Hidden Riches (13 page)

“Bester, Inc. ? As in large quantities of money?”

“None other. Real estate, Dora. Shopping malls. Philadelphia doesn't have too many loaded cops.”

“That's ridiculous. If he was loaded, why would he be renting a one-bedroom apartment over a curio shop?”

Will shook his head. “You're a Conroy and you're questioning eccentricity?”

“I lost my head a minute.”

“Anyway.” Will filled the sink with hot soapy water. “The way I see the script here, I figure our hero, the wealthy police captain, is taking some downtime. Last summer was pretty hairy. The Speck investigation kept him in the news for months, then when his sister was killed in the car explosion—”

“Wait.” She gripped Will's arm. “His sister?”

“They figured it was Speck, but I don't think they ever proved it.”

“Oh, that's horrible.” Paling, she pressed a hand to her grinding stomach. “Horrible.”

“Worse—he saw it happen. The headlines said: ‘Police captain watches sister's fiery death.' Pretty tough.”

“Poor Jed,” Dora murmured.

“The tabloids got a lot of play out of it, too. Can't remember it all, but there were lots of hints of scandal in the Skimmerhorn-Bester clan. The sister'd been divorced three or four times. The parents used to have public brawls. I think there was some stuff about Jed getting in scrapes as a juvenile. You know how people like to read about wealthy families suffering.”

“No wonder he wants to be left alone. But,” she continued after a moment, “that's not the answer.” Leaning over, she kissed Will's cheek. “Lock up when you leave. See you New Year's?”

“Wouldn't miss it. Dora?”

“Hmm?”

“Do what he tells you. I like having you around.”

“I like being around.” She grabbed her keys and headed downstairs.

 

Customer traffic was light through the morning, which gave Dora time to think. What she didn't know about Jed Skimmerhorn could apparently fill a football stadium. The fascinating tidbits Will had dropped only made her lack of knowledge seem more acute.

“Good morning, Izzy, my darling daughter.” Quentin swept into the shop with mink earmuffs clamped over his mane of striking pewter-colored hair. He was wearing an ankle-length shearling coat, a Christmas gift from his wife.

“Dad. Just the man I want to see.”

“It's rewarding to be wanted by your children. Proves a man's worth in his middle years. Ah, Terri, a vision as always.” He strode over to the redhead, took her hand and bowed theatrically over it. “A credit to the Liberty Players, to your humble director as well as to Dora's Parlor. What, no clientele this morning?”

“A couple of browsers, one exchange and a brisk sale of a twenty-dollar door knocker in the shape of a roaring hippo,” Dora reported. “I imagine the malls are packed. Terri, you can handle things out here, can't you?”

“Blindfolded and hog-tied.”

“Dad.” Dora took her father's arm and drew him out of the main shop into one of the smaller display rooms. “What do you know about Jed Skimmerhorn?”

“Know?” To stall for time, Quentin took out a roll of spearmint Certs. “Let's see. He's about six-one, I'd say.
A hundred seventy-five pounds, athletically proportioned. Mid-thirties. Anglo-Saxon lineage from his coloring.”

“Cut it out. I know you, Quentin D. Conroy. Lea might think you'd rent the apartment to some chain-wielding biker with ‘Born to Raise Hell' tattooed on his chest, but I know better.”

Quentin blinked, clearly shocked. “Lea said such a thing? A serpent's tongue, by God.” He slapped his fist into his palm.

“Don't change the subject. Whatever there is to know about Skimmerhorn, you know or he wouldn't be living here. So spill it. What's this business about his being from some wealthy family?”

“The Bester-Skimmerhorn clan,” Quentin confirmed. Wearily, he slipped out of his coat and folded it lovingly over a balloon-back chair. “Most of the money is from his mother's side, though the Skimmerhorn branch aren't exactly pikers. Jed is the heir, if you will, as there is only himself and a couple of distant cousins remaining on the dwindling family tree.”

“So he really is independently wealthy,” Dora murmured. “I'll be damned.”

“Independence was apparently more important.” Quentin coughed gently into his hand. His cheeks pinked. “You know I dislike repeating gossip, Izzy.”

“You'll only have to say it once.”

He chuckled, patted her cheek. “My girl is quick. Very quick. Well then, rumor is that young Jed joined the police force against his family's wishes. They disapproved of his choice of career and threatened to cut him off.” His voice had dropped into its story-telling mode, rich and perfectly paced. “In any case, the parents were notorious socialites. I say ‘notorious' literally. They were given to public displays of bickering. It was no secret that they detested each other, but neither would divorce the other due to the convoluted financial connection between Bester and Skimmerhorn.”

“Heartwarming,” Dora murmured.

“Oh, indeed. Jed made a name for himself on the police force. He gained a reputation for being part bloodhound, part terrier. Sniffing out clues and getting his teeth into a case.” Quentin smiled, enjoying his own analogy. “A bit over a year ago he was made captain, a position many feel would have been a stepping-stone leading to chief of police. Then there was Donny Speck.”

“Will told me. Speck killed Jed's sister.”

“That's the general assumption. As to why Jed left his position, I can only speculate. I would suggest that you ask him yourself.”

“He wouldn't tell me.”

“Is your interest personal or professional?”

She thought it through, then accepted the mint her father thumbed out of the roll. “I haven't decided. Thanks for the details.” She kissed his cheek. “Which I shouldn't have had to ask for in the first place.”

“You're quite welcome.”

“Jed's back in the storeroom. You can go bother him while he puts in the new lock.”

“It would be a pleasure.” He picked up his coat, draped it over his arm.

“You can leave that here.”

“Here . . . ah, no, no.” Avoiding Dora's eye, he stroked the coat lovingly. “I'll just take it along. I might get chilly.”

Might need the flask in the inside pocket, Dora corrected, and returned to work.

 

Back in the storeroom, Jed was putting Brent's drill to use again. He had a nice thick dead bolt nearly installed when Quentin toddled in.

“And happy Boxing Day to you. It seems you're our man of the hour. May I extend my deepest and most sincere gratitude.”

“Mr. Conroy.”

“Quentin, please. After all, according to Will you've
protected my little girl at the risk of your own life and limb.” Quentin settled into a ladder-back chair. “Tell me, do we have any clues?”

“Call headquarters and ask Lieutenant Brent Chapman. He's in charge.”

“But, my dear boy, you were on the scene, weapon drawn. Where are the bullet holes? Will told me shots were exchanged.”

“In the plaster, by the stairway.” Amused, Jed watched Quentin stride over to peer at the wall. He wouldn't have been surprised if the man had pulled a magnifying glass and a deerstalker out of his pocket.

“Curious, isn't it? You know, I once played Poirot in a little theater production of
Orient Express.
”

“And Will played a drug dealer with Stallone. Quite a family.”

“One must play the villain as well as the hero to fully develop one's art. We have theater in our blood, you know. Although Izzy's seems to lean more toward props.” He came back and settled himself again. He stretched back, crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands on his trim belly. “Do you have the time?”

Jed twisted his wrist to read his watch. “Couple minutes shy of noon.”

“That's fine then.” Satisfied, Quentin reached in his coat for his flask.

“Don't bring that near me.”

Quentin smiled genially. “I'm afraid I'd filled it with what we might call my high-test the other day. We have a much lower octane today.”

“I'll pass just the same.”

“Well, here's to all the girls I've loved.” Quentin took a slow drink, sighed, then tucked the flask away again. Dora might pop in at any time. “I had another reason for dropping by this morning. I'd like to renew the invitation to our annual New Year's Eve party, at the theater. My wife would like to thank you personally for looking out for our Izzy.”

“I'm not big on parties.”

“I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd at least drop in. After this incident, I'm concerned about Izzy driving there alone.” Having planted the seed, Quentin snuck one more nip before making his exit.

 

With business slowed to a crawl, Dora left Terri in charge and spent most of the afternoon reorganizing her files. It was nearly dusk when Jed came downstairs and, without a word to her, began measuring the wall where she'd told him to put the shelves.

Dora ignored him, too, for nearly five minutes. “This security system you've dumped on me is complicated enough for Fort Knox.”

Jed scribbled down figures on a pad. “All you do is cue in a six-digit code.”

“And if I forget the code, bells and buzzers go off, lights flash—and some guy with a bullhorn shouts for me to come out with my hands up.”

“So don't forget the code.”

“I'm not good with numbers. That's why I have an accountant.”

“Had an accountant. He's clean, by the way.”

“Clean? Andrew? Of course he is. His mother checks every night to see if he's washed behind his ears.”

Jed's measuring tape rewound with a snap. “Why the hell did you ever go out with him in the first place?”

“He was talking about paragraph twenty-five of the new tax law. I was terrified not to.” Then she smiled because at least they were having a conversation. “Actually, I felt kind of sorry for him. His mother really is a smothering old witch.”

“On the night in question, Andrew was with the smothering old witch and about two dozen other people at the Dawd, Dawd and Goldstein Christmas party. He's alibied tight until ten-thirty.”

“I never thought it was him anyway.” She spent another
few moments separating receipts from invoices. “I called the hospital.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Lyle, on the news this morning? I couldn't get it out of my mind.” Dora refiled a Federal Express receipt. “She's still in a coma. I sent flowers. I guess that was stupid.”

“Yeah.” Christ, why was he letting her get to him this way? “But people usually appreciate stupid gestures.”

“I do.” Dora let out a long breath and shoved back from her desk. “Skimmerhorn, you want to get out of here?”

“I'm almost finished with the measurements. Then I'll get out of your way.”

“No, I mean out.” Restlessly, she pulled her hand through her hair. “Do you want to go get a pizza, see a movie? I don't want to face this pile of paperwork right now.”

“It's a little early for a movie.”

“It won't be after the pizza.” She put on her best persuasive voice. “Be a pal, Skimmerhorn. The only thing worse than going to the movies alone is going to a drive-in movie alone.”

He shouldn't, he knew. After what had nearly happened between them the night before, he should be avoiding her. “What's your security code?”

“Why?”

“Because we'll have to lock up if we're going out.”

The tension cleared out of her eyes. “It's twelve twenty-four ninety-three. Christmas Eve, ninety-three?” She smiled and grabbed her coat. “I figured it was a date that would stay with me.”

“Good thinking.” He shrugged into his jacket. After a brief hesitation he took the hand she held out. “We'll check the locks.”

M
ary Pat believed in the direct approach. The best way to satisfy her curiosity about Jed's landlord was to do a little shopping. She entered Dora's Parlor, as pleased with the ambience as she was to see her car-pool partner.

“Lea, hi.”

“Well, hello.” Lea set down the blown-glass cuspidor she'd been dusting. “What brings you to this part of town?”

“My mother's birthday.” It hardly mattered that it wasn't for three months. “I loved the biscuit barrel Jed bought me from here, and thought I might find something unique.”

“Unique we have. How are the kids?”

“Oh, driving us crazy. I'm counting the days until school starts up again.”

“Who isn't?” Lea's mind worked fast. Mary Pat would
be the perfect source to pump about Jed. “So, you and Jed are friends.”

“For years.” Mary Pat examined a collection of Goss china and looked for an opening to casually grill Lea about her sister. “He and Brent were partners before Jed made captain, were on the same squad for six years. Your sister has a charming place here. How long has she been in business?”

“Since the first grade,” Lea said dryly. “She always liked to wheel and deal. But officially, for about three years.”

A hard-edged businesswoman? Mary Pat wondered. A profit hound? “She certainly has some beautiful things.” She edged over a price tag on a Deco cocktail shaker, let out a soundless whistle. “I hope she hasn't had any more trouble since the break-in.”

“No, thank God.” Lea walked over to the silver coffee service and poured two cups. “Cream, right? No sugar?”

“Mmmm. Thanks.”

“We're awfully grateful Jed was here. It eases the mind knowing that Dora's got a policeman right across the hall.”

“And one of the best, too. Brent thinks if Jed pulls out of this and comes back on the job he could be chief in another ten years.”

“Really?” Guiltily thinking of diets, Lea added a miserly half teaspoon of sugar to her own cup.

Mary Pat turned back the topic of conversation.

“I was surprised when he moved in here. Your sister's quite the entrepreneur—a shop owner, a landlord.”

“Oh, Dora loves to run things.”

Pushy, Mary Pat decided. Arrogant. She was glad, for Jed's sake, that she'd come by to snoop. She turned when she heard voices drifting in through the doorway.

“I think I know where to find just what you're looking for, Mrs. Hendershot.” Dora helped an elderly woman leaning heavily on a birchwood cane through the shop.

“You'll call me,” she demanded in a voice that boomed shockingly from the frail body. “My great-granddaughter's
wedding is in two months. Young people, always hurrying.”

“Don't worry.” Dora held the woman's arm as they came to the door and, despite the thin protection of her silk suit, walked her out to the classic DeSoto waiting at the curb. “We're going to find her the perfect gift.”

“Don't disappoint me.” Mrs. Hendershot propped her cane on the passenger seat as she took the wheel. “Get inside, girl, you'll catch your death.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Dora made it to the curb before Mrs. Hendershot roared off into traffic. Dora hurried back inside, rubbing her chilled hands. “If she had the pole position at Indy, nobody would beat her.”

“A woman that age shouldn't be driving,” Lea stated, and poured her sister a cup of coffee.

“Why not? She handles that old tank like a pro. Good morning,” she said to Mary Pat. “Is Lea helping you?”

Mary Pat had had ample time to study her quarry. She approved, with a tinge of envy, the stylishness of Dora's floral jacket, and the straight, snug skirt the color of apricots. As a woman who stood on her feet for hours on end, she marveled at Dora's choice of high-heeled pumps, and wondered if the sapphire clusters at her ears were real or paste.

“I came in looking for a birthday gift. Lea and I are neighbors.”

“This is Mary Pat Chapman,” Lea told her.

All of Mary Pat's preformed opinions shattered when Dora smiled and took her hand. There was instant warmth, quick friendliness. “I'm so glad you came by. I was hoping I'd get a chance to meet you. Brent was terrific the other night, keeping me calm. By the way, did you like the biscuit barrel?”

“Yes, I did.” Mary Pat relaxed. “In fact, I liked it so much I came by to look for a gift for my mother.” She hesitated, then set her cup down. “That's only part of the reason I came in. Mostly I'm here to check you out.”

Dora's eyes laughed over the rim of her cup. “Who could blame you? Well, while you're checking me out,
why don't we find Mom a present? Did you have anything in mind?”

“Not a thing. Have you ever been married?”

Dora almost giggled at the unambiguous interrogation. “Nope. I was almost engaged once. Remember Scott, Lea?”

“Unfortunately.”

“He moved to LA, and our romance faded quietly away. How about something in a perfume bottle? We have several nice pieces in crystal, porcelain, blown glass.”

“Maybe. She does have a vanity table. Oh, this one's lovely.” She picked up a heart-shaped bottle with cut flowers decorating both front and back. “You consider your shop successful? Ah, financially?”

Dora grinned. “I'm not interested in a man's bank account, even one as nicely padded as Jed's. I'm much more interested in his body. That bottle runs seventy-five, but if you like it, I'll give you ten percent off. An introductory special.”

“Sold.” Mary Pat grinned back. “He is easy on the eyes, isn't he?”

“Very. Would you like this gift-wrapped?”

“Yeah.” Mary Pat followed Dora to the counter. “I'm not usually so pushy, but Jed's like family.”

“I understand. If I hadn't, I'd have been pushy back.”

More than pleased with the results of her visit, Mary Pat laughed. “Good. You know, Dora, all Jed needs is—” She broke off when the man in question came through from the storeroom.

“Conroy, do you want these—” He stopped, narrowed his eyes. “MP.”

“Hey.” Her smile was quick and a little forced. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He knew her well, too well. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets with forced casualness. “What are you doing?”

“I'm buying a present.” She took out her credit card to prove it. “For my mother.”

“And I certainly hope she likes it.” With her back to Jed, Dora sent Mary Pat a slow wink. “She has thirty
days to exchange it.” She turned toward Jed. “Did you want something?”

Annoyance tightened his mouth. “Do you want these damn shelves fixed or adjustable?”

“You can make them adjustable? Terrific. Jed's been such a help around here.” Beaming, Dora turned to Mary Pat. “I don't know what I did without him.”

“There's nothing like having a handyman around,” Mary Pat agreed. “Jed helped Brent finish off the family room last year. You'll have to see it sometime.”

“You're about as subtle as nuclear waste, Mary Pat.” Jed scowled at both of them and slammed the storeroom door behind him.

“He's such a friendly, low-key sort of guy,” Dora stated.

“That's why we love him.”

Mary Pat left a few minutes later, satisfied with her morning's work.

 

The woman was asking for trouble, Jed thought grimly as he sent the power saw ripping through a board. She figured she could handle herself. It was tempting to prove her wrong. He would have done it, too, he decided, if she hadn't been so close to the truth on one single point.

He wasn't scared of her. Damned if he was. But . . . He set the saw aside and took out a cigarette. She sure as hell made him nervous.

He liked listening to her laugh. He'd even gotten a strange sort of kick at the way she'd talked back to the movie screen the evening before in the darkened theater. She didn't have any problem with conversation, he mused. Hell, he imagined he could sit alone with her for an hour without saying a word and there wouldn't be any holes in the conversation.

He'd be stupid not to admit he liked the way she looked. Big eyes and short skirts. She wasn't any wilty pushover either. He admired the way she'd taken on the accountant, her fists raised and fire in her eye.

Jed caught himself grinning and crushed the cigarette under his boot.

He wasn't going to let her get to him. He didn't need the headache. Didn't want the complication. Didn't care for the feeling of being sucked into a situation by his hormones.

Maybe he'd spent some time—too much time—imagining peeling Isadora Conroy out of one of those trim suits she wore. That didn't mean he was going to act on it.

After all, he mused, he'd been raised to be suspicious, cynical and aloof, in the best Skimmerhorn tradition. His years on the force had only heightened the tendency. As long as he didn't trust the lady, he could keep his hands to himself.

Ten minutes of standing out in the cold cooled his blood. Jed gathered up lumber and headed back inside.

She was still there, sitting at her desk. Before he could come up with an appropriately sarcastic comment, he saw her face. Her cheeks were dead white, her eyes dark and gleaming.

“Bad news?” he said, and carefully deleted any interest from his voice. When she didn't answer, he set the lumber aside. “Dora?” He stepped in front of the desk, said her name again.

She lifted her face. One of the tears swimming in her eyes spilled over and slipped down her cheek. He'd seen hundreds of women cry, some with callous expertise, some with the abandon of wild grief. He couldn't remember any affecting him more than that single, silent tear.

She blinked, spilling another, and with a strangled sound pushed back from the desk. His intellect ordered him to let her go, but he caught up to her in two strides. Firmly, he turned her around until she faced him.

“What is it? Is it your father?”

Battling fiercely for control, she shook her head. She wanted to lay her head on Jed's shoulder. Perhaps because he offered it, she refused.

“Sit down.” Though she held herself stiff, he guided
her back to her seat. “Do you want me to get your sister?”

“No.” Dora pressed her lips together, took a deep breath. “Go away.”

He'd have been relieved to oblige her, but he already had enough guilt on his shoulders. He went into the tiny adjoining bath and poured a glass of tepid water into a Dixie cup. “Here. Drink this. Then sit back, close your eyes and take some deep breaths.”

“What's that? Skimmerhorn's all-purpose cure?”

Uneasy with the urge to stroke and soothe, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “Something like that.”

Since her throat felt raw, she drank the water.

With her eyes closed, Jed thought she looked fragile, not at all like the vital woman who'd tweaked his libido only moments before. He sat on the edge of her desk and waited.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “It works.” She sighed, opened her eyes again. “Thanks.”

“What set you off?”

“The call.” She sniffled, then reached in a desk drawer for a pack of tissues. “I met this other dealer on a buying trip right before Christmas. I just called down there to see if he had this piece my last customer wanted.” She had to take another long breath. “He's dead. He was killed during a burglary last week.”

“I'm sorry.” They were two words Jed hated because they always seemed useless.

“I only met him once. I outbid him for a couple of lots. Lea and I went by his shop after the auction and he made hot chocolate.” Her voice broke and she took a moment to strengthen it. “That was his son on the phone. He was killed the next night.”

“Did they catch the guy?”

“No.” She looked back at Jed. Both of them were relieved that her eyes were dry again. “I don't know any of the details. I didn't want to ask. How do you handle it?”
she demanded, gripping Jed's hand with an urgency that surprised them both. “How do you handle being close to the horrible day in and day out?”

“You don't look at things the same way on the job as you do as a civilian. You can't.”

“Did you leave because you stopped looking at things like a cop?”

“That's part of it.” He pulled his hand away, distanced himself.

“I don't think that's a good reason.”

“I did.”

“Interesting choice of tense, Skimmerhorn.” She rose, wishing her stomach wasn't still so shaky. “You should have said ‘I do'—unless you've changed your mind. We could go into that, but I'm not feeling up to a debate right now. I've got to go talk to Lea.”

 

Gregg and Renee Demosky arrived home to their Baltimore split-level at 6 P.M. sharp. They were, as usual, bickering. They had sniped at each other all during the twenty-minute drive from Gregg's dental practice, where Renee was his dental hygienist, and continued the bout in the garage, where Gregg parked their bronze BMW beside their spiffy Toyota Supra, and as they reached the door to the house.

“We could have gone out to dinner,” Renee said as she slammed open the front door. She was a statuesque blonde just beginning to thicken in the middle.

“Once in a while I'd like to see people, when they don't have their mouths wide open,” she complained. “We're in a rut, Gregg.”

“I like being in a rut,” he muttered. “Come on, Renee, ease off. All I want is to relax in my own home. Is that too much to ask?”

“And I want to have a nice night out, maybe down at the Inner Harbor.” Renee yanked open the refrigerator and took out a tuna casserole. “But no, I come home, after standing
on my feet all day flossing other people's teeth, and have to fix dinner.”

Gregg headed straight for the scotch in the living room.

“Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” Renee shoved the casserole into the oven and hurried out on his heels.