Rose swept through the lobby entrance of the River Queen with her head held high. Howie Sanders, the desk clerk whom she remembered as being a bit obsequious, was the first to spot her. Hand outstretched, he came around the counter to greet her. “Mrs. Peterson, good to see you. Is there something I can help you with?”
She shook his hand. “There certainly is, Howie. I’ve come to take over the running of my hotel, and you can be a big help.”
“Take over?”
“That’s right.” With a purposeful lift of her chin, Rose continued, “Since I now own the hotel, I intend to personally be in charge. First off, I’d like to see my husband’s office. I intend to move in there myself.”
The little man’s lips parted in surprise “Uh, well, now… I don’t know as how… It, uh, might already be occupied, seeing as how Mr. Peterson is dead and all.”
She’d prepared herself for minor problems such as this. “Let’s not worry about it. Just show me Emmet’s office.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Leading the way, the desk clerk guided her through the gambling hall. In the early afternoon, the huge room wasn’t as crowded as the other night. Even so, gamblers crowded around every table and filled almost every stool at the bar. Not a woman in sight. Probably those painted ladies slept very late. Heads turned as she passed by, but she ignored all the stares and kept going.
“Watch your skirt,” Howie warned.
Indeed she would. The tobacco-stained floor and discolored spittoons were utterly disgusting. She would soon be making many changes, and that included a quick removal of the spittoons and also those nude, disgraceful pictures hanging behind the bar.
At the back, they passed through an archway and down a short hallway to a closed door at the end. Howie knocked, opened the door, and poked his head in. “Mr. Grunion? Someone to see you.” He turned to Rose. “I’d best get back. Go right in.”
Entering the office, she found Jake Grunion sitting behind a large desk. Raising his eyes, he saw who it was and frowned. He caught himself immediately and leisurely arose to greet her with a smile that held no warmth. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Peterson.” He waved at a chair on the other side of the desk. “Have a seat. What a pleasure you’ve come to visit us again.”
Ignoring the obvious insincerity in his voice, she sat and looked him in the eye. “It’s more than a visit. This was my husband’s office?”
He nodded warily.
Obviously Jake had moved in. She would be as tactful as possible. “I’m sorry, Mr. Grunion, but I shall want it back. As of today, the River Queen is officially mine, so I’ll be in charge from now on.” Seeing his slight flinch of surprise, she quickly added, “Oh, there’s no hurry. And of course you’re still the manager. If Emmet trusted you and thought you were doing a good job, then I do, too. First off, I’d like to examine the books. Are they handy?”
She’d expected he wouldn’t be overjoyed at her announcement but wasn’t prepared for the way his jaw dropped open in surprise. “You?” He was blinking his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“Yes, me, Mr. Grunion. I don’t know if my husband ever mentioned it, but back in Cairo, Illinois, I helped run my family’s hotel, so I’m quite experienced in such endeavors.”
He returned a nasty laugh. “You might think you’re experienced, but running a hotel in Illinois is a far cry from running a hotel in a Gold Rush town like Sacramento.”
His remark caused her heart to sink, but he mustn’t know. “Regardless of all that, I am here to run the hotel and I wish to see the books.”
A look of contempt filled his eyes. “The books are not handy, Mrs. Peterson. Maybe you mean well, but I’ve gotta tell you, running a hotel like this is no job for a woman.”
She remembered what Deke had told her. “Fanny Wentworth owns the Silver Star, does she not?”
“Fanny Wentworth is a whore who made good. She packs a revolver, a bowie knife, and gets drunk every night. Is that what you’re planning?”
“Of course not. I…” Jake’s response had so startled her, she couldn’t think what to say.
“Good Lord.” Jake rolled his eyes, as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Look, Mrs. Peterson, a nice lady like you is way out of her element here. Those men you see in the gambling hall don’t give a damn about good manners. They come here to gamble, drink whiskey, and pay for the services of a woman, which the River Queen gladly provides. They get a little whiskey in ’em, the least thing sets ’em off and we’ve got a fight on our hands, at least one or two every night, sometimes more. With luck, they use their fists. Otherwise, they pull out their pistols and bullets fly. The week doesn’t go by we don’t carry some poor sod feet-first out the door, shot dead by some idiot who thinks he was insulted or got cheated. Do you think you can handle that? You, with your good manners and your fancy bonnet?” His lip curled in a sneer. “I don’t think so. My best advice to you is go home and make yourself a cup of tea. Do your embroidery. You don’t belong here.”
Jake didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he got up and walked out of the office, leaving her so dumbfounded she had to breathe deep and sit quietly until her heart slowed down. She should have known better. Obviously, Jake had been running the place since Emmet died and had planned to continue. How foolish to assume a crude man like that would give up his position without so much as a murmur. And what about the books? He’d downright flinched when she asked to see them. Something funny going on there.
She would not give up. She’d deal with Jake later, although what exactly she’d do, she had no idea. But for now, she would check out that awful excuse for a restaurant. Surely she’d have better luck there.
The restaurant was worse than she remembered. No tablecloths, just long tables and benches of rough wood. Walking in, she caught sight of a bearded old miner spitting a wad of tobacco directly onto the sawdust-covered floor. Such repulsive behavior would soon stop, she’d see to that. When she asked to see the head chef, a hefty, balding man came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on the stained white apron that covered his huge belly. He said his name was Gus Hurdlicka, and yes, he ran the restaurant. When she introduced herself and asked to see the kitchen, he squinted and asked, “Why?”
She further explained her reason for being there. “And I’ll be looking to make some improvements in your restaurant, Mr. Hurdlicka.”
The chef’s face turned red. A vein twitched in his fat jaw. “What changes are you talking about, lady?”
“Well, I…” She certainly hadn’t meant to make him angry and must be more tactful. “For one thing, I’d like to see your menu with the thought that I might expand it and—”
“We don’t have a menu. For breakfast I give ’em scrambled eggs, beans, and biscuits. For lunch I put out cold cuts and let ’em serve themselves. For dinner I make beef stew. Along with sourdough bread, that’s enough.” He crossed his arms and glared at her. “The customers aren’t complaining, so what more do you want?”
“I…uh…” This was not turning out as she had thought. Best to change the subject. “May I see the kitchen?”
Gus replied with a grunt and led her to the back of the restaurant and into the kitchen where two young men who appeared to be Chinese stood at a long table chopping vegetables. An awful smell slammed her nostrils, a combination of rancid fat, spoiled meat, and rotting vegetables. She couldn’t help wrinkling her nose. “That’s a rather bad smell.”
He shrugged. “I’m used to it, and those chinks don’t care. If they complained, they’d be out on their butts and no back pay.”
She ignored his rude language and walked around the kitchen. Horrible! Dirty counters, dirty floor. Grease and grime everywhere. The stoves looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in years, if ever. She ran a finger over one of the stovetops, held it up, and regarded her greasy black fingertip. Ugh. Silently, she arched an eyebrow in disap
proval. When she finished her tour of the kitchen, she chose her words carefully. “Well, Mr. Hurdlicka, I see room for improvement here. If I may point out—”
“Get out of my kitchen!” Gus Hurdlicka’s eyes bulged. By now, his face was so red he appeared to be on the verge of apoplexy.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Out!” He pointed a shaking finger toward the door.
There was nothing to do but go, and quickly. “Good day, Mr. Hurdlicka. We’ll talk later.” It was all she could do to maintain her dignity, walk slowly, head high as she made her way from the restaurant. Back in the gambling hall, she was heading for the entrance when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She instantly knew who it was from the overpowering reek of perfume. Turning, she found the painted woman she’d met the other night.
“Remember me?” the woman said. “Tillie LaTour?”
After the debacle of a meeting with the cook, Rose could hardly think straight. She desperately wanted to get out of there, but good manners required she nod pleasantly. “Of course, I remember you.”
Tillie cocked her head and regarded her boldly. “I hear you’re gonna make some changes.”
Apparently that little weasel of a desk clerk had wasted no time spreading the word. “Why yes, as the new owner, I intend to change quite a few things around here.” That had been her plan, anyway. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“What about the girls on the third floor? You know, the hostesses.”
Please, no more conflicts. After what she’d been through, she wasn’t sure she could stand much more. All she wanted was to get out the door and breathe some fresh air. This woman deserved an answer, though, and she’d have to be honest. “Miss LaTour, you know and I know those girls are more than hostesses. I’ll be honest. I own this hotel now, and I won’t put up with what I consider sinful activities. Therefore, I’m afraid you and your, uh, ladies will have to go.” She hoped the poor woman wouldn’t be too upset but had felt compelled to give a truthful answer.
Tillie threw back her head and burst into laughter. “Are you joking?”
“Certainly not.”
“Honey, you’ve got a lot to learn. Pigs will fly before the River Queen gets rid of its harlots.”
They were standing next to a faro table surrounded by gamblers. A quick glance informed her they’d stopped the game and were listening to every word of their conversation. One of the gamblers spoke up. “Hey, lady, you can’t get rid of the whores. The River Queen would shut down if you did. What d’ya say, boys?”
Rose inwardly cringed as everyone at the table laughed and hooted. Her cheeks burned. Never had she been so intensely humiliated. She murmured a quick “I must go,” turned, and fled as fast as she could go without actually running, out the door of the River Queen and into the bustling street outside. When she reached her horse and buggy, she grabbed Star’s halter, buried her head in Star’s silky mane and whispered, “You wouldn’t believe how I’ve made a complete fool of myself.” How could she possibly have thought she could run a hotel that catered to just about every sin she’d ever heard of?
“Rose?”
It was Mason Talbot’s voice. She breathed deep and turned to face him. He was dressed elegantly as always, sporting a top hat and cane. She put what she hoped was a smile on her face. “Hello, Mason.”
He frowned with concern. “Is anything wrong? You look distressed.”
“It’s nothing.” The words no sooner left her mouth than she changed her mind. Who better to talk to than this man who always seemed so wise, so considerate and understanding? “Oh, Mason, I never felt so humiliated, so…” Fighting back tears, she clamped her lips shut and looked toward the sky. She was absolutely not going to cry in front of him. “I did not have a very good day.”
He took her elbow. “Come with me. We’ll go for a little ride.”
She didn’t protest and soon sat beside Mason in his carriage. He flicked the reins and drove to a deserted spot overlooking the river. Facing him on the high seat, she told him about Jake Grunion and his hostility; about Gus Hurdlicka, the chef who, thanks to her, almost got apoplexy; about Tillie, the woman of ill repute, who’d laughed in her face; and how, in the end, she’d fled out the door, wanting nothing more than to escape what had been the most mortifying experience of her life. “I thought it would be so easy. Maybe a bit different from running the Birchwood Inn but nothing I couldn’t handle. How wrong could I be?” She bit her lip. “What a disaster. I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do.” Mason drew both her hands into his. “My dear Rose, a beautiful woman like you is meant for better things than running a sordid, downright sinful hotel like the River Queen. I admire you immensely for trying, but at least you’ve found early on it’s too much for you.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Here’s what we’ll do. As you know, I had offered to buy the River Queen. My offer still stands, and at the same price.”
“That’s…that’s most kind of you.” How generous he was, and how wonderful that he had offered a way out of her predicament. She opened her mouth to accept, but before she could, a sense of loss overcame her. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to making the River Queen a first class hotel. It had given her a whole new purpose in life, but what a foolish dream. She must be practical. As Mason had wisely pointed out, It’s too much for you.
He must have noticed her slight hesitation. “You don’t have to decide right now. Think about it. We’ll have dinner tomorrow night, and you can tell me then.”
“All right, but after what happened today, you know what my answer will be.” She would look at the bright side. If she sold the hotel, she’d have more time with Lucy. Ben and Coralee would be relieved and happy. Best of all, she’d never have to set foot in the River Queen again. All to the good, of course, but even so, why did she feel so defeated, as if a heavy weight was pressing on her shoulders?
Mason drove her back to her carriage and said goodbye, remarking how much he looked forward to dinner tomorrow night. He would take her to Le Chantecler at his Egyptian Hotel, considered by many to be the best French restaurant in town. She started for home but had not driven far along Front Street when she noticed a large, square structure under construction on the right side of the street. In front, two men had nearly finished painting a sign that read Fleming & Carter’s Ice House. She had nearly passed by when she realized…Fleming? That was Deke’s last name. She pulled to the side and looked closer. “Deke?”
He dropped his paint brush and looked around. “’Pon my word, it’s Rose.”
He started toward her, walking straight and tall. No crutches. “Deke, your cast is gone!”
He reached the carriage and gazed up at her, a big smile lighting his face. “Too right. Got it off yesterday.”
Somehow he’d changed, and it wasn’t just the crutches. The strained frown that had etched his forehead had disappeared, replaced by a look of confidence that hadn’t been there before. She nodded toward the unfinished building. “Is this what you meant by ice?”
“That’s right.” He nodded toward his companion. “That’s my friend, Mitch. We’re building an ice house.”
“But why?”
Her question made him laugh. “Because a cold beer’s a hundred times better than a warm beer. We’ve gone into the ice business. The saloons can’t get enough of it. Already we’ve hauled a load down from the mountains and sold every last chunk of it for ten cents a pound.”
“That’s nice, Deke. I’m happy to see you’ve got a little money coming in.”
Deke’s friend Mitch joined them. A plain man with sandy hair, about the same age as Deke, he stuck out his hand in a friendly fashion and introduced himself. His accent was like Deke’s. “Back home, we were neighbors. Now I’ve got to be nice to him because he saved my life.
”
She started to ask how, but before she could, Deke broke in. “Mitch just came from the diggings. He’d had enough.”
“Really?” Surprised, she asked Mitch, “Don’t you want to get rich?”
Deke’s friend chuckled. “It’s a crook deal now. The easy gold’s disappearing. We may not make a fortune selling ice, but we’re better off than those poor sods freezing their arses up at the diggings. Excuse the language. Deke tells me you now own the River Queen.”
She nodded. No sense informing him she was about to sell.
“Then tell that bartender to get rid of that rotgut whiskey.” Mitch clutched his throat and made a gagging sound. “I had a slug the other night and like to died.”
“I shall indeed inform him, Mr. Carter.” And she would have, if she wasn’t going to sell.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Peterson.” Mitch tipped his hat and went back to his painting.
Deke took a long moment to look her up and down. “You look good. I see you got yourself a new dress and bonnet. So how’s it going over at the River Queen? Last time we talked, you were about to take over.”
“Not so well.” Saying the words, she almost choked up.
“Oh, say now…” With a lithesome spring, he was beside her in the carriage. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Just as she had with Mason, she related to Deke the terrible day she’d had. “So that’s the end of it. Now I know I was in over my head. Mr. Talbot told me his offer’s still good, so I’m going to sell.”
“Blimey.”
“It’s for the best.”
River Queen Rose Page 9
