VIOLETTA NARROWED HER EYES at me. “What is Jace to you anyway, little girl?”

I did not reply.

She lit a cigarrito & took a puff & leaned back & said, “I suppose he is the father you never had.”

I did not reply.

“Or are you in love with him, like half the gals on the Comstock?”

“That is disgusting,” I said. “Jace is my friend. He has been teaching me things and he is not finished.”

She blew smoke out from her pretty nose. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Jace ain’t no babysitting schoolmarm. He is a gambler. I am the one who is going to save his life. Later tonight Jace and I are going to the Justice of the Peace. Then we will get on the stage to Sacramento and leave this wretched territory of alkali dust and sagebrush once and for all. We are going to Frisco to buy ourselves a mansion on Rincon Hill,” she added.

I said, “You will not ‘save’ him. You will kill him, just like you killed Con Mason, Abram Benway and Jack Williams.”

“I did not kill Con Mason,” she said. “I reckon he got murdered by his pal Richardson.”

“I found a thread from your gown at the scene of the crime,” I countered.

“I might have met him there right after the wedding,” she admitted, “but I did not linger and I did not kill him.”

“What about Abram Benway?” I said.

She gave another smoky snort. “The fool killed himself. Danced a little jig right out that window. Just when I had said yes to his proposal of marriage.”

“You were going to marry him?” I said.

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“But you did kill Jack Williams,” I said, “didn’t you?”

She sucked in smoke and said, “Did that news sadden you? The death of the man prepared to saw you in half?” When I did not reply, she added, “It was the easiest way of getting a divorce from him.”

“So you were married to that Desperado!” I said.

She blew smoke up. “Not anymore.”

I said, “With him out of the way, your plan was to find a man with money and/or a good toll road franchise, reel him in, marry him, then kill him and live on the wealth. You had about three or four fish on your line.”

“I would not need to kill off a husband to benefit,” she said, tapping ash from her cigarrito. “I can benefit being married. It is true I contemplated marriage with Con Mason and Abram Benway. It is called hedging your bets. But Jace was always my first choice. Finding Jace was like finding four aces in my hand. Unlike those other men, he is good-looking, clean, courteous and rich. Though maybe not quite as rich as I was led to believe,” she added under her breath.

I said, “I am rich, too. If I give you money will you go away and never come back?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Why, P. K.,” she said, “are you trying to buy me off?”

“I do not know what that means,” I said. “I am just offering to pay you to go away.”

The black centers of her reddish-violet eyes got a little bigger and blacker. Jace had taught me that big pupils are an unconscious sign of desire.

“How much do you have?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she needed to clear her throat.

“I have about a thousand dollars in gold at the Wells, Fargo & Co. Bank in Virginia City.”

“A thousand? Is that all?” She laughed and took a sip of her cocktail.

“And I have three feet in the Chollar Mine.”

She stubbed out her cigarrito & leaned forward. “Certificate and all?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I knew that feet in the Chollar were selling at high prices since William Morris Stewart had settled the case with the Potosi Mining Company.

She stirred her red, violet and yellow drink with a silver spoon so that all the colors mingled and became a kind of muddy bloodred. Then she drank nearly half of it. “Sell it to me,” she said. “Name your price.”

My eye fell on her pack of cards. This gave me an idea.

“Let’s play for him,” I said.

She looked up at me, her long-lashed eyes as round as coins. “What?”

“Six or seven hands of five-card poker,” I said. “Until your deck is used up once. If you win, I will give you my three feet of the Chollar Mine. But if I win you have to leave Nevada Territory, and Jace.”

“You want to play for Jace?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pursed her rouged lips. This made her mouth resemble the Ace of Hearts. “All right,” she said. “You are on. But I warn you, I am good at cards.”

“So am I,” I said.

She drained her blood-colored drink.

“Val!” she said to the man behind the bar. “Bring me another Pousse L’ Amour.” She looked at me. “You want one?”

I was thirsty, so I said, “What is in them?”

“The yolk of an egg suspended between Maraschino wine and violet cordial, with a dash of Cognac brandy on top,” she said.

“Are those things all spirituous beverages?”

“All but the egg yolk,” she said, shuffling the cards.

I lifted my chin a little. “Then my answer is no. I do not drink spirituous beverages. I will have black coffee.”

“You sanctimonious little prig,” she said. “You will have a Pousse L’ Amour or nothing.” She called out to the barkeep, “Val? Make two of those, please.”

A moment later Val brought two cocktails. He put one by her and one by me. I had to admit it looked real pretty: all red and violet and yellow. Also, I was suddenly mighty thirsty. But I had made a promise to my dying foster ma, so I let it be.

Violetta shuffled the cards a few times & put the deck on the table before me. “Cut the cards.”

I picked up the top half of the deck & set it down again close to the bottom half & flipped over the top card of the bottom pile. It was the King of Spades, Jace’s card. I reckoned that was a good omen.

Then Violetta turned up the Ace of Hearts: one of only four cards that could have beat that king.

That was when I began to worry.