Free Silver Lies by Ann Parker Page A

she gave Lucy one last pat before leading Joey toward the waning light outside the livery. I should tell him the truth. That his father is gone forever. That there will be no horse at Christmas. But who am I to say this, when I myself listen night after night for Mark’s footsteps at the door.
    Chaper Ten

Inez stood outside the door, jangling the ring of keys Emma had given her. JOSEPH ROSE, ASSAYING OFFICE was inscribed in gilt-edged black letters on the narrow-paned window.

Susan Carothers nudged her. "Inez, open the door."

Inez lingered, taking in the mid-morning aspect of upper Chestnut Avenue . Prime real estate. The sale of this building should provide well for Emma and Joey.

Susan jiggled Inez’s elbow. "I need to be back at my studio in an hour."

Inez inserted a key. There was a click, and the door swung inward. The two women entered, long skirts swishing. Subdued light filtered into a small reception area. Down the passageway, a dimmer light glimmered from the rear of the building.

Susan breezed past Inez, making a beeline for an unlit kerosene lamp. "Now what are we looking for again?"

Inez peered about, struggling against her unease. "Joe’s books, his ledgers, accounts receivables, client lists, assay notes, whatever sheds light on the condition of his business. If he’s got assaying half done in the laboratory, maybe you can determine what he was up to."

"I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. The chemistry for assaying is not at all like that for photography. What about his assistant? The Swede? He would know."

"Nils Hansen. Useless tried to track him down. Turns out, no one’s seen him for days."

Feeling like an intruder, Inez walked around the counter and approached Joe’s desk. It seemed a likely place to start. A dozen pigeon holes gaped on either side of a writing surface. A bottle of ink stood in the inkwell, capped. An unmarked blotter, empty. No papers, no clutter.

Inez remembered how particular Joe was about keeping everything in its place. By closing time, he’d have surfaces cleared, glassware washed and arranged on the laboratory’s shelves, the delicate scales used to weigh the final precious metal extracts pristine in their glass cases, and chemicals locked away inside tall glass-doored cabinets.

While Susan lit the lamp and adjusted the wick, Inez sat at the desk. The swivel chair squeaked as she explored the pigeon holes and drawers. Extra bottles of ink. Pens. Pencils, sharpened and ready. A stack of printed assay certificates. She examined one, its empty lines waiting for the number of ounces of gold and silver per ton to be filled in, and wondered how many inquiries she’d have to make in a town where fortunes rose and fell depending on those numbers. She folded it and slid it into her pocket.

"He must have had a ledger," Inez muttered. The bottom drawer appeared empty as well. Exhaling in frustration, she slammed it shut only to hear a muffled thump. Opening the drawer again she saw, leaning at an angle, the familiar rectangle of a bookkeeping ledger.

It must have been pushed up against the back wall of the drawer. Inez opened it on the blotter. Pressed between the cover and the first page was a bill of lading from the Denver Mine and Smelter Supply Company. She squinted at the date and winced. Joe’s last trip to Denver. Inez turned her attention to the first page: columns of dates, names, initials, and numbers, inked in Joe’s small, controlled handwriting.

Her reading light faded as Susan carried the lamp toward the laboratory. "Susan, I found his ledger. Could you bring the lamp over?"

Susan’s footsteps halted. "Inez! Come quick!"

Holding the large record-keeping book, Inez moved as swiftly as her skirts would allow through the narrow passageway to the rear of the building.

The alternate source of illumination became obvious as she stepped into the assaying laboratory. The rear door hung ajar, held half open by a drift of snow on the plank floor. Wavering