After a few more anxious sniffs, however, Nero padded to his spot by the stove, plunked himself down and promptly went to sleep.
Bert emerged from the storage room, frowning. Why did you lie to that girl?
Why did you eavesdrop on my private conversation? Russ shot back, though hed known that was exactly what Bert would do. As dear as he was, Bert was insatiably curious and a terrible gossip.
I didnt listen on purpose, just picked up a word now and then. And the issue is youre lying. Thought you knew better.
I didnt lie. My mothers name is Vera. Vera Edwina. But mostly known as Winnie.
Youre splittin hairs. We both know the girl was talking about Winnie. She probably just assumed Winnie was short for Winifred. Which means she was looking for you.
I dont want to be found, Russ said flatly. Not even by a gorgeous city woman with big brown eyes.
Shes gonna figure it out, Bert said. All she has to do is ask the right person. Ten minutes in this town and shell find out your mother goes by Winnie.
I didnt think shed be staying around long enough to ask, Russ said. He realized now that his strategy of misleading Sydney Baines would only delay the inevitable. I definitely didnt know she was staying at the Periwinkle. Fortunately, the two elderly maiden sisters who ran the B and B in their Victorian home were certifiably dotty. They could cook up a wonderful breakfast, but they lived a good deal in the past and nothing they said made much sense.
Ill just have to keep an eye on her, Russ said. Ill make sure she doesnt talk to anyone who knows Mom.
I dont get it, Bert said. Didnt that purty gal say she wanted to give you money?
Apparently Bert hadnt heard Sydney reveal the exact amount. Thank God for small favors. If Bert knew Russ was turning his back on ten million dollars, he would call the men in white coats. And maybe he was crazy. But he had his reasons. Money doesnt solve all problems, he said. And for some people, it just creates more.
Ah, Bert said, nodding, finally getting it. Youre right about that. If you want to stop that gal from finding out the truth, you better get over to the Periwinkle and keep a watch on her.
Russ nodded. Youll mind the store for me?
Bert shrugged. Like I got anything else to do?
And you wont say anything to Mom, right?
Mums the word.
Russ wished he could take more comfort in Berts promise to keep quiet. But Bert kept his cell phone charged and ready, just in case he had a juicy tidbit to pass along. He had little else to do but watch who came and went on Main Street.
As Russ walked the five blocks to the Periwinkle B and B, he formulated a strategy for dealing with Sydney Baines. If she wanted to bury her nose in the courthouse records, there was no harm in that, he supposed, since the records were in such a jumbled mess she probably wouldnt be able to find anything. But he ought to take some precautions, just in case.
Maybe hed volunteer to help her look.
The prospect of spending more time with Sydney wasnt at all unpleasant. She was the brightest thing to enter his store all winter. Maybe that single dark curl of hair would escape and fall across her cheek again. And maybe next time he saw it there, he would give in to temptation and smooth it back.
IS EVERYTHING SATISFACTORY? asked Miss Gail Milhaus, one of the owners of the Periwinkle Bed & Breakfast. Or maybe it was Miss Gretchen. Sydney had a hard time telling the septuagenarians apart. They were identical twins who dressed in identical vintage outfits, complete with matching barrettes in their long, silver hair. They also had a pair of identical cats that liked to wrap themselves around first one set of ankles, then the other.
Its a lovely room, Sydney assured her hostess, reaching down to pet one of the cats. She didnt trust dogs, but cats were okay.
The misses Milhaus had made her feel very welcome. Since it was the off-season she was the only one staying at the B and B. Shed also gotten a very good room rate, almost as low as if shed stayed out at the motel on the highway. But here she got to sleep in a soft bed with a feather comforter, take a bubble bath in a huge, claw-foot tub and enjoy a gourmet breakfast in the morning.
Sydney wasnt really much for fussy Victorian decor. She didnt like clutter and bric-a-brac, and her apartment back in Brooklyn could be described as minimalist. But her room in the B and B, painted shell-pink and featuring an abundance of cabbage roses, had a certain charm and, thanks to a crystal bowl of potpourri, it smelled wonderful.
You look so like Miss Moony, said Gail-or Gretchen. Are you here for the boat races?
Boat races? This time of year? Im doing some research, she said. Actually, Im looking for a man.
The elderly lady clicked her tongue. Theyre a waste of time, you ask me. Gretchen and I have lots of boyfriends, but it never works out in the long run. Weve always been so close and men dont like that.
Well, I agree, men are a lot of trouble, Sydney said with a smile. But Im not looking for a boyfriend. Im trying to locate a man who has come into an inheritance. His name is Russell Klein.
An inheritance? How exciting. And my goodness, theres that nice Mr. Klein who runs the general store and rents out the canoes and such. Could he be the one?
Unfortunately, Ive already talked to that Russell. I dont believe hes the man Im looking for. The one I want has a mother named-
The sound of the door chime interrupted her. Gail stepped out of the room and looked down the stairs. Gretchen, are you getting that? When her sister didnt respond, she said, Excuse me, Ill have to get the door. Perhaps its one of our suitors.
Sydney smiled after the woman turned away. They were such nice Southern ladies-but a bit unhinged. She doubted they would have any useful information for her.
She unpacked her small suitcase. She hadnt brought a lot of clothes with her, only enough for a couple of days. If she didnt find Sammy Oberlins heir in that amount of time, she would have to admit defeat and return to New York.
What a picnic that would be, breaking the news to her father that he was going to have to declare bankruptcy.
When she was unpacked, she opened her briefcase, tucked her small suede clutch inside and headed downstairs. She wanted to get to the courthouse right away. When shed talked to a county official on the phone yesterday, hed admitted that their records were a terrible mess and that only the last five years worth had been put on computer. That meant hours of digging. Actually, she didnt mind that type of work. She was fascinated by the details of peoples lives, the births, the deaths, the weddings. Old photos and diaries always sparked her imagination, causing her to speculate what peoples lives had really been like.
At the bottom of the ornate, carved-oak staircase, Sydney skidded to a stop. Russ Klein was standing in the entryway, chatting amiably with Miss Gail.
Oh, there you are, he said, flashing a dazzling smile at Sydney. I thought since you were new in town, you might like a tour. Apparently the lure of ten million dollars had changed his tune.
She might have overplayed her hand, revealing to Mr. Klein-Russ-the amount of money involved. But shed needed to shake him out of his complacency. And given his sudden appearance, maybe shed done just that.
Even if he wasnt the right Russell, if he did help her locate the heir, shed be happy to donate a portion of her commission as a finders fee. He was probably counting on that.
Miss Gretchen joined her sister. Oh, its Mr. Jones, the man from the post office. How nice to see you.
Miss Gail turned to Sydney. You wont get a better tour guide than Mr. Jones here. Miss Gail said. Excuse us, will you? Sister, wed better see to the horses.
Oh, yes, indeed, Miss Gretchen agreed, and they bustled off, arm in arm.
The horses? Sydney asked. What century are they in? And why does she call you Mr. Jones?
Russ shrugged. Last week I was Curtis. Dont worry, theyre harmless. So how about the tour?
Thats very generous of you, but I really dont have time to be a tourist, she explained. I only have a couple of days to spend in Linhart and I need to get to the courthouse this afternoon.
Ill walk you there, then, Russ offered. Gil Saunders, the county records clerk, is a good friend of mine. We go rock climbing together. Ill make sure he gives you the access you need.
Rock climbing? Yeah, she could see that. Russ Klein in shorts and a T-shirt, clinging to the side of a cliff, muscles bulging as he-
Get a grip, Sydney. Id appreciate your help, thanks. Sometimes government officials could be difficult, so if Russ was willing to grease the wheels for her, shed let him. Lets go.
Get a grip, Sydney. Id appreciate your help, thanks. Sometimes government officials could be difficult, so if Russ was willing to grease the wheels for her, shed let him. Lets go.
Sydney headed for her car, but Russ merely stared in amazement. Youre going to drive to the courthouse? Its only a few blocks.
Sydney considered her high-heeled boots. They werent the best for walking and she was just getting used to the luxury of driving everywhere in a place where parking was plentiful and free. But she could survive a few blocks and the drizzle was giving way to sunshine. She put her keys back in her briefcase.
Lead the way.
As they headed down the brick walkway toward Gibson Street, Sydney couldnt help but smile. Those Milhaus sisters are a couple of characters, she said to Russ. Imagine, living in that great big house your whole life, never marrying, never going out on your own.
I dont think either of them could bear to leave that house. Their great-grandfather built it and its been in the family ever since.
The Periwinkle wasnt the only Victorian on Gibson Street. The wide avenue was lined with grand homes, all of them painted in vibrant colors and many of them with signs out front indicating they were also bed-and-breakfasts.
Russ pointed out some of the more historically notable homes and who lived there now.
It seems strange to me, Sydney said, knowing so much about your neighbors. I barely know the names of the people who live right next door to me in New York.