Author's Note: This story is a mystery, set in Denver and Georgetown, Colorado. It is a follow-up to 'The Glitter & The Gold' and features Nick and Heath, along with their wives Priscilla and Sarah. The majority of the story will be in 'Victoria's Parlor' but some chapters, because of content will be 'Behind Closed Doors'.

Jarrod's Office, Stockton, California – May 1879

Excerpts from Chapter Fifty-Three; 'The Glitter & The Gold'

"I am also proposing Heath Barkley as one of the trustees, specifically to deal with the mining rights." Priscilla turned to look at Heath, tilting her head at him. "Heath, you would have liked Joseph; you two were very similar. Part of the reason why Joseph was in Switzerland was because he was looking into devices to increase safety in the mines. I know how important that issue is to you also, and am aware that you are very knowledgeable about the industry." Her words resonated with him, and he felt gratified he was getting credit for what he wanted to achieve.

Heath himself was stunned at what he was being offered; to bring the largest producing mines up to the latest safety standards was a challenge and an honor. He had campaigned with so many mine owners, to treat their workers better, which would lead to higher production. The Barkley mines had given him the chance to test his theories, but they were only a small part of California and Nevada output. The rich veins in the Colorado Rockies would give him a bigger scale – and a national presence – to showcase the importance of safety.

"Heath, Nick and I are planning a trip to Denver in October, after the round-up and state fair." They had finished the meeting and Heath was getting ready to leave when Priscilla came over and put her slim, delicate, jeweled hand on his arm. "There are several matters, in regard to Hester, that I need to take care of in person. I – well Nick and I – would like you and Sarah to come along. It would give you the chance to visit the mines and meet the owners." She regarded him with a questioning smile, her wide blue eyes framed by dark full lashes which were striking.

"Yes, that would be great. I would enjoy the chance to see Colorado." Heath swallowed hard, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. Priscilla had never been anything other than kind to both him and Sarah. He knew that it was because of his sister-in-law that the community had reached out to Sarah. It bothered him that Sarah consistently refused those overtures, whether they came from her mother, Victoria, Audra or Priscilla.

Heath knew he was the only person who truly understood Sarah's feelings about society – her father's ordeal had been so much for her. On the other hand he knew exactly what was at stake, and he hoped that his wife would understand and not want him to walk away from this great opportunity. Of course October was five months away, and a great deal could happen.

Denver, Colorado - June 1879

The moon was low in the sky and faint, the last quarter of its progress. Spring had come on time to Denver this year, with none of the late snows the region could experience. The trees and bushes were all in bloom, making the man lurking in the lilacs glad for the hiding space they provided. The blossom's scent was overwhelming his nostrils, even as the waning moon seemed to hang heavy over his head; he hoped that the phase of the moon wasn't an omen of his fate. His plans had been going so well until April, when the death of his nemesis had occurred. At first he was sure that it was a stroke of good fortune, that she was gone from this earth. Unfortunately like a cursed wraith, she wouldn't let him go.

He rubbed the black felt workman's gloves, the palms and fingers lined with leather to provide extra traction. The fabric was rough against his skin, which was accustomed to fine calfskin and silk. His whole outfit was bothersome, but he needed to blend into the darkness as much as possible. This was his second visit to house, and he wanted to be as careful as possible.

The news of the woman's death had caused a flurry of activity around the house, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to search for what he needed to find. There was also the issue that for once he couldn't hire someone else to do the job, but needed to take it on by himself. Carefully he waited until the inventory had been done, and then several more weeks while the constables who patrolled the area were extra vigilant because of a newly empty house.

However by the end of May things had settled down and he'd done his first search, after making sure the elderly caretaker wouldn't cause trouble. All the servants had been let go, with good references and nice purses of money to find other jobs. The older man's main task was to stay in the house, to keep thieves out; it was easy work and handsomely paid.

The searcher knew that the man liked to amble two streets over, to the Gold Nugget, a saloon that catered to the house servants who worked in the nearby mansions. Before the first excursion he'd made sure that a special powder had been added to the man's brew, guaranteeing him a solid night's sleep. Tonight he'd put the same plan in place, tipping the barmaid well to make sure the caretaker would be asleep.

Judging the time right, the black clad man entered through the side patio French doors; the last time he'd been in the house he'd put resin putty in the lock, to keep it from closing all the way. His plan was not to bother with the main floor rooms, instead heading upstairs to search for what he needed to find. The last time he'd turned the woman's bedroom inside out, along with her dressing room but had not found anything.

There had been the worry that the object would be discovered during the inventory, but that had been over two months ago. Since nothing had come to light he decided that it had not been found, meaning it wasn't somewhere easily accessible. His plan tonight was Joseph's dressing room – what a joke if she'd hidden it under her husband's nose, along with the guest rooms and attic, if he could get up there.

Entering the back drawing room he moved quickly across it and into the main hall, turning to walk up the main staircase. His progress was halted by a figure entering the room, carrying a lantern and looking straight at him. The black clad figure froze, shocked that the caretaker was not asleep in his room at the back of the house.

The intruder didn't know why the caretaker wasn't passed out in his room, but he didn't have time to worry about it. The elderly man raised the lantern to get a better look, and the other man knew he couldn't let his face be seen. Casting a quick look around the hall he noticed a large Chinese vase on a pedestal; without a second thought he grabbed it and taking two large steps came up next to the caretaker and brought it down on his head.

The elderly man was out cold, and so the black clad figure thought he could still get his search in. Or so he thought, until he heard the constable outside, knocking on the door, and demanding to know what was going on. The intruder realized that the policeman must have been right outside when the breaking of the vase happened. Cursing his bad luck, he retreated quickly back the way he'd come in, and once outside used the bushes that outlined the back property to make his escape.

When he arrived at his dwelling, he poured himself a generous helping of scotch, while silently berating his foul up tonight. He knew that when the inheritor heard about this break-in, they would double security. His plans were foiled, and he would have to work hard to come up with another way to get into the house. All he had to do was find the item before the deadline, and he would be safe and set for life, he mused, drinking his scotch in one gulp.

Denver, Colorado – October 1879

Hollady Street was gaudily lit up, with gas lights drawing attention to buildings that bore cheap, faux fixtures of iron and stone. Nelson's Establishment – the sign done in garish colors - announced steak, dancing girls, and whiskey. Below the sign, but above the roughly carved double doors, was a fanlight of stained glass; it was backlit with more gas lights.

The Tenderloin of Denver – that district where all kinds of pleasure could be experienced – if one had the cash – was far removed mentally, if not physically from the rest of Denver. Hollady Street was the main thoroughfare of the Tenderloin – several streets around Hollady also had various emporiums of pleasure and vice, but the ones on Hollady were the top of the heap. It proved the old saying that only two things rose to the top – scum and cream. It was a fitting epithet, since many of the millionaires could be found in the dens along Hollady Street.

The sharp featured man hugged the luxurious collar of his jacket closer to his neck, as he adjusted the cashmere scarf to ward against the cold wind coming down from the Rocky Mountains. October in Denver could be as gentle as spring, or as fierce as winter – oftentimes both in the same week. Earlier today, and the last week the weather had been glorious; Indian Summer. Now though, the winds coming down from the Front Range carried the threat of cold and frost.

Winter was going to come early, the man thought with pleasure, thinking how it would help his plans. However, before anything could happen he had to find Abner, a mercenary who hung out in the Tenderloin district. He had used Abner before being referred by a previous business partner; Abner was quick, detailed and precise. The man also kept his mouth shut, provided he was paid handsomely up front. The only drawback was the meeting place, which Abner dictate.

Now his closed carriage rolled slowly down the street, the pungent smell of the bottom side of life wafting up to his pinched nostrils in a pointed nose. Several fancy women tried to catch his attention, but he turned a blind eye to their enticements, such as they were. In truth he'd given up on physical gratification a long time ago, finding more pleasure in making money.

"Yo there Governor! Ride to the next block?" A smallish man, wearing a brown cloth overcoat and a worn brown felt pork pie hat hailed the driver of the well maintained carriage. The driver was well trained, and resisted the impulse he had, to flick his whip at this scum who dated to approach the conveyance.

The Master inside the carriage looked out the window, and recognized the man right away; he signaled for the carriage to stop. The man in brown climbed inside, and greeted the owner with an almost arrogant bravado. The owner of the carriage clenched his left hand tightly, causing deep creases in the grey leather gloves.

If only he didn't need this man's services, he mused to himself, before he remembered the reason he needed them. Everything had been just fine, even with the added complication of the deaths, until his scheme was threatened with ruin. Sighing he brought his mind back to the present, wanting to get the deal done as soon as possible and get the man out of his carriage. Hixon, the driver, would have to clean the interior with his special mixture of beeswax, lemon, and mind, which took care of odors.

"In four days' time this man will arrive in Denver, on the Eastern Suncatcher." The well-dressed man extended a picture, cut from a newspaper. "I want him dead, but it has to look like an accident; I suggest the train station, as it will be very busy at that time."

"Now ya needs to understand that I don't be told how to do my job." Abner huffed with annoyance, as he took the picture to study it, best as he could in the lighting of the club. He was all set to say more, but the other man raised his hand to stop him.

"No, trying to knife him the street won't work; he isn't the kind to be prowling around at night, especially alone." The man in the fine worsted wool snapped, a sneer of disgust coming over his face, as he thought about the victim. "It has to be an accident, and I know that you are very good at your work. Here is some money now, and the balance will be paid when the man is dead." The envelope was discreetly passed to Abner, who knew he didn't need to count it; they knew the game all too well.

"Can I know the man's name and why you want him dead; on your terms?" Abner questioned, feeling insulted that his skills were being called into question. There was also the fact that he wanted to learn as much as possible; in his line of work both the killer and killee could yield valuable information.

"Why I want him dead is my business." The impeccably dressed man in his bespoke English clothing replied. "His name is Heath Barkley." The chuckle gave way to a cold hard sneer, causing Abner to feel a wave of dread over take him. He knew all about the dark side of life, but there was something in the other man's eyes that had him feeling very scared.