The boy’s eyes rounded. “You said hell,” he whispered, focusing on what was, for him, the most important point of that reply. “Right here, in the dinin’ room. Mama, does that mean I get to say hell, too?”
“It most certainly does not,” Star assured him serenely. But the corners of her mouth twitched as she switched subjects to ask if Matthew would like more roast beef.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first hotel Rob was instructed to audit turned out to be the very first one opened under the auspice of Yancey Holdings, the very one in which his apartment had been established. How convenient was that? Except that convenient wasn’t exactly the operative word, since Rob was ready and anxious to start the traveling part of his new job. He wanted to visit new territory, meet new people, luxuriate in new scenery, master (it was to be hoped) new challenges.
So, while it was a bit of a letdown to be told by Quint that the business commute would be delayed for a short time, still, Rob rolled up his sleeves and set to work.
His first order of business was to re-acquaint himself with the chief financial officer, Walter Hadley, a man he had known for the whole dozen years or so of his service to the company.
“Good to see you again, Rob,” Walter smiled, rising from behind his desk for a hearty handshake. “I hear you got yourself a darned good education.”
A slender man of average height, with smooth thinning brown hair parted neatly in the middle and a respectably trimmed mustache, Walter spoke with the faint upper-crust accent acquired during his own darned good education. Harvard, to be exact, some fifteen years ago. Not that he bragged about it. He merely displayed various documents, richly matted and framed, in a prominent location, for visitors to notice and admire.
“Well, I reckon I’m hangin’ out with some hoity-toity company t’day, then,” Quint cheerfully observed. “Not bein’ grounded in all that schoolin’, and such. You fellers just go on and talk over my head, I’m gettin’ used t’ it.”
Whether high and mighty or humble as grass, all three were dressed as businessmen of the world, in tailored sack suits with wingtip collars and four in hand ties. Quint, in addition, flaunted a natty fedora, and Rob had included a navy blue vest under his longer jacket.
Walter directed his guests to the two leather armchairs in front of his impressive desk before resuming his own seat behind it. “Well, Rob, I understand from your father that you’re joining us here at corporate offices.”
“Yes, sir. Under Quint’s supervision, of course, and your own. Pa felt I couldn’t do too much damage to the finances if someone would be watching over me.”
Steepling his fingers together beneath his chin, the CFO felt he could safely concur with that. “While I certainly agree that you have a place here, I must admit to just a bit of—well, surprise, shall we say?—that you father decided to place such enormous responsibility on your shoulders. One so young, after all, and just making his way in life…”
“The boy has a level head,” Quint intervened quietly. “And he’s been in and around this company from day one. I think he’ll do just fine.”
“Oh, quite, quite. I was just thinking of the lack of experience, you know.”
“We’ve all lacked experience, Walt, until we went out and found it. Time for Rob to get that himself.”
Next, it was arranged for him to be introduced to the staff at Hotel Blue Sky. Day clerk and night clerk at the reception area; housemaids and cleaners; maintenance men, groundskeepers and gardeners; laundry workers; head chefs and line cooks, servers and waiters, wine stewards and bartenders. Rob was growing tired before he’d even finished his rounds.
It took a lot of people to keep a hotel running smoothly, as he was now discovering; and this one functioned like the melded sweet sounds of a symphony orchestra.
Others did not. It was his job to find out why.
“Troubleshooter,” he guessed at his official title, later that afternoon.
“Mr. Fix-it,” suggested Quint genially.
“Rent A Judge,” was Walter’s somewhat dour contribution.
“Huh,” said Matthew. “Reckon, at any rate, you might end up as a burr t’ somebody’s backside. Well, son, if you’re almighty set on addin’ a handle t’ your name, we can hire you on as a consultant. That should cover a whole raft of operations.”
The four of them had retired to Matthew’s expansive and expensive office, decorated years ago by Goldenstar, not to his more simple tastes, but for the luxurious masculine effect afforded to any businessmen, any caller or guest. Rich wood paneling on the walls, a floor made of hardwoods polished to a high shine, thick fringed rugs scattered about, a few original paintings: more to quietly inspire than to awe.
Its owner had turned his back to pour generous helpings from a cut-glass decanter. No matter their age or their station, these Yancey boys would never forego their taste for good Kentucky bourbon.
“So. Tomorrow, Rob,” as he rejoined the group, “you can start checkin’ over the Blue Star books. Get used to how things are run, see how the accounts are set up. Quint will be available to start off, and you can always go t’ Walt here with any questions. Sound okay?”
Rob lifted his glass in tribute to his father. “Sounds just right. Lookin’ forward to it, sir.”
“Once you feel comfortable in what you’re doin’,” Matthew went on, “I’ll be pullin’ Quint away so he can do some travelin’ his own self.”
His younger brother, settled comfortably back with one ankle crossed over the other thigh, nodded. “Yup. Scoutin’ new locations. Findin’ ’em won’t be a problem; but havin’ all your aunts come up with names for ’em will be.”
Shared laughter, a sip of drinks, a shifting of position. “What parts of the country have you decided to explore?” Walter wanted to know.
“Headin’ south t’ Bakersfield, first. Wanna get the lay of the land there. Then on further south to Los Angeles.”
“Lots goin’ on there,” said Matthew with a tinge of satisfaction. “It’s a growin’ city in this state, with plentya potential. We got 35 hotels in our chain, scattered near and far, so we can afford to keep expandin’.”
“Might go on from there, across Arizona and New Mexico Territories, over int’ Texas. Some spurts of growth there, too, Matt. Not t’ mention followin’ up on some personal stuff.” With a Chesire grin, Quint stretched both long legs out and both long arms across, like a contented cat. One could almost hear the purr.
Matthew raised a brow. “Got a few ladies tucked away somewheres along the way, do you?”
From a shrug to a head-tilt to lips pursed up in reminiscence, Quint presented the picture of reluctant assent.
“Huh. I remember those days of carefree bachelorhood.”
His brother hooted. “Man, you never really were a bachelor. You married Elisa when you were ’bout knee-high to a grasshopper, and after she died you went into a period of mournin’ until Star was finally able t’ drag you out of it.”
Once again Rob was enjoying the role of spectator. Amazing how much you could learn about your family members—or your fellow human beings—just by staying quiet to listen.
Faint color had crept up over Matthew’s bronze cheekbones. “So you say. Think I ever told you everything I did when I was single?”
“Nope. Gotta have a few secrets. Just like me, trackin’ down the sweet lovelies I’ve left b’hind. And not many of ’em actual ladies, when it comes t’ that.” Glancing toward Rob, he winked and slid down lower on his spine.
“Well, gentlemen, fascinating as this conversation has gotten to be, I believe I’ll head on home to supper.” Clearly Walter had had enough of sitting on the sidelines, waiting for at least one randy male to divulge stories better left unsaid. No point in playing wide-eyed audience to too many of Quint Yancey’s recollections. “Marcella will be wondering what happened to hold me up.”
“Aw, just tell her you got t’ chattin’ business stuff with your boss,” said Q
uint easily. “And it took more time than you realized.”
“And bourbon,” added Rob, grinning. “Thanks, Walt. Good seeing you again.”
“You, too. I’ll talk with you more in the morning.”
After the door had closed quietly behind him, and the sound of his footsteps could be heard receding down the hall, brother exchanged solemn glance with brother.
“Think there’ll be trouble for his drinkin’?” Quint wondered aloud.
“Dunno. His wife is mighty god-fearin’—don’t like his touchin’ a drop of spirits. Marcella has raked him over the coals for other transgressions, so he may have t’ go a round or two with her when he gets home.” Concerned, Matthew shook his head. “Still and all, he must be willin’ t’ brave her bein’ upset with him, or he wouldn’ta slugged down as much as he did.”
“Dutch courage.”
“Maybe.”
Empty glass set aside, Rob leaned forward, both hands laced together between his knees. “So Marcy hasn’t changed since he first started seeing her a few years ago?”
“Changed. Huh. Yeah, for the worse. The man hardly dares make a move t’ do anything, without her say-so. However, he’s smart and willin’, and good at his job. Walt will do just fine by you, son, in case you were questionin’.”
“Well, I wasn’t. But, thanks, anyway. Reckon we better be headin’ on home ourselves, Pa? I’d hate to see Ma send Woof to track us down.”
IV
The few remaining days of May slipped away and disappeared into the wonder that was June, with fragrant flowers blooming everywhere and fat bumblebees careening about drunkenly with their collected pollen. The usual grayish-white fog that hovered over the Bay burnt itself off by early morning, while the Pacific sent waves of aqua and ultramarine to break softly upon waiting beaches. Temperatures rose with the rising sun and hovered high, before sinking gradually back into a comfortable range, with multi-colored dusk.
To everything Rob was oblivious.
He ate, drank, and even slept his job, with all its myriad details and interconnections.
Under Quint’s capable supervision, Rob performed an audit of Blue Sky’s books to the current date, learning as he went. It was with a great deal of satisfaction—and a small bit of pleased surprise—that he discovered a real talent and predilection for what many would consider boring: numbers, ciphers, and calculations.
After a week of steady, unremitting attention, Rob felt he could safely pronounce everything in order.
“Well, all you have to do is look at this place, besides,” he added, reporting in to his father late one afternoon. “Clean, respectable, attractive, up-to-date on services and amenities. Gosh. It’s a model hotel, Pa. I won’t be doing much work for you, if all the others are this well-run.”
“They aren’t,” Matthew informed him, with a hint of testiness. “So I expect you to find out what’s wrong with those that are fallin’ down from our standards. You got a list of specific complaints t’ check on, but I want you to visit every unit, anyway, see what you can turn up. Where to, next?”
“Thought I’d hike myself over to the Golden Belle, start digging through what they have to show me.”
“All right, then, sounds good. The general manager across town is Bayard Bloom. Seems competent and likable enough, been with us five years, and no complaints about how things are goin’. Don’t expect you’ll find many problems there, son.”
Rob lifted one shoulder. “Hope not. But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all anybody can do. Oh, and, Rob?”
He paused at the doorway, one hand on the knob, and waited expectantly.
“Your ma has been naggin’ me.”
“Nagging you? What for?”
Grinning, Matthew closed the ledger he had been poring over and rose from behind his desk. “Well, let’s see. I’m workin’ you too hard, you’ve been all but swallowed up by this gluttonous, unfeeling company—her words, not mine—and she never sees you anymore.”
“Holy Hannah, Pa, it’s only been a week.”
“Ahuh.” He reached for his suit coat and slipped one arm through one sleeve. “Well, grab up your stuff and c’mon. She made me promise you’d be at the house for supper t’night.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rob’s introduction to Bay Bloom included appreciation for his recent outstanding “Welcome Home” celebration launched in the main ballroom.
“A blow-out affair for sure, Mr. Bloom,” he offered praise with the handshake. “Every detail arranged to perfection. All of us had a wonderful time. Although I can’t imagine how much mess you had to deal with after, especially when that horde of kids got done laying waste to your anteroom.”
Bayard, a dark-haired, bespectacled, slightly rotund man in his mid-forties, smiled modestly. “No more so than many another party, Mr. Yancey. And, at that, far less damage.”
“No dishes broken or wineglasses smashed on the floor? No chairs snapped apart, no bodies hurtled through windows, no disorderly confrontations between guests?”
The smile had backslid into a frown. “You must be thinking of a drunken barroom brawl, sir. The Golden Belle is a fine, reputable establishment; we wouldn’t allow anything like that here.”
The impressive leather briefcase that his parents had given him as a graduation gift was getting heavier by the minute. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, Mr. Bloom. I was just teasing you a little. Now, as to my visit, I’m assuming you’ve been made aware of why I’m here?”
“I have, indeed. If you’ll just come with me, you can set up in one of our rear offices. Quiet, with a nice view of the courtyard out back. I’ve had the ledgers already assembled and a desk readied, and I hope you’ll let me know anything else you might need.”
“Gladly. Might I trouble someone in the kitchen for a pot of coffee? And possibly some eggs and ham? You see, I left my apartment so early this morning—”
Bloom was horrified. “No breakfast? Why, of course. I’ll place the order right away. If you’ll just follow me…”
Another several days of careful, meticulous auditing gave the Golden Belle a clean bill of health. While Rob could not, as go-between, impart such information as should necessarily be handed down from superiors, he could assure a slightly nervous Mr. Bloom that things looked good and Walter Hadley would soon be in touch.
“Ready for my next assignment,” Rob said, poking his head into the main office on a typically beautiful San Francisco morning.
His father looked up from the sheaf of correspondence he had separated into three neat stacks, opened and about to be dealt with before his secretary took over.
From what Rob could tell, running Yancey Holdings meant too much time shuffling papers, too many hours behind a desk, too much hobnobbing with other like-minded individuals and too many business meetings. Not what he wanted out of life, for sure. All the more reason to pack up his bag and his horse and start off down the road.
“C’mon in, son,” Matthew indicated the chair so lately vacated from his most recent appointment. Leaning back, he propped one ankle over the other thigh and laced both hands together across an admirably trim middle. “Doin’ a fine job, I see. Two of our Yancey Inns down and done in less’n ten days. Laid out your battle plan, have you?”
“Yessir. Makes sense to me to work my way around. So I figure to tackle the San Jose Turquoise Sea Wind next.”
“Ahuh.” The gaze from astute dark eyes moved slowly over the strapping frame of his eldest child, so like him in so many ways.
There was the physical outer shell, of course, with unruly black hair and hint of beard no matter how recently shaven, broad shoulders and chest that could strain shirt buttons, hips and legs fit enough to bestride a saddle or travel afoot.
There was the intrinsic endowment, as well, and everything that went into the molding of it: family heritage, temperance, humor, integrity, strength of character, patience, good will. Most of all, the outreach toward others, that offered hope
to those dispirited, and support for those downtrodden, and a sheltering arm for those who needed it.
Were the Yancey clan to claim a motto, written on some badge of honor, it might have been this: No man is an iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine.
When, Matthew wondered wistfully, had his son grown up to become such a man?
“Proud of you, Rob,” he finally said over an unaccustomed lump in his throat. “Damned proud of who you are, that you b’long t’ us. You’ve turned into a right excellent human bein’. Salt of the earth.”
Rob, waiting quietly through this silent summing-up, almost fell out of his chair. Because his father rarely handed out praise, other than an occasional “Fine job,” such as he had just now offered, or a pat on the back that communicated a world of love and approval, such a statement as this bordered on ebullience.
“Uh. Well. Thank you, sir.” That lump in the throat seemed to be contagious, and for a minute Rob struggled with his own. Then, eyes shining: “Thank you, Pa. That—that means a lot to me.”
“Me, too, Robbie, boy. Me, too. So. When d’ you figure on leavin’?”
“Tomorrow morning, bright and early, so I should get there sometime in the afternoon. Just in time,” Rob grinned, teasing, “for me to shake off the trail dust and take in all the sights. Plenty of saloons, from what Quint tells me, and some mighty pretty bar girls.”
“Ahuh. Well, he would know. Rob.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Prob’ly don’t haveta remind you about takin’ precautions, but—well, I’m remindin’ you anyway. Your ma would never forgive me for lettin’ you frequent a place overrun by bawdy houses if you staggered home with a case of pox.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nothing made sense. The figures didn’t add up, damn it. Something was wrong somewhere.
For two days he’d been examining, studying, and scrutinizing every page of every ledger he’d been given, with the same results. Numbers don’t lie. What was being reported didn’t mesh; therefore the reporting must be incorrect, to give the benefit of the doubt. Or misrepresented. Or, to put the worst spin on it, deliberately falsified.
A Western Romance: Rob Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 10) (Western Mystery Romance Series Book 10) Page 4