“Happily for all of us, yes,” said Mrs. Sweet. She bared her teeth in a smile.
“Would you wish to report first, then?” de Bruijn inquired.
Inez raised her hand—wait. She stood and crossed to the door leading to the alley. After half a beat, she yanked it open. Only darkness greeted her. Darkness and a cold breeze, which slithered in, curling around her boots and sliding up her stockings with a moist touch. She strode over to the passageway door and did the same thing. Nothing but empty silence.
“Brrrr!” Flo pulled up her coat. The shimmering blue dress disappeared in its dark folds. “Was that necessary, Mrs. Stannert?”
“Yes,” said Inez. “And you know why.” She turned to de Bruijn. “Antonia has been eavesdropping, most likely at the doors. Hence, the precautions.”
She surveyed the back rooms, her gaze probing the dim corners. She couldn’t help but feel those little eyes were peering at her still, but from where? Inez glanced at the ceiling. Its timbers were beyond the lamp’s glow, lost in shadow. Aside from the table and the light, it was dark, and the only persons within earshot seemed to be the three of them, co-conspirators, bound together in the search for truth as to the death of the young musician Jamie Monroe, scion of silver baron Harry Gallagher.
“Well, I shall be quick.” Flo touched the hair under the blue and pale pink hat—such a small and shiny object seemed hardly worthy of the name. “I am making excellent progress, given that I’ve only had a brief twenty-four hours to work my way into Mr. Poole’s good graces. I can tell you, he hates Harry and his son like the very devil. He said he’s glad the little bastard is dead, leaving Harry as alone as he is. I’ve seldom met a more thoroughly dislikable gent in a pair of trousers, but he’s also charming in a scoundrel sort of way. He said he has nothing to do with the murder, and I believe him.”
“You believe him?” Inez couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you going soft, Flo?”
“Hardly.” Those teeth gleamed again.
“We have very little time,” Inez said. “You must get hard proof, one way or the other. Something we can follow up on.”
“Oh, don’t get your nose out of joint, Inez. Goodness, you are a nervous wreck. Don’t worry. I am an expert at extracting hard proof.” She gave de Bruijn a sly sidewise glance. “I’ll find out where he was on Sunday night and let you know.” She folded her fan and dropped it into her bejeweled reticule and pulled the coat tight around her. “Mr. de Bruijn, you asked the hack to wait outside, correct? Wonderful! Toodle-oo, all, I shall see you later. I’ll turn the store sign to CLOSED for you, Mrs. Stannert, so you two aren’t disturbed.” And with that, she waltzed out. Her rapid footsteps tapped through the showroom fading into silence with the slam of the door.
Inez picked up her glass. “She certainly does not seem very concerned.”
De Bruijn didn’t touch his brandy. “Perhaps Mrs. Sweet thinks that by getting in Poole’s good graces she can use him as a shield against Mr. Gallagher’s threats. There is no love lost between the two men. I suspect Poole would welcome any chance to foil his plans.”
Inez cradled the snifter in her hands. “I’m impressed! You can think like a woman, Mr. de Bruijn.” She swirled the liquid gently, and brought it to her nose, inhaling the golden-brown scent. As always, the aroma brought back memories, both good and bad, of Leadville and the Silver Queen.
She jerked back to the present, listening to de Bruijn. “Today, I talked with the police surgeon who did the autopsy,” he said, “and with the police detective who was nominally in charge of the investigation. This is what I found out.” He outlined the autopsy findings and Detective Lynch’s comments and theories.
When de Bruijn mentioned Patrick May, Inez tensed. She tensed further when de Bruijn said, “The second suspect Detective Lynch mentioned was the Chinese man who works here. Your store’s warehouse is on the wharf close by.” There was a small rebuke in his tone, as if he thought she had perhaps withheld this bit of information.
“John Hee?” Inez shook her head. “That sounds like so much blather to me. The sentiment against the Chinese in this town is heated. Any misdoing is laid at their doors.”
“He was seen in the area late that night,” De Bruijn pointed out. “So, from what I heard, we are still looking at possible involvement by the union and the two mentioned by Detective Lynch. We would be remiss not to follow up on all possibilities.” He looked at her, with that wide-open, waiting gaze that she was coming to dread. “How well do you know, and trust Mr. Donato?”
She blinked, surprised at the turn of the conversation. “Why? Do you suspect…? Well, young Gallagher was courting Mr. Donato’s sister. He apparently was not in favor of that, but he does not view any of the young musicians as proper potential suitors for Carmella. Ah!” She remembered the note from Jamie addressed to Carmella. “I do have something to show you.”
She went to the desk and rummaged around until she found the note lying under the slit envelope, and handed it to him. “Jamie—that is, young Gallagher, I knew him as Jamie Monroe and that is how I think of him still—slipped this under my door to give to Carmella. He had to have done so the night before he died because I found it the next morning.” She didn’t offer any particular apology for opening the letter and de Bruijn didn’t act as if he expected her to.
Inez returned to her chair and her brandy. “In it, he mentions the threats, or danger, involving his part in unnamed union activities.”
He scanned the note. “May I keep this?”
She hesitated, then took a sip of her brandy, and waited while the warmth spread down
