Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. So when I’m done, I’ll let you know what I find out and we’ll go from there. But I did want to make sure Beth was okay.”

  Sam paused, head tilted and brows drawn together. After a moment, she said, “That’s really sweet. Thank you.”

  “Sure.” Olly nodded, awkward and unsure of what to do with the way Sam was studying her.

  “What hotel?” Beth said.

  “Huh?” Olly was caught up with staring at Sam and didn’t have the mental faculties to figure out what Beth was asking.

  “The hotel. What’s the deal with it?”

  “It’s being torn down and I thought I might be able to salvage some things from it for here.”

  “So where is it?” Beth asked.

  “Missoula.”

  “And you’re going today?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Good. I’m going with you.” Beth rushed back to her room—stopping once to grab her head and moan with pain.

  Sam whipped her head around and glared at Olly, then back in the direction Beth had gone. “Beth, we need to talk.”

  “We can talk after,” Beth called from her room.

  “Fine. I’m coming, too.” Sam grabbed her purse and keys from the kitchen counter.

  Shit. Olly bit her lip. She couldn’t read the tension well enough to know where it was coming from and how long it would take for it to be turned on her. All she knew was, just like that, her solo road trip had somehow become a group outing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The drive from Bitterroot to Missoula was silent. Usually, Olly didn’t mind that, but usually it was just her, Rampart, and some very loud rock. This trip, she didn’t even have music. When Olly had pulled onto the highway, she had turned on her music, but at the first mosh-pit-worthy scream, Beth had cried out and clamped her hands over her ears. With a sigh, Olly had turned it off. Beth then spent the rest of the ride slumped in the back seat, staring sullenly out the window. Her complexion shifted through various shades of green.

  Sam alternated between glaring at Olly and Beth. Olly kept her gaze determinedly on the road. Shit like this—family drama—was high on her list of reasons for leaving Linda in her rearview mirror. And everybody else. This was why she didn’t stay long in one place. Getting attached generally came at a price, and for the first time since arriving in Bitterroot, her insides itched with the need to move, to seek whatever came next. She bargained with herself, reasoning that Bitterroot had been great until this. Maybe it would pass. She could give it a little time and let the dust clear on whatever was causing the tension. But if it didn’t, she was out of here.

  They entered the city of Missoula, and a few minutes later, Olly announced, “This is the place.” She flipped on her blinker and turned into a gravel lot.

  A faded sign marked a four-story brick building that took up most of the block, with the rest dedicated to parking. The thought of getting inside there, of what she might find, sparked some excitement, which helped her focus on something other than the tension in the vehicle. She loved stuff like this, the old and falling down. She loved the stories and the possibilities. And she loved taking something full of someone else’s memories and starting it on a renewed life. Most of all, she loved the way it felt in her hands, the idea that, without her, the glory of reclaimed materials would dissolve into nothing more than a trash heap on its way to a landfill.

  She smiled at Sam, so happy with these prospects that she momentarily forgot about the situation. Sam looked startled, then her face relaxed and she returned the smile.

  “Let’s go.” Olly got out and walked to the back of the Scout. After collecting her tool bag, she told Rampart to wait. Odds were he’d be cooler in the vehicle, which was parked in the shade with the top off, than inside the hotel.

  Sam followed, but Beth didn’t move.

  “Come on,” Sam said, the irritation back in her voice.

  Somewhere along the line, Beth had stuck one of Olly’s trucker caps on her head, and she pulled it down over her face. “I’ll stay with Rampart.”

  “No, you’ll come inside with us.” The steel in Sam’s tone left no room for argument, but still Beth didn’t move.

  Olly placed her hand lightly on Sam’s arm. “We don’t know what kind of shape this building is in. The owners are opting for demo, so it’s probably pretty wrecked. That’s why Ramp is staying out here. Might be safer for her not to go inside.”

  “Fine.” She sighed, a full body exhale that left her shoulders slumped and her mouth pulled down in a frown.

  “Whatever,” Beth muttered as she curled up on the bench seat and spooned her body around Rampart, holding him close with her face snuggled into the fur of his neck. Dogs, especially Rampart, had an inexplicable ability to soothe simply by virtue of his presence.

  “Come on.” Olly gently took Sam’s hand and tugged until she fell in step with her and it was both comfortable and exciting, feeling her fingers around hers. Sadly, when they reached the front door, Olly forced herself to let go. The touch of Sam’s palm, cool and smooth against hers, left her with warm, melted toffee seeping through her system.

  They stood together on the steps, where Sam stared at her, a bemused smile on her face. Olly realized after a prolonged moment that she was staring, too, and no doubt wearing a stupid, happy grin. She laughed, dispelling the energy built up inside her, and tested the front door. It was unlocked. Technically, they were trespassing, but she didn’t mention that to Sam. She just wanted to get a look around before contacting the construction foreman.

  “Careful.” Olly held the door open and pulled a Mag Light from her tool bag, which she handed to Sam. “The power’s off.”

  “Thanks.” Sam turned the flashlight on and went inside.

  Olly dug out another light, a smaller version of the one she gave Sam.

  The interior showed clear signs of vandalism, with spray paint tags, torn wallpaper, and a grand chandelier that lay in a crashed heap in the foyer. The sight of it, broken and unusable, made Olly inhale sharply. It had been far too beautiful in a former life to be so abused now. It deserved better.

  “Looks like the same assholes from the Queen were here, too,” Sam said. “So, what are you looking for?”

  “Anything we can save and use.”

  “Use for what?”

  “Saving your Queen,” Olly said, already distracted by the hand-turned spindles on the staircase. She was definitely taking those.

  “This stuff?” Sam’s voice squeaked. “I mean, I know you said there might be things here to reclaim, but—”

  Olly turned back, inventorying the brass light fixtures and the dusty tiffany windows that separated the lobby from the dining room. “You can’t see it?” she asked.

  Beth was a startlingly good artist. For her to have that kind of talent, Sam must have some kind of vision of what this could become.

  She sighed. “All I see is dust and cobwebs. And mess.” Sam swept her light over the room in a haphazard arc.

  “Really?”

  Sam squinted at the wall of Tiffany windows, as if they were coming into clear focus in her mind. She looked away with a shake of her head. “Really.”

  “Weird.” Olly didn’t point out that Beth would have been better company for this project. That kid would be as excited as Olly about this stuff.

  “Tell me what you see,” Sam said.

  Olly hesitated. “Okay. Let’s go down here.” She started toward the guest rooms on the first floor and stopped when she reached room one. “Okay, look at this.” She tapped the number on the door with the tip of her flashlight. “This is old-school craftsmanship. We’ll take all the room numbers and use them throughout the Queen.”

  She set her tool bag on the floor, to the right of the door, and found a flat-edge screw driver inside. She used it to unscrew the number and handed it to Sam. It was solid, heavy, and clearly created with pride.

  “See how it feels in your hand? Like it’s
something that will be here long after we’re all gone? Things like this, these are the touches that will make your motel elegant in the long run. Sure, it’s a little dusty and tarnished, but this is brass. It’ll polish up nice. People will appreciate this.”

  Sam bounced the “1” in her hand, and a smile started to form on her face. “I think I get it.”

  “Good.” Olly placed the number, along with the matching screws, in a zipper pocket inside her bag.

  “Show me something else.”

  Olly met Sam’s grin with one of her own. She pointed with her screwdriver and said, “Look up. See that window? Picture that in one of the rooms.”

  It was a half-circle leaded glass window, probably made by the same craftsman who made the Tiffany windows out front.

  Sam scrunched up her nose. “Over the door?”

  “Possibly. The door to the bathroom, maybe. Or you could use it as a wall decoration. Or as a see-through break in the wall between the main room and the bath. Or maybe you take all the windows and use them as a border around the planting beds out front. Or maybe you hand them to Beth and ask her to create a sculpture.” She smiled. “The point is, you can do anything you want with it. It’s beautiful, and it still has life left. And with goods like it, all it costs is a little bit of time, patience, and care. That’s not so much, when you think about it.”

  She left the money savings implied rather than pointing it out explicitly. Sam was smart enough to draw that conclusion on her own. The excitement that Olly had felt as she’d pulled into the lot suffused her once again. She loved everything about a place like this, the warmth of the wood and the glint of light off the glass.

  “Where did you learn all this?”

  “Stepdad.” Olly opened the door and stepped inside without mentioning that it had been stepdad number four of six. Her mom targeted men as if they were marks to be conquered and then disposed of.

  “Oh?”

  Olly pursed her lips and nodded. At some point, she would have to unpack all the baggage that came with her family, especially her mom and the seemingly endless number of men that had populated Olly’s childhood, but that was not on her to-do list for today.

  “We’ll take the doors too, along with the hardware.” She ran her hand over the surface of the door, letting her fingers travel through the dust, trying to map out the grain that had long ago been sanded smooth. According to the contractor, this property had fifty-two rooms. Even if half were damaged, that would still leave enough for the Queen. She turned to evaluate the rest of the room.

  “Please tell me we’re not taking those drapes.” Sam shone her light on the far wall, illuminating floor to ceiling heavy velvet drapery, dark red with an intricate dark paisley pattern woven throughout.

  They were lush in a way that made Olly wonder if this place had been more than a hotel. If it had been a brothel, that would also explain the expansive front room. It would have been the main parlor where clients were greeted and entertained prior to heading off to the rooms. The thought made Olly smirk.

  “We might.” Olly crossed the room and pulled the material aside. Dust billowed up in her face and something scurried over her feet. Hopefully, Sam didn’t notice that. Olly waited for the dust to settle before saying, “And we might take these windows.” She pointed at the wall switch and outlets. “We’ll definitely take those switch plates. Come on.”

  “How, exactly, are we taking any of this? Your Scout isn’t going to cut it.”

  Olly grinned. “I thought we’d put everything in the trunk of your sedan.”

  Sam glared, but it didn’t have any heat in it. “Funny.”

  “Kidding. We’ll rent a truck, obviously. U-Haul to the rescue.” Olly led the way to the en suite bathroom. It was floor to ceiling subway tile, the old style that was a slightly different size and hue than the ones available from big-box hardware stores nowadays. Along the far wall sat a classic claw-foot tub. And the plumbing fixtures for the tub were brass and crystal. Despite years of use, followed by years of neglect, they shined in the low light.

  “Oh, wow,” Sam whispered.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I’m not sure.” Sam laughed.

  “I love this stuff. But I’m not sure we can use any of it. The tile, if we can get it off the walls, would be awesome to use, but the tubs, beautiful as they are, aren’t really suited for a modern motel. People shower. And those who take baths want a jetted tub. The fixtures, though...we might be able to do something with those.”

  “That tub is gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, maybe we can take just one for your apartment. They really are impractical otherwise.” Olly retreated to the main room.

  The walls were a combination of expensive—but old and falling apart—wallpaper and wainscoting. The paper had pulled away from the wall where it met the chair rail. Olly pulled on the section and revealed the shiplap beneath. She smiled. This was good stuff.

  “See this?” She indicated the exposed wood. “We’ll take this and use it on the walls in the rooms. It cleans up awesome and looks great with a coat of whitewashed paint. And the floor. We’ll take what we can of that, too.”

  Olly led Sam upstairs. The rooms were much the same on the second and third floors, but the fourth was different. There were only four rooms, executive suites. This is where the money had stayed. And, as nice as the other rooms were, this floor made Olly salivate.

  As they inspected the rooms, each slightly different than the last, she took mental notes about the available materials and where she could use them at the Queen. Sam seemed more or less nonplussed about the entire experience until they reached the last bathroom on the top floor. Like the other three suites, the floor was covered with marble slab, but the shower grabbed Sam’s attention.

  “What the hell?” She stared, eyes wide with wonder.

  Olly could hardly blame her. She’d only seen a shower like this a few other times. There was brass piping circling the enclosure at various heights, with multiple shower-heads, including four wide rain style, placed overhead. There were multiple faucets as well, to control the flow of water to the whole contraption. Back in the day, it had been the height of luxury.

  “Oh, we’re taking this. Somebody wants it.” At some point, maybe Sam would want to add an executive suite. Or maybe they’d sell it and use the money to buy something more practical for the Queen. Regardless, it was too precious to leave it to be demolished.

  Sam nodded. “Agreed.”

  As they retraced their steps back to the ground floor, Olly tried to order her thoughts. She wanted to prolong the high she felt about the prospects available to her with this building before the tension between Beth and Sam could destroy that happy energy.

  With hesitation, she asked, “So, want to talk about what’s going on with Beth?”

  Sam looked at her sideways, splitting her attention between Olly and the steps they were descending. “Did she say anything to you last night?”

  Sam didn’t seem like the type of parent to go nuts over her kid having a little too much fun at a party. Not that she’d like it, but her reaction, like something was buzzing beneath her skin, irritating and scaring her at the same time, didn’t really add up.

  “A little. She was pretty out of it. Talked about her boyfriend, about moving here, and about how much she loved me, man.” Olly tried for the joke, but Sam didn’t look amused.

  “That’s it?”

  “Why? What else is there?”

  “I’m—” Sam shook her head. “I can’t really talk about it. Not yet.”

  “Okay.” Olly allowed the change of subject. “So. This building is a total goldmine.”

  Sam smiled wistfully. “I wish I could share your enthusiasm, but all I see is dirt and work. I have enough of that at home.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

  They reached the foyer, where Olly stopped. She looked at Sam, trying to keep her expression open and inviting, something she
wasn’t comfortable doing as a general rule. She preferred that her thoughts, feelings, and other secrets remain just that—secrets. She placed one hand on Sam’s arm, midway between her shoulder and elbow, and squeezed gently.

  “I’m going to help make the Bitterroot Queen everything you dreamed it would be. I promise.”

  Sam swayed, leaning into Olly’s touch, and they stood like that for several moments, simply staring into each other’s eyes.

  “I believe you.” Sam exhaled softly and finally turned away.

  Olly followed her out into the bright light of day, electricity and other things traveling along her nerves.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Until now, Sam had never been to Montana. Objectively, it was beautiful. Riding in the car had a lulling effect, and she was so tired, since she’d been up all night, and the adrenaline from worrying and anticipation of the impending conversation with Beth had settled into the back of her mind. She was left with warmth from the sun seeping into her chest and the weight of life behind her eyes.

  The bone-deep exhaustion gave way to sleep on the way home. The last thing she remembered was looking up at the big, wide sky filled with fluffy white clouds, and she didn’t wake until Olly pulled into the lot at home. Perhaps it was the crunch of gravel beneath their tires or maybe it was the soft curse that Olly issued, she couldn’t be sure.

  She stretched to clear the sleepy, syrupy feeling from her body and mind, and smiled at the memory of her dream. She’d been in bed with Karen, enjoying those soft, slow kisses that Karen was so good at, when out of nowhere, Karen morphed into Olly. The kisses grew more heated, more demanding, and so much more exciting. When she was awake, logic told her Olly was far too young, but asleep, she apparently had no such hesitation. She sighed happily.

  “Good dream, Mom?”

  Beth was fully awake in the back seat with Rampart draped over her legs. She managed a tentative smile.