sympathetically as he drained the drink with hardly a pause. He sighed and wiped his mouth with a damp pocket handkerchief.
"Ah, the medicinal properties of alcohol. Some call it the devil’s drink. Yet, I maintain it brings solace and strength to thousands." Doc moved to take up his hat. Inez held it to the counter.
"Speaking of tragedy," she leaned forward, "you heard about Joe Rose?"
"Ah yes. Yet another casualty of the violence that periodically boils out of this city. The coroner called me in for my opinion."
Inez hesitated, then pushed on. "What happened to Joe? I was asked to identify him when they found the body."
Doc eased his hat from her grip. "Not a pretty sight. But the trauma from a trampling never is. I saw it often in the War."
"So he was run over by a cart? A sleigh?"
"No evidence of that." Doc patted his chapped nose with the crumpled handkerchief. "Most likely a horse. Certainly equine. Straight and simple."
She drummed her fingers on the wood, frowning. "Most horses would throw a rider before stepping on someone."
Doc nodded and carefully refolded the limp white square of linen. "Yet, Mr. Rose did not suffer from an isolated misstep. He was thoroughly trampled and probably dragged as well."
Inez clutched the collar of her faded flannel shirt. Behind her, she heard the musical tinkle of glass against glass as Useless lined up the bottles.
"My God," she said softly. "Someone murdered Joe, dragged him behind our saloon, and left him there."
Chapter Nine
Her gaze switched to Doc. "I’d swear that Marshal Hollis thought we had something to do with Joe’s death. What you’re saying proves otherwise. Did you tell this to Hollis?"
Doc settled his hat on his head. "I voiced my opinions to the coroner and the marshal, of course. The law will follow whatever course it deems appropriate. I suspect, in the end, Rose’s luckless demise in Tiger Alley will be just one more item in the ‘Breakfast Bullets’ column of the Chronicle ." Doc patted her hand. "There, there. We’ll all do what we can to help Mrs. Rose. Take a care to the living, and so on. Will you be back in business by Saturday night? The evening’s the high point of my week, you know."
Inez, focused on his previous words, flashed him an absent smile as she withdrew her hand to pick up his glass. "On the house, Doc. Of course we’ll be open Saturday. In fact, we’re hoping tomorrow, right Abe?"
"Just need a handful of chairs and a couple more tables." Abe walked the limping physician to the kitchen door. "See you Saturday, Doc. Sooner, if you get thirsty."
"Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Thank you." The doctor scrunched his shoulders at the doorframe, his hat nearly brushing the lintel.
Abe walked back, looking grim. "I sure hope you’re not thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’."
Inez said to Useless, "Go get the forty-rod that was delivered last week."
Useless glanced from Inez to Abe, then headed toward the kitchen.
Inez waited until he was out of earshot, then faced Abe. "You and Doc are always saying, ‘Take a care to the living, the dead take care of themselves.’ Well, I’m taking care of Emma and Joey by tidying up Joe’s business affairs."
Abe crossed his arms. "I heard what you said to Doc. That Joe was murdered. Maybe so, maybe no. As long as the marshal leaves us alone, I say let sleepin’ dogs lie."
"But what was Joe doing in Tiger Alley in the dead of night? Look down the block. There’s our place, a restaurant, a hotel, a dancehall, five saloons with the requisite gamblers and girls, and Cat’s place. The next block, the cribs get smaller and the drinks get weaker." The brass check flashed through her mind. "Abe, did Joe ever frequent the brothels on State?"
"What in blazes makes you ask that? Think I’d know the man’s private business? Joe was a family man, plain and simple."
She gripped the rounded edge of the bar. "Family men stray. It happens all the time. As you and I know well."
The clanking
"Ah, the medicinal properties of alcohol. Some call it the devil’s drink. Yet, I maintain it brings solace and strength to thousands." Doc moved to take up his hat. Inez held it to the counter.
"Speaking of tragedy," she leaned forward, "you heard about Joe Rose?"
"Ah yes. Yet another casualty of the violence that periodically boils out of this city. The coroner called me in for my opinion."
Inez hesitated, then pushed on. "What happened to Joe? I was asked to identify him when they found the body."
Doc eased his hat from her grip. "Not a pretty sight. But the trauma from a trampling never is. I saw it often in the War."
"So he was run over by a cart? A sleigh?"
"No evidence of that." Doc patted his chapped nose with the crumpled handkerchief. "Most likely a horse. Certainly equine. Straight and simple."
She drummed her fingers on the wood, frowning. "Most horses would throw a rider before stepping on someone."
Doc nodded and carefully refolded the limp white square of linen. "Yet, Mr. Rose did not suffer from an isolated misstep. He was thoroughly trampled and probably dragged as well."
Inez clutched the collar of her faded flannel shirt. Behind her, she heard the musical tinkle of glass against glass as Useless lined up the bottles.
"My God," she said softly. "Someone murdered Joe, dragged him behind our saloon, and left him there."
Chapter Nine
Her gaze switched to Doc. "I’d swear that Marshal Hollis thought we had something to do with Joe’s death. What you’re saying proves otherwise. Did you tell this to Hollis?"
Doc settled his hat on his head. "I voiced my opinions to the coroner and the marshal, of course. The law will follow whatever course it deems appropriate. I suspect, in the end, Rose’s luckless demise in Tiger Alley will be just one more item in the ‘Breakfast Bullets’ column of the Chronicle ." Doc patted her hand. "There, there. We’ll all do what we can to help Mrs. Rose. Take a care to the living, and so on. Will you be back in business by Saturday night? The evening’s the high point of my week, you know."
Inez, focused on his previous words, flashed him an absent smile as she withdrew her hand to pick up his glass. "On the house, Doc. Of course we’ll be open Saturday. In fact, we’re hoping tomorrow, right Abe?"
"Just need a handful of chairs and a couple more tables." Abe walked the limping physician to the kitchen door. "See you Saturday, Doc. Sooner, if you get thirsty."
"Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Thank you." The doctor scrunched his shoulders at the doorframe, his hat nearly brushing the lintel.
Abe walked back, looking grim. "I sure hope you’re not thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’."
Inez said to Useless, "Go get the forty-rod that was delivered last week."
Useless glanced from Inez to Abe, then headed toward the kitchen.
Inez waited until he was out of earshot, then faced Abe. "You and Doc are always saying, ‘Take a care to the living, the dead take care of themselves.’ Well, I’m taking care of Emma and Joey by tidying up Joe’s business affairs."
Abe crossed his arms. "I heard what you said to Doc. That Joe was murdered. Maybe so, maybe no. As long as the marshal leaves us alone, I say let sleepin’ dogs lie."
"But what was Joe doing in Tiger Alley in the dead of night? Look down the block. There’s our place, a restaurant, a hotel, a dancehall, five saloons with the requisite gamblers and girls, and Cat’s place. The next block, the cribs get smaller and the drinks get weaker." The brass check flashed through her mind. "Abe, did Joe ever frequent the brothels on State?"
"What in blazes makes you ask that? Think I’d know the man’s private business? Joe was a family man, plain and simple."
She gripped the rounded edge of the bar. "Family men stray. It happens all the time. As you and I know well."
The clanking
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