“I am helping,” said Flo in an aggrieved but subdued tone. “I’m helping us both. Listen Inez, the gold rush may be over, but there are still opportunities aplenty to make money in San Francisco. I’m working to make sure neither of us ends up in the gutter as a result of this affair. You know and I know, we’ll never find the killer. We’ve been running in circles and nothing has turned up, right?”
“There’s still a chance we can identify a reasonable suspect.”
“In two days? Look, we’re going to end up telling Harry his son was probably killed by some unknown thug or cutthroat down on the wharf. Harry won’t like it, so I’m making sure to get some ‘protection’ from Poole against Harry’s wrath. Harry is a big gun in Leadville. If he is determined to shut me down there, maybe he could. But San Francisco is a big city and his influence probably isn’t as strong here.”
“He was able to shut down the police investigation into his son’s death,” Inez pointed out. “I still don’t understand why. They have the resources to deal with this. Why turn to us?”
Flo gave her fan an irritated little flit. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s limited in what he can do here. As for the police, they are the same all over. Pay their extra fees and taxes and they look the other way. Anyhow, I’ve had my eyes open for local business opportunities. And trust me, there are plenty of opportunities!”
“In the flesh trade?” asked Inez, not believing her ears.
“Of course in the flesh trade. I’m not going to open a candy store! And I want you to be my partner. If Harry decides to tar you with the same brush, you might as well be damned for a sinner than for a saint.”
“I can’t believe this,” muttered Inez, shaking her head at both Flo’s machinations and her muddled turn of phrase. They had reached the front rows. Nico and Poole were in deep discussion while Welles warmed up on the piano. Nico glanced at the two women and with a slight smile gestured with his violin bow to two empty chairs front and center. Flo beamed at him then turned to Inez, closing her fan as she did so.
“I hope they’re not talking about us,” she murmured. “It could get awkward. You should have stayed out of this.”
Inez lifted her eyebrows, smiling pleasantly. “And how was I to know Mr. Poole would recognize me?”
Flo wiggled into her seat and tapped her closed fan on her lap. “Leave him to me. But you’ll have to handle the charming signore yourself. Just remember what I said about business opportunities, should he decide to give you the heave-ho.”
Once everyone was seated, Nico stepped forward and the coughing and rustling subsided. “Benvenuto e buonasera. And thank you to this evening’s host, Signore Poole, for providing such an elegant setting for us to offer our modest musical talents for your entertainment.”
Inez heard several of the nearby women sigh when Nico rolled out the words with what seemed a stronger than usual accent. Nico gazed around the assemblage. “I see many I recognize,” he began, “but some new faces as well. For those who do not know me, may I introduce myself? I am Signore Nico Donato, and my accompanist is Mr. Thomas Welles.”
Inez could hear the rapid flip and flitter of fans behind her and on either side, accompanied by feminine whispers. She was certain if she turned around she would see batting eyes, modest blushes, and eloquent smiles, all directed at the signore with the violin.
Thomas half rose and bowed perfunctorily.
This was clearly Nico’s show.
“Shall we begin with a little Mozart?” Nico raised his violin into position, he and Welles exchanged a glance and nod, and they launched into a series of perfectly executed Mozart sonatas.
Inez was impressed both by their individual virtuosity and the perfectly timed, invisible communication between them. Nico and Thomas Welles made it seem effortless, seamless, a musical conversation handed back and forth. But Inez knew how difficult it was, how much work went into making it look so very easy. She allowed herself to float on the music while observing their styles of playing. Welles seemed to disappear into the flow of music, much as she did, except for the times when he and Nico, as if by previous agreement, would exchange a look, a nod. Nico, she had to admit, knew how to play to the crowd, bringing the song out of the instrument and the emotional intensities hidden in the sonatas. When the musicians finished, Inez let out a sigh and was surprised to hear a surrounding chorus of feminine sighs echo her own. Flo gave a little start, and Inez realized the madam had been half-dozing.
Under the cover of muffled clapping from gloved hands, Flo opened her fan, leaned toward Inez, and murmured, “Are they done?”
“One more piece,” said Inez, joining the applause.
With a “Huh!” Flo closed her fan before applying three fingers of one hand to the palm of the other in lukewarm praise.
The second piece was the promised Beethoven Sonata Number 9, The Kreutzer Sonata. The performance, a transcendental union of music and musicians, pulled her into an embrace which did not release until the final perfect notes fell and faded into silence.
The guests all rose to applaud with enthusiasm. Flo stood and tugged at her overskirt, remarking, “A bit excessive, wasn’t it?”
“It was marvelous!” said Inez.
Flo lifted a shoulder and looked around. “Where did those waiters go?”
Women of all ages surrounded and engulfed the musicians. Inez turned away, resigned that she would not be able to leave immediately.
Flo brightened. “Ah! There is the champagne and I am dying of thirst. I’ll be right back. I’ll
