Inez unlatched and opened the lid. "Oh yes. The Sharps rifle. My newest clerk mentioned that no sooner had we put it up for display than a woman came in and bought it." He looked at her soberly. "I didn't realize that woman was you, Mrs. Stannert. It's not a gun for a woman, you know. It was made specifically for Berdan's Sharpshooters, a Union regiment in the war. This is an excellent rifle for long distances, but no good for the situations you'd encounter here in Leadville. Your Smoot pocket revolver is practical up close, your husband's old Navy Colt for intermediate distance, and your shotgun or a standard rifle for distance. Should that be necessary."

"So I've been told. Did you buy this from Elijah Carter? The clerk had no idea of its provenance. He thought the owner had been a prospector, trying to raise a grubstake."

Evan adjusted his spectacles. "That new hire of mine isn't the brightest star in the sky. Recent to town, and I think he's got a bit of the itch to stake a claim himself. But you're right. I bought this from Eli Carter. He left town recently. I've heard there's a suspicion of foul play." He shook his head. "His horse was found riderless south of town. I'm betting road agents had a hand in that."

"Did he say where he was going? Or why he wanted to sell this gun?"

Evan picked up the rifle, hefted it, as if testing the weight. "Breechloader. Uses .52 caliber linen cartridges." He opened the breech, checked it, and sent a sharp glance over the top of his gla.s.ses. "Did you get the cartridge tins?"

"Oh yes, your clerk sold me the whole kit and caboodle, including the case. So, Eli didn't say anything about where he was headed or why?"

Evan shook his head. "I was surprised. Thought he had a going business and was planning to bring his wife up here. He talked about it once. But, I suppose the coming of the Rio Grande changed that. The railroad is all good news for me, but for Eli and the others in the livery, hauling, or staging services, it's a different matter. Too, there's the business of the right-of-way."

A-ha! "What business, exactly?" She tried to sound merely curious.

"The railway's lawyers-Lowden Snow and the rest-are still having trouble clearing the ownership t.i.tles to some privately held city lots. I think the livery's one of those that's holding things up. Can't be making Snow very happy."

"I heard Eli sold the business to Hollis. One wouldn't think he needed the money from selling the gun. Did he seem happy to be leaving?"

Evan set the rifle down gently in the case. "Now that you mention it, he was kind of low. I didn't know he'd sold the business to Hollis. At any rate, he didn't haggle over the price. Almost seemed glad-or at least, indifferent-to get rid of it. He mentioned he had one last bit of business to set right. Once that was done, he said, it would be time to move on."

Time to move on.

"Thank you." She began to close the case lid.

Evan stopped the lid. "Do you want to sell that rifle back to me? I'll give you what you paid for it. Can't see what good it'll do you."

She looked down at the gun. The metal had a dull sheen, the walnut wood of the stock shone as if it had been polished regularly, not neglected. A deep scratch and nick along the edge of the stock-mounted patch box had been partially filled in as well. The double-set triggers reminded her, incongruously, of lovers spooning front to back. Of Eli and Lillian. Of her and Sands.

"Perhaps later." She closed the lid.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.