Silver Lies by Ann Parker Page A

souls," muttered Inez. "Abe, you’re hopeless."

"And I expect you’d of shot him then spat in his eye." Abe speared a steak off the platter. "The boy didn’t hurt me none." He cut the steak and offered a hunk to the calico, who sniffed at it, tail twitching.

"Don’t feed her, Abe. She’s already lazy. The rats will just take over."

The cat snatched the meat as if sensing that there was not a moment to spare and streaked into the storeroom.

"Changin’ the subject." Abe pointed his knife at the paper. "Looks like a friend of yours lost the Ford County sheriff election. Got accused of gamblin’ with county funds durin’ his last term."

Inez’s full stomach flip-flopped beneath her ribs. She rose from the table and approached the rag box by the storeroom. "I didn’t follow the Kansas elections," she lied. "But if it’s Ford County , you must mean Masterson. Bat, gambling with public money? What nonsense."

Bridgette’s voice soared half an octave. "Bat Masterson? The Kansas sheriff that was in the railroad wars last spring? You know him, ma’am?"

"Knew him. Only incidentally and long ago." She locked eyes with Abe, silently warning him to say no more. Abe cradled the coffee mug, face unreadable. Inez added, "Abe, Mark, and I met him when we passed through Dodge on our way to Colorado . He owned a bar there at the time."

She glanced down at the cat who’d emerged from the storeroom, looking furtive. "I’ll bet she sleeps all night and never catches a thing."

"Oh, she does all right." Abe dug into a mountain of gravy-soaked biscuits. "Bridgette, you cook ’em like back home."

Bridgette smiled, and the apple peels flew. "Well, now. There’s nothing to biscuits and gravy. I could do them in my sleep."

Inez carried her armful of rags and a broom across the kitchen.

Abe crossed fork and cutlery knife on the gravy-smeared tin plate and stood. "Guess I’ll see what I can save with a hammer and nails."

As she passed him by the door, he said, low-voiced, "Sorry about bringin’ up Masterson. I know you don’t like thinkin’ about Dodge."

She mustered a wan smile. "And I’m sorry I jumped on you about that greenhorn. I suppose we’re both on edge, what with Joe."

Abe followed her into the barroom. "I keep wonderin’ how he ended up back of our place." Abe sorted through the wreckage, lining up repairable chairs against the wall and tossing unsalvageable pieces into a pile.

Inez used the broom to sweep broken glass off the bar. "And I keep thinking about the scene at the card table." She rubbed her thumb over two new gouges in the dark wood. "Joe roared into the room, put his face up close to Harry and shouted, ‘You owe me, you son of a bitch! We had a deal!’ Then he grabbed the table and gave it a heave-ho. Everyone hit the deck. Except Harry. He just sat, cool as a cucumber, as if he was taking in a show at the opera house. But his face."

Inez shuddered. "Harry’s not a man to cross. Particularly in public. Joe knew that. ‘You owe me.’" Inez mulled over the phrase. "Maybe Harry wasn’t paying his bills."

"Maybe." Abe didn’t sound convinced.

Inez gathered the largest pieces of glass and tossed them into an empty crate. "Abe, do you remember that time in New Orleans when I dressed up in Mark’s clothes and we all went out on the town?"

"Sure. We made decent money playin’ vingt-et-un and lansquenet. Drank some damn fine cognac. Charmed the ladies. As I recall, you made a passable fine gentleman." Abe set a table leg to one side.

"I went by Cat DuBois’ place this morning and ran into Florence Sweet."

"Frisco Flo?" Abe leaned on his broom and took a good look at Inez. "Don’t tell me you fooled Flo with that getup."

Inez grinned. She tugged her waist-length braid out from under her shirt collar and knotted it at the nape of her neck. "Flo invited me to a private party. Even gave me her card."

"She’s gonna be disappointed when her mystery stranger don’t show."

"Well, it wasn’t