Poole turned toward the Leadville madam, saying something. She threw back her head and emitted a tinkling laugh in response.
Inez discarded any thought of trying to deny Flo’s identity to Nico. “I do believe it is,” she said, cheerily determined.
“How does she even know him?” Nico sounded baffled.
“It’s a small world, I suppose,” said Inez, attempting to sound offhand.
Poole must have seen them approaching, for he turned to greet Nico with a welcoming smile. At least, Inez surmised it was a smile, given the crinkling around his eyes, as his “friendly muttonchops” served as a thicket to hide his mouth from view. “Mr. Donato, you have arrived!” His voice was surprisingly deep and sonorous. “I was afraid we would run out of champagne and conversation before your concert was to begin. And who is your lovely companion?” He was now staring at Inez in a manner she found very disconcerting and, even worse, vaguely familiar.
Those muttonchops. That voice. I know him.
Flo looked around when Poole began speaking. The madam’s expression reflected the same horror and trepidation now welling up inside Inez.
Nico said, “Signore Poole, may I introduce you to Signora Stannert, and here is my accompanist for the evening, the esteemed pianist Signore Thomas Welles.”
Poole stepped out of the knot of men, pulling Flo with him. He seemed hardly to acknowledge Welles beyond an absent nod. All of his attention was focused on Inez. “Mrs. Stannert, you say? An honor to meet you, ma’am.” He hesitated. “Have we met before?”
Inez sucked in her breath, and along with the ambient scent of tobacco, a memory formed, as it were, out of the smoke. The venue was one of her former husband Mark Stannert’s infamous poker gatherings, upstairs in the exclusive card room of Leadville’s Silver Queen Saloon. An evening of high-stakes games peopled by high-rollers, silver mine investors and owners, Colorado capitalists and entrepreneurs. She was now certain one of the players, seen once and never again, had been the man now giving her a piercing once-over.
Flo quickly interposed herself between Poole and Inez, blocking his view. She sent her fan to fluttering and directed her baby-blue gaze along with her considerable charm at Nico. “Why, Mr. Donato, here you are! And not a moment too soon. As I was telling Mr. Poole, I am so excited you will be playing for us tonight!” She clasped her hands together in girlish anticipation, allowing the fan to swing from one shapely wrist. “I absolutely must have a seat in the front row! I do not want to miss a single note.”
She looked over her shoulder at Poole, pouting slightly, head atilt, her décolletage deepening, thanks to her bent arms and bosom-level clasped hands. In this single pose, she somehow managed to be beguiling, pleading, and commanding, all at once. “With Mr. Donato and Mr. Welles here, we should begin, don’t you think?”
Poole, his attention re-focused onto Flo, said indulgently, “Of course, Mrs. Sweet, your wish is my command.” He crooked his arm for her, but she waved him off. “I need another moment with Mrs. Stannert.” With a final glance at Inez, Poole proceeded to the far end of the room where rows of chairs faced a grand piano.
Welles said, “Sounds like our cue, Nico. Ladies, shall we escort you to the front row?”
“Thank you,” said Inez, “but Mrs. Sweet and I will make our way there in a moment.”
Welles bowed and headed toward the piano. Nico captured Flo’s gloved hand and bowed. “Signora Sweet, such happenstance! We shall play for you and Signora Stannert.”
Flo simpered.
Nico turned to Inez and, taking her hand, performed the same gesture. “My music is my gift to the two most beautiful women in the room.”
Inez said, “I am looking forward to it.”
As Nico hurried off, Flo snapped open her fan and, using it to shield the lower part of her face, she whispered to Inez, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Inez opened her fan with a flick of the wrist and fanned herself slowly. “The invitation was extended by Mr. Donato. I could hardly say no. Especially when I heard Mr. Poole had requested the concert. I thought I would ask him a few questions. But now, that does not seem like a good idea. And what are you doing here? Why haven’t you been in touch?”
“Because,” she hissed, “there is nothing further to tell you! I already told you Phillip Poole had nothing to do with our problem.”
“What makes you so certain?”
Flo actually snorted, but quietly. “First of all, I know on Sunday night he was, shall we say, ‘fully occupied’ at Diamond Carrie Maclay’s brothel.”
“He could have hired someone to do his dirty work,” Inez muttered from behind her fan.
Flo’s fan fluttered faster. “Phillip arrived the same time as Harry—”
“Phillip. On a first-name basis now, are we?” Inez murmured.
Ignoring her comment, Flo continued, “And just like Harry, he had no idea where to look and had no idea Robert had taken on the name of Jamie Monroe. Nobody did. He was completely shocked when I told him Robert was dead. Then, he said, ‘Good riddance,’ and said he wished he could’ve challenged Robert to a duel and shot him himself. It’s all bluster, though. The kind of violence he does is in the boardroom, not on the streets.”
A few arpeggios and scales floated from the direction of the piano. Nico began tuning his violin. “Ladies, gentlemen,” called Poole, “please take your seats.”
Inez and Flo drifted toward the chairs arranged in semicircular rows facing the musicians.
“If
