One Stubborn Texan

Chapter Six

When Sydney saw Russell Klein tomorrow, she was going to kill him. She gritted her teeth and opened the door to the outhouse. This experience would make for an amusing anecdote to tell her father, she realized with a faint smile. If it made him laugh, picturing his purely urban daughter stuck in the boonies without a flush toilet, the inconvenience would be worth it. Almost.

In the closet back in the cabin she found a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that were miles too big but warm and comfy. She would have to remember to take a picture of herself with her phone. The snapshot of her dressed like a hillbilly would go well with the anecdote.

Finally, she climbed the stairs to the loft, eager to get on with her task. It was hard to know where to start, so she grabbed a box at random, sat cross-legged on the floor and started digging.

The first box appeared to be filled with receipts, all dated from the 1940s. The name on each and every receipt was Bert Klausen.

Bert Klausen? She’d heard that name before, she thought with a surge of excitement. Had it come up in previous research? Then her hopes fell as she realized Bert was the elderly gentleman who’d greeted her at Russ’s store, the one with the pickle.

Bert was the cousin?

She wondered what all these receipts were kept here for. Had Bert actually lived here? Obviously, because she couldn’t envision anyone hauling boxes of junk through the woods just for storage.

Other boxes yielded similar fare-mail, most of it of a business nature but a lot of it just purely junk mail. Why would anyone keep junk mail? She shuddered as she thought about those people who never threw anything away, the ones who let old newspapers, magazines and empty cans stack up in their houses floor to ceiling, until only a narrow path remained leading from room to room.

Actually, her father could easily grow into one of those people if someone didn’t keep tabs on him. He wanted to keep everything; he was always sure he might need it someday. In the first months after her mom died, his house and the office had become unbelievably cluttered and Sydney had to fight him every step of the way as she’d tried to purge the junk.

Lowell Baines never would have fought his wife-he knew Shirley had the business sense and had deferred to her. But Sydney was his little girl, who obviously knew nothing. He didn’t trust her to make decisions about his affairs. In fact, he was still trying to make decisions about her life.

Finally she found a box filled with old photo albums. She loved looking at old pictures, even if she had no idea who was in them. It always made her sad when she saw photo albums at estate sales or antique shops. Hadn’t some family member wanted those photos? She had loads of old albums that had belonged to her mother, each picture meticulously labeled, and she knew the stories behind them, too.

But not everyone shared her love for recording the past. These albums, for instance, were falling to pieces. Many of the old photos were faded and few had captions. The subjects that were identified featured first names only. But she did see a few photos, dated from the 1930s, with a little boy whose name was Bertram Jr. She could only guess this was the pickle-eating Bert and that the receipts had probably belonged to his father.

But no Kleins. No Oberlins. No Winnies or Winifreds or Sams.

The deeper she delved into the boxes, the more positive she became that these boxes had all belonged to Bert and had nothing whatsoever to do with Russ or any other Kleins.

She’d been had.

Why did he want her out of town so badly? What was he trying to hide?

She wasn’t going to kill Russ, though. That would be too quick and easy. Somehow, she was going to make him suffer for dragging her up here for no good reason.

“DO I REALLY HAVE TO buy that expensive shampoo?” asked Sylvia Grimes. She was one of Winnie Klein’s best, most regular customers. But she also asked the same question every time she walked into Winnie’s hair salon, the Cut ’n’ Curl.

“Darlin’,” Winnie said as she used a soft brush to sweep away the last few stray hair clippings from Sylvia’s shoulders, “you can use any kind of shampoo you want-if you want to be back here in a week begging for a new dye job because you look like Bozo the Clown. I know this all-natural stuff is pricey, but it’s the best shampoo I’ve found for preserving color.”

Winnie patted her own deftly highlighted locks. She did the best color this side of San Antonio, if she did say so herself. But a cheap shampoo would ruin everything and Sylvia knew that.

“Oh, all right,” Sylvia grumbled, stuffing the bottle of shampoo into her bag along with one of each freebie Winnie put out for her customers-a refrigerator magnet, a key chain, a pen, an emery board and a letter opener. Sylvia must have had dozens of each by now, but every two weeks she loaded up again.

Sylvia was Winnie’s last customer, thank goodness. Her other two stylists, Betty and Glory, were just finishing up with their clients.

Winnie did a tidy little business. Just about everybody in Linhart came to the Cut ’n’ Curl to get their hair and nails done. Her customers tended to be extremely loyal; a few who had moved away even made the trek back to town just to have Winnie work her magic on their locks.

As Winnie changed out of her uniform, Betty and Glory swept up, readying everything for tomorrow. Winnie was straightening up the dressing room when the bell over the door rang.

“Tell whoever it is, we’re closed,” Winnie called out from where she was gathering used smocks to run through the washer.

“Winnie, honey, it’s not a customer,” Glory informed her. “It’s that handsome son of yours.”

Glory Dickerson had been lusting after Russ since the two of them were in high school. In fact, Winnie suspected Glory had gone to beauty school strictly so she could get a job with her, Russ’s mother, and foster a connection. But it hadn’t worked. While Russ was always pleasant to Glory, he’d never shown any signs of being attracted to her, despite the fact Glory was curvy in all the right places, with big green eyes and piles of long red hair.

Winnie stuffed the smocks into a laundry bag and emerged from the dressing room with a smile for her son, who offered her a dutiful kiss on the cheek.

“What’s the occasion?” Winnie asked. Though she saw Russ on a fairly regular basis, he seldom dropped by the shop. The ultrafeminine decor and the perfumed air made him uncomfortable, she suspected.

Not to mention the cow eyes from Glory and every other woman under the age of fifty. But he never dated local women, preferring the glossy city girls he somehow managed to meet.

“No particular reason,” he said. “I just wondered if you wanted to go out to dinner.”

“Well, Russell, aren’t you sweet. Of course I would love to have dinner out with my favorite son.”

Her only son, but she was sure if she had others he would still be her favorite. When they’d first moved to Winnie’s hometown of Linhart, she’d wanted to pass him off as her half brother. She could have gotten away with it, too, since her father had moved away to parts unknown when she was a baby. But Russ, only twelve at the time, had vetoed that plan. He’d insisted that since they were making a fresh start, they should start as they intended to go, by being honest.

He’d been right, of course. He’d been mature far beyond his years, and thank providence for that. If she hadn’t had Russ to help her manage her affairs, she’d have blown the rest of her divorce settlement and have nothing to show for it.

Betty said her goodbyes and left for home, but Glory still hung around, sweeping the perfectly clean floor around her chair and blatantly staring at Russ, who didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll finish up here,” Glory offered magnanimously. “If y’all want to beat the early bird crowd at the Cherry Blossom. They’re having a special on catfish tonight.” She was angling for an invitation to join them.

Russ was either oblivious to Glory’s unabated adoration or studiously ignoring it.

“I thought we’d go to the club,” Russ said.

Winnie smiled, pleased by the thoughtful invitation. “Sure, hon, but am I dressed okay?” She ran her hands over her tight, short skirt. She hadn’t gained a pound since her Vegas showgirl days, but she had to admit that her, um, assets had shifted around somewhat.

“You look beautiful as always, Mom.”

With an apologetic look, she allowed Glory to make good on her offer of closing up. She handed the laundry bag to Russ-she’d run the laundry through her machine at home later. Then she grabbed her purse and the two of them set off for the Lake Linhart Country Club, about a fifteen-minute drive away. They would be unfashionably early for dinner, but that didn’t matter so much in this little town, not like in Vegas where only the people confined to nursing homes ate dinner before ten o’clock.

“You said there was no occasion,” Winnie said as Russ pulled his Bronco into a parking spot. “But why is it I don’t believe you?” She gasped as an unsettling thought occurred to her. “You’re not getting married, are you? That woman who’s been into the store the last two days in a row, the one you took dancing…is it her?”

Russ laughed. “Guess I can’t make a move without you knowing. The Linhart grapevine is alive and well. But, no, I’m not marrying Sydney. She’ll be going back to New York tomorrow.”

“Well, good. I mean, I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice girl, but I don’t understand why you don’t hitch up with some nice girl from Linhart. Like Glory.”

“Glory’s nice,” Russ said mildly. “But she doesn’t do a thing for me.”

“And Sydney does? What kind of name is Sydney, anyway?”

“A city name, I guess. Don’t worry, she’s not a girlfriend and I have no intentions toward her. In fact, she’s the one pursuing me. She’s, uh, kind of a stalker.”

“Oh, Russ, that sounds awful. What’s going on?” And why hadn’t the grapevine supplied any details? Bert, whom she could usually rely on to tell her every detail of Russ’s business, had remained cagily mum about the dark-haired woman’s purpose in Linhart. He claimed he didn’t know anything, but Winnie could tell he wasn’t being truthful with her. His nose twitched when he told a lie.

Russ waited until they were seated at a white-clothed table near a wall of windows where they could watch the sun set over the lake.

“She’s got a crush on me, that’s all, and she’s one of these girls who won’t take no for an answer. So if she comes snooping around you or the shop, don’t tell her anything about me. In fact, you probably shouldn’t talk to her at all. Just tell her you’re too busy.”

“I’ll do that,” Winnie said. “Do you think she’s dangerous? She’s not one of those if-I-can’t-have-him-no-one-will kind of girls, is she?”

Russ laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. She’s not the slightest bit scary. In fact, she’s afraid of Nero.”

“That old dog?” Winnie laughed. Bert had given Nero to Russ as a gift on his eighteenth birthday. Russ and the bloodhound puppy had been inseparable ever since. He loved that old dog and would probably fall to pieces when Nero passed-an event that couldn’t be too far off.

“Yeah,” Russ said, grinning. “She claims she simply doesn’t like dogs, but it’s obvious how nervous she is around Nero. The funny thing is, Nero seems to like her.”

“That is funny.” Nero had never before taken to any of Russ’s many female admirers. The dog didn’t care much for her, either.

Winnie couldn’t help wondering if Nero was echoing Russ’s own feelings regarding the woman-that he liked her more than he was letting on.

“Is this woman staying in town or what?” Winnie asked. “Her BMW is still parked in front of the store, I noticed.”

“She was staying at the Periwinkle, but tonight she’s busy elsewhere. Not in town,” he clarified. “She’ll be back in Linhart tomorrow afternoon, but I think that’s the last we’ll see of her.”

Russ didn’t sound as happy about that as Winnie thought he ought to. Something more was going on here than met the eye. But if she tried to worm more information out of Russ, he would clam up. She would have to find out some other way.

The waiter came and took their order. Though the menu featured all kinds of trendy, continental dishes, Winnie ordered the fried catfish.

“If I’d known you wanted catfish,” Russ said, “we could have gone to the Cherry Blossom after all.”

“Yes, but we wouldn’t have seen this sunset.”

Russ gazed out over the lake, seeming to see the incomparable view for the first time. “You’re right. God, that’s beautiful. The most beautiful sunsets in the world are right here in the Hill Country.”

Not that they’d seen sunsets anywhere else but Vegas. But Winnie thought her son was probably right. She couldn’t imagine any place more beautiful.

“Actually, I did have a reason for taking you out to dinner,” Russ said. “I want to give you a present.”

“Really?” Winnie loved presents and she especially loved surprise gifts. “Any particular reason?”

“Well, your birthday’s coming up next month. And I would have waited, but this was a deal too good to pass up.”

He handed her a red envelope with her name on it.

With quivering hands, Winnie opened the envelope. “A whole weekend at a spa! Oh, Russ, what a thoughtful gift. And it’s that fancy one in Austin-” She squinted at the card again. “But it’s for this weekend.”

“The sooner the better, right?”

“I’d have to leave tomorrow.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure Betty and Glory can cover for you, or you can rearrange a few appointments.”

“Oh, honey, this was so nice of you, but Betty’s daughter’s baby shower is on Saturday and I can’t miss it, I’m one of the hostesses. Maybe the spa will let me reschedule. You think they will?”

“They’re always booked months in advance, is what I hear. Sorry, Mom, I didn’t know about the baby shower.”

“Well, I’ll work something out,” Winnie said, “even if I have to schedule my spa visit for next year.” She stepped around the table to give Russ a hug. “This was really generous of you.”

He shrugged. “It’s been a good year at the store. I think as hard as you work, you should pamper yourself every so often.”

“Can I get one of those mud baths?” Winnie asked. “It might be worth missing Betty’s shower for a mud bath.”

“You can get whatever you want.”

Russ had ordered the shrimp scampi, but he hardly tasted it when it arrived. He’d just wasted several hundred dollars, not to mention the fifty bucks he’d shell out for dinner.

What was worse, tomorrow he was going to be dealing with a very ticked-off Sydney Baines. He’d forgotten to tell her about the hidden door behind the staircase that led to the bathroom.