Inez moved over to one of the shrouded bay windows and pulled a corner back on one of the ornate brocade curtains to peek at the cityscape. A masculine, “Ahem,” behind her caused her to drop the heavy fabric back into place and whirl around. Poole stood there, skewering her with his penetrating gaze. “Did you enjoy the concert, Mrs. Stannert?”
“Indeed. It was remarkable.” She surveyed the room over his head, hoping to catch sight of Frisco Flo with the promised champagne or of Nico breaking away from his admirers. Poole swiveled around to see what caught her eye.
“If you will excuse me, Mr. Poole.” She circled around him, ready to escape.
“A word, Mrs. Stannert, before you go.”
She could hardly run away in the face of such a direct request. Reluctantly, she faced him. “Yes, Mr. Poole? What about?” Inez hoped it would be about an innocuous topic. Such as her opinion of Mozart.
“Come come, I believe you know. And I am certain you would prefer we talk here, where we have a bit of privacy.”
Taking some cold comfort from the fact she was taller than he by several inches, Inez pulled out her fan to give her hands something to do and decided the best plan of attack was to be blunt. “I understand you are here in San Francisco on personal business, Mr. Poole. The business of revenge.”
Poole’s head snapped back, and he regarded her narrowly. “You wish to get to the point, Mrs. Stannert? I can appreciate that. Very well, we shall be direct with each other. Yes, I came to find the man who drove my daughter to her shame and her death. Robert Gallagher. When Harry made sudden plans to head this way, I knew the game must be afoot. He had his investigator on the trail, and all I needed to do was follow along, let my fellow follow his fellow, and then be first to jump when the bastard who destroyed her was rooted out.”
Inez crossed her arms, tapping her fan on one sleeve. “You wanted him dead.”
“Of course I did,” he said through gritted teeth, then made a visible effort to unclench his jaws. “I’m glad he died and so viciously. God’s will was done.”
“I doubt God had anything to do with it.”
“Then justice was done, if you prefer. The kind of justice man brings to man, when the courts are useless. He would never pay legally for what he did to my little girl. This, his murder, was far more satisfying. To make Harry suffer as I have.” He broke off and brushed a sideburn with one hand, a nervous tic, Inez surmised, when he was overwrought.
He continued, “I’d not be sad to see Harry’s empire fall into ashes as well. Once I’m shut of him and our agreements, I’ll not do business with him again.”
“You claim you had nothing to do with his death? You didn’t set ‘your fellow who followed the other fellow’ to cut off young Gallagher mid-tune?”
She waited to see that unconscious hand rise up and brush the sideburn again, but it didn’t. Instead, his face turned red and he balled his fists. Then, apparently aware of the picture he must present to the room at large, stretched his fingers out and flexed them. Almost as if he wished he held her throat in his hands. “You are right in one regard. I could have hired some thug to do the dirty work. If I’d been able to find him first, I would have. But I did not. I swear on my daughter’s grave.”
“Then, I believe our conversation is over,” said Inez calmly and made to move aside and let him pass.
But Poole wasn’t done. “Last time we met, Mrs. Stannert, was in Leadville while you were still married and owned a saloon in a not-so-esteemed part of town. Imagine my astonishment upon seeing you here and learning you are now in charge of a respectable, well-regarded music store. It seems Robert Gallagher was not the only one looking to bury his past in San Francisco, eh?”
Inez felt the blood drain from her face.
He leered, triumphant. “Just keep in mind, Mrs. Stannert. Things buried eventually come to light and stink and rot.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Rot? What rot?”
Inez turned to see Flo with Nico by her side. They each held two glasses of champagne. Flo wrinkled her nose, perplexed.
“Nothing, nothing at all, my dear Mrs. Sweet,” said Poole. “Mrs. Stannert and I were just chatting about old times. The air in Leadville, you know. The odious smell of sulfur and whatnot.”
“Old times?” Flo shot a nervous glance at Inez. “Oh, I think we should just focus on the here and now, don’t you agree?”
“Assolutamente,” said Nico handing Inez a glass. “Signora Sweet and I, we thought we should all toast to a successful evening, yes?” He raised his own and said, “Signore Poole, thank you for your patronage. I hope when you are next in our fair city, you will consider doing this again.”
“Why not?” said Poole amiably. “It’s been a profitable trip, all around. Quite satisfying. I shall be certain to employ your and Mr. Welles’ considerable talents when I return.”
Inez raised her flute along with the rest, sick inside. When the champagne hit her tongue, the fizz and overwhelming sweetness only intensified her nausea. “Is it not to your taste?” Nico inquired, gesturing to her glass.
“I suspect I am simply tired,” said Inez.
“Ah! And I promised to have you back early.” Nico swept up her glass and turned to Poole and Flo. “It’s been an honor, Signore Poole. Signora Sweet, please do visit the store again sometime. We could show you some of our finer pianos, for your daughter, perhaps? How is she doing with her lessons?”
“I shall make it a point to drop by,” Flo chirped, twisting one blond curl around her finger. Her eyes shifted from Nico to Poole and back again.
As Nico and Inez turned to
