How to Be a Millionaire

by Rosey Dow

Chapter One

At a small table near the kitchen door of their father's stylish restaurant, Penny Joshua leaned across the small table and said, "How much time will Mr. Campbell give you to find a backer for the mine?"

Worry in every line on his young face, her brother Farley replied, "The longest Campbell can give me is New Year's Day. After that, he'll have to start looking elsewhere. Otherwise, he won’t make his production deadline in April. He has to get the equipment up here and hire a crew." He flung his hand down in an impatient gesture. "I'm going to be twenty-five years old in three more months. It's time I married Diane and got a start in life. Who knows how long it'll be before another chance like this comes up?"

The bell over the front door jangled as a matronly woman entered, followed by a slim man in a bowler hat. Penny slid her chair back. "I wish Campbell had come to you last June instead of a week before Christmas," she said, irritated. "Colorado Springs is a ghost town at Christmas time. Where are we going to find anyone to buy a one-third share in a copper mine?"

Before she could stand, Farley reached out to grab her hand. "That's not it, Penny. I think Willoughby Matthews may spring for it, but I have to convince him it's a good deal. I have the geologist report, but I need an edge. Something that will pull Matthews in."

Penny pulled her fingers loose from his grasp. "Let me think about it," she told him. "I've got to wait on the Wilsons." She stood, smoothed her flowing skirts, and scooped a notepad from her starched apron pocket.

Smiling a welcome, she hurried to the first patrons for lunch that day, and Farley returned to the kitchen. Farley and their father, Michael, cooked and cleaned behind the scenes while Penny waited tables and tended the twelve-table dining room. During the peak season, Penny managed four waitresses. From September to May, she had no trouble working both shifts alone.

Farley's problem hovered in her mind. How could they convince Willoughby Matthews to turn loose of his cash?

Matthews owned the Regal Astoria, one of the largest hotels in a town that catered to millionaires. Complete with hot-spring spas, riding stables, and suites the size of the Joshua’s entire house, the Regal Astoria had an international reputation. Willoughby Matthews could well afford to plunge a little. Unfortunately, he had a reputation for being inherently reluctant when it came to speculating.

Beginning at three that afternoon, Penny had two hours free before supper began. Bundling into her dark green coat and matching hat, she left the Joshua House of Fine Dining and headed toward the center of town. She wanted to get out into the air, so she could think.

Daddy had opened the restaurant when Farley was ten and she was eight. Penny had been clearing tables and sweeping floors ever since. After Mama had died four years later, Penny had become a waitress at the restaurant six days a week. Later, she became Daddy’s bookkeeper as well.

They lived comfortably, but they had no savings. What if something happened to Daddy? Farley didn’t want to run the restaurant, and neither did Penny. She had other plans for her life, dreams of being a writer with a steady flow of royalty checks and fan mail. No one in the whole world knew about Penny’s writing, but she was a steady contributor to the Colorado Springs Summit. Writing under the name of Gregory Landis, she wrote novellas of five to ten chapters with one chapter printed each week. The paper was small, but she did get a penny for every ten words. It added up to as much as $2.50 a week, an amount she hoarded in a savings account. What she was saving for, she hadn’t decided yet.

If only Farley could buy a share of the copper mine. He could marry Diane and they could have a life of their own without being tied to a commercial kitchen. Diane was a sweet, steady girl. She and Farley had been engaged for more than a year, but Farley wouldn’t set a date. He wanted more for his bride than one cramped room over the restaurant, and he couldn’t afford a place of his own.

She passed the grocer’s shop and nodded to Mr. Connors. His delivery boy kept the Joshua’s restaurant supplied with a daily supply of goods.

What would give Willoughby Matthews confidence that the copper mine was a good investment? Verbal promises wouldn't impress him. The geology report would help but...

A middle-aged gentleman in a dark suit passed her on the sidewalk.

Suddenly, she had an inspiration. What if Willoughby Matthews learned that someone else was investing in this venture? Someone Matthews would naturally respect.

"Hey! Wait up!"

Farley's voice behind her brought Penny to a stop in front of the Crabtree Feed and Grain store. The sidewalk was littered with small bits of cracked corn and oats. She waited for Farley to reach her before she said, "What is it? Is something wrong?"

White gusts puffed from his mouth. He paused to catch his breath, then said, "I need to talk to you." He took off his beaver hat and readjusted it on his head. "Have you thought of a way to get Campbell to come in on the deal?" he asked.

She reached out to take his arm. "Do you know of anyone else who's also investing?" she asked, falling in step with him.

He shook his head. "The Campbell Company works through silent partners. There's no published list of investors."

"Too bad. We could get one of them to go with you to see Matthews. Just having someone important there would give you more credibility." They took four steps in silence. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed toward the steely sky. "Unless..."

"Sis? I get nervous when I see that look on your face."

"What if... what if we can find someone who looks important to go with you? What if Matthews only thinks the man is rich and backing the mine?"

Farley frowned at her. "That's dishonest. We could never get away with it."

"Can you tell a lie if you never open your mouth?" she challenged. "I don't mean to have someone spin a yarn to Matthews. All we need is someone who can make an impression without saying a word. You can introduce him as an associate and leave it at that."

He wasn’t convinced. "It would take a lot of doing. You'd have to find someone willing, and then you'd have to bring him up to par—expensive clothes, the right bearing… and that's just the beginning."

Smiling at him like he was a three year old, she patted his cheek with her gloved hand. "Leave those things to me," she said. Looking both ways, she stepped off the sidewalk. "I'll be back by five." With short quick steps she crossed the street and headed up the other side, leaving Farley staring after her.

Doing some quick mental calculations, she figured she had about fifty dollars to pull off the ruse. That should be enough. The problem would be finding a man who looked right and who would be desperate enough for some ready cash to go along with the plan.

Where could she find a well-formed-yet-poor man? He had to have a touch of aristocracy and good looks. Or did he? Well… He had to be intelligent, at least.

She turned into the main thoroughfare where the best hotels and restaurants lined the street. Maybe a waiter or a bellboy. Pulling her watch from her handbag, she quickened her pace. It was already four o'clock.

***

In the penthouse of the Olympia Hotel, twenty-six-year-old Justin Van der Meer adjusted his coat and black bowtie as he left his dressing room. He crossed the master bedroom and strode into a dining room glittering with gold and crystal.

Seated at a small table near the wide dining room window, his valet, Albert Wessel, looked up from his Patchessi game board and immediately stood. "Are you going down so early, Sir?" he asked in clipped British consonants. He was an egg-shaped man, from his full-length silhouette to the form of his balding head. He had deep creases around his full mouth and twinkling brown eyes.

Reaching into his pocket for a small horsehair brush, he circled Justin's slim frame and swished at his dinner jacket, a tailored creation of pure lamb’s wool with silk lapels.

"Why shouldn't I eat when I want?” Justin demanded with mock severity. "I'm hungry, and there's no one joining me. You know I'd much rather be alone in the dining room anyway, Vessel." For more than thirty years Albert Wessel had been valet to Justin's grandfather, salt-mine multi-millionaire Gustaf Van der Meer. Gustaf never lost his heavy Dutch accent, so Wessel had been Vessel to the family since the valet had traveled from Britain to join the Van der Meer household.

Waving the whisking brush away from his collar, the younger man approached the game board. "How is it going? Finish the tournament yet?" Since discovering Patchessi on their last trip to New York, the valet passed his every spare moment playing the game. When he couldn't convince anyone to join him, he played against himself.

"I'm on the last game,” Vessel said, resuming his seat. “The far side is winning, 3-2. If the near side wins this round, we'll have to play a tiebreaker."

Justin laughed. "We? You're the only one playing.” He had a laugh in his voice and a teasing light in his dark eyes. "Wouldn't you like to join me in the dining room for supper?" Justin asked. "No one will be there to see my disgrace."

Vessel's reply was the gentle scolding reserved for a favorite son of the house. That's exactly what Justin had been until his grandfather's death the previous year. "Master Justin," he replied primly, slipping into Justin's old title, "it just isn't done."

"I know. I know." The younger man stepped away. He fluffed the back of his close-cropped hair with his fingertips, and immediately smoothed it down. He paused to say, "I'll send you up a supper tray with some mulled cider and a big piece of cheesecake."

Vessel's expression brightened. "Very good, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He was back at his game before Justin closed the apartment door.

With his hands deep in his pockets and whistling a jaunty tune, Justin waited for the clanging, groaning elevator. His grandmother, Heidi, would have scolded him for the bad habits he’d picked up at Berkeley during the four years he’d lived in the dormitory. Remembering her guttural voice, he straightened and smoothed his coat.

Justin's father, Heinrich, was the only child of Gustaf and Heidi Van der Meer. Against his parents' wishes, Heinrich married an actress with no social ties and little talent. When he contracted consumption less than two years after the wedding, Heinrich came home to be nursed by those he trusted and loved. His wife stayed only long enough to see her husband and at their tiny son settled into the mansion. A few days later, she disappeared into the night and never returned.

All Justin knew of her was that her name was Rosalind, and she also died of consumption while she was in Europe. He was three years old at the time. All he had of his parents was an old tintype of his parents, too faded to make out their faces.

Gustaf and Heidi doted on Justin. They raised him with all the structure and strictness of their Christian Dutch heritage, determined that this boy would not become heedless and self-willed like his father. Justin grew up in a twenty-room mansion with leather-covered walls and priceless antiques, but he had few toys and no allowance. He had daily kitchen chores and worked in the stables on Saturdays.

Justin entered the empty dining room to the welcoming aroma of a well-cooked roast or stew. No waiter was in sight.

He stepped toward the kitchen door, hoping to catch someone's eye, but no one appeared.

A few minutes later, he wondered if he should return to his room and come back in an hour. But what was there for him to do? Watch Vessel rolling dice and moving pawns? At least the scenery here was different. He had chosen Colorado Springs because it was off-season and he wanted some peace from the frantic partying of the young rich. With three days still remaining until Christmas, peace was beginning to seem horribly boring.

A crash in the kitchen startled Justin. He whirled around and backed into a large rack full of clean silverware. Lunging to catch it before it toppled over, he couldn't stop the disaster. The second crash followed close behind the first.

His face flaming, he bent over to salvage as much of the clean silverware as he could, carefully lifting those that had not touched the floor.

***

Penny entered the lobby of the Olympia hotel and looked around for prospects. The elderly gentlemen behind the desk was certainly not a candidate for her purpose. No bellboys in sight. Moving across the wide, silent room, she entered the restaurant.

Was the entire hotel empty? Letting out a frustrated sigh, she turned to leave when a movement caught her eye. A tall, dark-haired young man was working over a silverware rack near the kitchen door. He was slim and had a straight set to his shoulders. Intrigued, Penny moved closer.

He must have felt the intensity of her stare because he turned to look at her before she reached him.

Penny's pulse quickened. He was handsome but not too pretty. Good carriage but not arrogant. He could have been an actor instead of a waiter. Maybe he would be before much longer.

Before she had time to second guess herself, she strode up to him. "Good afternoon," she said, breathlessly. "I have a job for you on Saturday at three o’clock. It will take about an hour, and I'll pay you twenty dollars." She paused and looked at him anxiously. "Do you have to work on Saturday?"

He gaped at her. "Excuse me, Miss. Do you know me?"

"I'm sorry. I don't have time to wait for introductions. I need someone who looks rich to attend a business meeting at a high-class hotel on Saturday. It’s at three-thirty. You won't have to say a word. My brother will introduce you to his associate. That's it. Do you want the job?" She scrutinized his jacket. "I'll have to find you something better to wear than that waiter's uniform, but I can manage that."

She paused to glance at his face, impatient now. "Will you do it? If you have to work that afternoon, I need to know right away so I can find someone else."

Dropping a handful of knives into a slot on the rack, the hint of a smile twitched his cheeks. He nodded in a highbrow fashion, and said, "I'm free on Saturday, so that will be agreeable."

Penny let out a relieved sigh. She pulled open the top of her purse and found two coins. "Here's fifty cents. Get yourself a haircut and a shave, and meet me at the Joshua House of Fine Dining this evening at eight o’clock. Do you know where that is?"

"I'll find it, Miss..."

"Penny Joshua," she said. "And your name?"

"Justin... Avery."

Stepping back, she looked him over again. "We'll need to work on you a bit, but I think you'll do fine."  She gave him a glowing smile. "We’ll see you at eight." Glancing at her watch, she rushed out.

***

The moment Penny disappeared through the doors, Justin sank into the nearest chair and began to laugh. Too well bred to shout or guffaw, he chuckled and chuckled until his eyes watered and his stomach ached.

He rubbed the two quarters together in his palm. What a lark. If only Teddy, Max and the rest of the gang at Berkeley could see him now. It would have been the talk of the school for weeks.

Finally, a craggy-faced waiter emerged from the kitchen and approached his table. "May I help you, Sir?" he asked.

Pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes, Justin drew in a breath and tried to regain his composure. "Bring me whatever smells so good. It’s beef, I think."

"Right away, Sir." The waiter strode into the kitchen.

Staring at a six pairs of gold velvet drapes lined up on the opposite wall of the massive room, Justin savored the memory of a sweet pixie face, flashing eyes, and the most gorgeous blond hair he had ever seen. Suddenly, his boring Christmas holiday had become intensely fascinating.