A Dying Note – Ann Parker

She lifted the iron and examined the sheet in front of her. Half of it had surrendered its crinkles, forming a smooth ivory plane. She straightened her hunched shoulders, tucked a strand of faded red hair behind her ear, and said, “Morning to you, Mrs. Stannert.” “And good morning to you,” said Inez before Bessie peremptorily swept her away, to show her the back room, with its shiny new copper pots, and stainless-steel tub, and two stoves. This room had new brick walls on three sides.

A single wood wall remained. “One more wall to go,” said Bessie proudly, “and we’ll be able to work on the rest of the ironing and drying room out front.” “What about your living quarters?” asked Inez. She knew they occupied a small set of rooms behind the laundry. “That will be last, if at all.” said Bessie. “The laundry first, so we won’t get fined again. If not for you, we would have been thrown into the street. Two hundred dollars!”

Inez nodded. A city ordinance dictated that laundries not made of bricks were subject to fines up to a thousand dollars. Although Chinese laundries were the main target, that did not stop a local policeman from fining the Mays two hundred dollars for conducting their washing business in a frame building, even as the charred portion was still smoking. “You have done as I suggested?”

asked Inez. “We pay the scum every week. He hasn’t done but wink and look the other way, as you said he would.” She spat on the floor and ground the phlegm into the board with a savage foot. Inez nodded. She had figured that, just as in Leadville, paying a small “tax” to the local law would guarantee they would look the other way as the building underwent its transformation from planks to bricks.

“Patrick will be working on it this afternoon when the bricklayer arrives,” added Bessie. “Miss May, I am willing to advance you for more professional help. That would free Patrick for other chores,” said Inez. Bessie shook her head. “He has time for both. And he’s learning a useful trade where the color of his skin won’t matter a lick.” “But his music—” Bessie bristled, and Inez knew she’d strayed onto a sore topic. “If left to himself, he would play the piano day and night.

We didn’t mind that he takes lessons from you on the occasional morning before deliveries, but now he’s after us to let him work at that place next door.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book. Poisoned Pen Press 4014 N. Goldwater Blvd., #201 Scottsdale, AZ 85251 www.poisonedpenpress.com [email protected] Printed in the United States of America 1kitap1.com/en Dedication For Barbara Peters, editor extraordinaire, who encouraged me (and my protagonist) to “go West” to San Francisco 1kitap1.com/en Acknowledgments This book may not have taken a village to write, but the people I’d like to thank would certainly constitute a large neighborhood.

First off, thank you, dear family, especially Bill, Ian, and Devyn, for hanging in there with me. Second, I’m grateful to the friends, writers, critique partners, and beta readers/proofers who offered suggestions and support for various stages of the writing/re-writing process: Bill McConachie, Camille Minichino, Carole Price, Colleen Casey, Dani Greer, Janet Finsilver, Jonnie Jacobs, Kate Wyland, Margaret Lucke, Mary-Lynne Pierce Bernald, Penny Warner, Priscilla Royal, Rita Lakin, Trevor Lamberson, Staci McLaughlin, and Wendy McConachie. Special thanks and endless gratitude to Camille Minichino and Dick Rufer for letting me hide out in their guest room for some serious writing sprints and for their friendship over many decades.

Devyn McConachie gets a super-duper shout-out for her last-minute-to-midnight reads of certain critical sections and her help with “final words.” (Note to Devyn: You have the makings of an excellent copy editor!) Thanks also to the Facebook group Colorado Writers and Publishers and to the Poisoned Pen Press “posse” of authors— we’re all in this together! In the research arena, Colleen Casey deserves a tip of the hat and a dozen roses for sharing her vast knowledge of San Francisco’s history and loaning me bags of resource books, as well as for her encouragement and patience in answering my many questions and her infectious enthusiasm for the city and all its aspects.

The San Francisco Public Library and particularly the San Francisco History Center and its librarians were wonderful resources and always helpful—I will be back! Stephen Parker supplied much-needed and appreciated “musical assistance.” Also, thanks to Emperor Norton (aka Joseph Amster) and his insightful Time Machine Tours of San Francisco. All errors, omissions, and slips into alternate realities are mine.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 403a2fce0b67918b
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 3,580,104 bytes (3.414 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9781464209796, 9781464209819, 9781464209826
• Pages: 319
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 568.55 minutes
• Total Words: 113,711
• Total Characters: 636,376
• Average Words per Page: 356.46
• Average Characters per Page: 1994.91

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