“I do mind. Return the necklace. Now. Then you and I are going to have a little chat.”
“I don’t see what you’re getting all bent out of shape for. I was gonna put it on layaway ’cause I know how you hate it when I run up my credit cards. But you’ll buy it for me, won’t you? It would just be a drop in the bucket.”
He hated it when Winnie used that little-girl voice with him. He thought she’d outgrown it. “Just give the necklace back to the nice man. Then we’ll go back to the Cut ’n’ Curl and go into your office and I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.”
Winnie looked perturbed, but she unfastened the necklace and handed it back to the patient Mr. Stover. “Don’t sell it to anyone else, Arthur, please?”
“I’ll put your name on it.”
She winked at the elderly jeweler, then followed Russ outside and down the street to the beauty shop, holding her head high and walking like a queen.
Betty and Glory, who both had customers, stopped what they were doing to applaud Russ when he entered.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, hating the attention. He wasn’t crazy; this was proving he’d been right all along. Being rich would be nothing but a pain in the butt. He escorted Winnie into the small office in the back where she kept her books, did the payroll, placed hair-product orders and paid bills. She’d proved herself surprisingly competent at running her business. But for some reason, that expertise did not extend to her personal finances.
Travel magazines and brochures for cruises and safaris were spread out all over her desk. “You haven’t ordered anything else, have you? You haven’t booked any luxury vacations or bought a Mercedes or anything like that?”
“No, but if we’re going to be rich, I don’t see what the problem is. Do you have any idea how much money ten million dollars is? We couldn’t spend it in a lifetime if we tried.”
Winnie could. That woman could spend it in a year. But it was a moot point, because there wouldn’t be any money to spend.
“I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. Okay?”
She nodded, looking a little scared.
“Sammy did, indeed, leave me a pile of money. But I’m not going to accept it.”
“Excuse me?”
He held up his finger. “I’m talking, remember?”
“But I’m not hearing right.”
“Mom, have you been happy? Since we moved to Linhart, I mean. Just nod.”
She nodded.
“And you love the Cut ’n’ Curl. You said when you were a little girl you always wanted your own beauty parlor. And when you bought it, you said it was a dream come true.”
She nodded again.
“We have good friends here, right? People who love us for who we are, not for what we can buy them.”
Another nod.
“Now, do you remember what life was like in Vegas? Parties, booze, drugs, people mooching off you. Sleeping till noon, waking with a hangover. Begging for money from Sammy, then spending it like water with nothing to show for it.”
She stared at the wall behind Russ, remembering.
“I’m not saying money is bad,” he continued. “But you and I weren’t meant to be rich. I love my life. And you love yours. Having a bunch of money would just mess things up.”
Winnie grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk and dabbed at her eyes.
“You can talk now.”
“You’re really going to refuse it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, crap. If I’d known that, I never would have called CNN and the
Russ suddenly felt like he couldn’t get enough air. The room tilted and he grabbed on to the arms of his chair. “You called the media?”
“When you inherit millions from a notorious Las Vegas mobster, it’s not the kind of thing you want to keep a secret. I always wanted to be in the
“So Sydney told you about Sammy’s will,” he concluded.
“Oh, no, she never breathed a word about it. In fact, she never even mentioned what kind of work she did. But Bert knew some of it and that was enough to get me started. I looked her up on the Internet. Said she was an heir- finder. Then Betty’s son, the lawyer, explained what an heir-finder was. I was dying to know what business she had with you, so Betty and I did some more Googling. Did you know there’s a whole Web site devoted to finding you?”
Russ’s gut clenched so tight, he thought he might lose his lunch. What had he done? How could he have been so stupid?
“Russ, sweetie, you don’t look so good. Your face has gone white and you’re all pinched around the mouth. Want me to get you a Diet Coke? It’s all I have in the fridge.”
“No, thanks.” When he was pretty sure he could stand without passing out, he did. “I’m sorry for all the confusion.”
“I guess I should have waited to talk to you before I started counting my chickens, huh?”
“In retrospect, that might have been the wiser choice, but it’s okay.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“I thought you’d be mad at
“No. I think you’re a chucklehead for walking away from that kind of money, but I’m not mad. Just disappointed. I really wanted that necklace.”
“They’re just rocks, Mom.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how we could be related.”
Back on Main Street, Russ inhaled deeply. He had to call Sydney and apologize. No, an apology wasn’t going to do it. He was going to have to grovel. When he remembered the things he’d said to her that morning, he cringed.
His mother was right; he was a chucklehead.
He didn’t even wait until he got back to the store. He used his cell to dial hers. But he only got her voice mail.
“Sydney, it’s Russ. I’m sorry. I’m just so, so sorry and I was completely wrong and deluded and a total ass…” He couldn’t think of any other good groveling sentiments off the top of his head, so he ended with, “Please call me.”
He doubted she would. Sydney was the best thing ever to happen to him, way better than ten million dollars, and he’d foolishly driven her away. If he’d been Sydney, he would have told himself to go to hell.
SYDNEY WAS FINALLY ABLE to see the top of her desk in her home office. She’d spent most of the day dealing with her own clients, putting out fires and responding to potential new customers who’d contacted her during her absence. Most of them had gone elsewhere for their security needs, but she’d made a couple of appointments.
She’d also spent a lot of time taking Blossom for walks, carefully dodging her apartment manager. But she was going to have to move if she wanted to keep the dog. And dammit, she was keeping the stupid dog, which had cried all night until Sydney had brought her into bed with her. Now they had bonded.
She had to keep her eye on the puppy every minute. She’d already destroyed one house slipper, one table leg and the corner of her bedspread.
But as infuriating as the puppy was, she was so darn cute and lovable, Sydney couldn’t even consider finding her another home. The dog was hers, for better or worse. And if every time Sydney looked at the dog she was reminded of Nero and then Russ, that was just too bad. Maybe she wouldn’t open herself up so easily to the next broad-shouldered good ol’ boy who pretended to have all kinds of values and morals and ethics, but who could so easily assume she was a slime bucket.
She didn’t fault him for suspecting her. But he could have investigated before throwing accusations at her. She
