She rose, and he did as well.
Miss O’Connell touched her hat, giving it a slight nudge. “Will you soon be returning to Colorado or points east, now that the case is finished?”
All he said was “No doubt our paths will cross again, Miss O’Connell. I’ll remember this.”
“Oh pish-posh.” She picked up her reticule. “I will put your words down to the dreadful knock on the head in the alleyway. I am certain once you are yourself again, you will forget this unpleasant affair, come to see that what I said was true, and we will resume our mutually beneficial business relationship.”
De Bruijn watched her walk away, taking the shortest path to the door and blending, as she always did, effortlessly into the setting. None of the families nor the few single men breaking fast early gave her more than a cursory glance. She was good, one of the best, he acknowledged that. But, she could be wrong.
And she was wrong about one thing: He would never forget, nor forgive, the violence she had done to what was right—legally and morally—here, this November, in San Francisco.
Chapter Forty-five
Luncheon time on Monday afternoon in the Palace Hotel’s magnificent dining room was loud, noisy, and exuberant. At their table in the corner, Inez leaned in toward Flo and de Bruijn, the better to separate their words from the random conversations at nearby tables.
De Bruijn asked Flo, “You are leaving?”
“This evening. Mr. Poole has reserved a private car for our return to Colorado.” She was wearing her travel clothes, which although properly dark, were aflutter with fringe, bows, and pleats. “I’ve been gone too long, and can only hope the girls and clients haven’t burned the place down in my absence.” She turned to Inez, “I’ll be back, though. There’s gold to be mined in these city hills,” and winked.
Inez knew what she meant—Flo had mentioned a local madam she knew was getting married and giving up the trade. Flo could hardly contain her excitement at the prospect of buying the business, and was twisting Inez’s unbroken arm to back her offer. “We don’t even have to be involved, except at arm’s length. I’ll hire someone to manage the house,” she’d said.
Inez shifted the sling to ease the ache in her arm, thinking two, three months would be a long time to play one-handed piano and depend on Antonia’s help to dress.
Flo tut-tutted, sympathetic. “Shall I butter your bread for you?” Without waiting for an answer, she seized Inez’s butter knife and slathered a thick layer on the slice resting on Inez’s bread plate. “And have I told you how glad I am to see you out of those dreary clothes you were wearing when I first arrived? That maroon is so much more attractive!”
Inez turned to de Bruijn. “And you? What are your plans?”
“I will be staying. For now. I have already had inquiries from a number of people.” He smoothed his small beard. “Including from a few who are inquiring whether my ‘wife,’ Mrs. Wilhemina de Bruijn, is also available to offer her investigative services.”
Flo snorted, privy to the reference. “Fat chance. Inez is going to have her hands full now that the music store is all hers.”
“Half mine. The other half belongs to Carmella.” Inez thought of the exhausting hours she had spent with Carmella yesterday. After reassuring Carmella that the broken arm was due to a misstep on the apartment stairs, Inez had stayed with her in the Donatos’ parlor. Antonia had disappeared into the kitchen to eat svogliatella and rearrange the baked goods to make room for the food that would appear from neighbors and churchwomen, once Nico’s death became widely known.
“I knew this would happen!” Carmella had wailed. “It was just a matter of time!”
Inez had decided to tread carefully. “You knew what, exactly, would happen?”
“Oh, Mrs. Stannert, it is so clear. I warned him time and again that someday a jealous husband or angry father or brother would be the death of him. Nico, he was no fighter, he knew nothing of guns, of violence.”
Inez elected not to respond, simply letting the young woman sob on her good shoulder. “What will I do now, without him?” Carmella pulled back, wiping her red-rimmed eyes.
“First, you will mourn,” said Inez. “You will let those around you fuss and take care of you. And then, Carmella, you can do whatever you want. Help in the store. Hire on with the lady printers, the Fleurys.” Inez saw the possibilities open an expanse as exciting and vast as the central plains she had glimpsed through a train window, years ago. “Open your own bakery. I will help you.”
“But…this house. This was Nico’s dream. It is too big for just me.”
“Stay in the house and rent out rooms to boarders,” suggested Inez. “Or if you prefer, move into accommodations for proper young women such as yourself, and rent the house as a whole, or sell it. You can do anything, Carmella, when the time is right, and you know your own mind.”
At the last, Inez gave Carmella the packet of letters from Jamie’s trunk and the gold ring, saying simply they had been in his effects. “I am sure he would want you to have them,” said Inez. That had brought on a renewed storm of tears. Inez had debated revealing Jamie’s true identity, but finally decided against it. Like brother, like lover—the two most important men in Carmella’s life had both had their secrets. What good would come of telling Carmella that her fiancé was not the person she believed him to be?
Inez blinked, bringing herself back to the Palace Hotel and to de Bruijn saying, “Do you and Miss Donato have plans for the store, Mrs. Stannert?”
With a nod of thanks to Flo, Inez picked up her bread. “Miss Donato is leaving it entirely in my hands. So, to begin with, I am hiring Welles full-time
