Hidden Riches

by Nora Roberts

  pronounced dead at the scene. Both Mrs. Lyle and her housekeeper were discovered by Mrs. Lyle’s niece Christmas morning. Alice Lyle, the widow of Harold T. Lyle of Lyle Enterprises, remains in critical condition. A Philadelphia police spokesperson states that a full investigation is under way.”

  “Oh God.” Hugging her elbows, Dora turned back to Jed. “I know her. She was in the shop before Christmas, buying a gift for her niece.”

  “It’s a wealthy neighborhood,” Jed said carefully. “Lyle’s a prominent name. Burglaries can turn ugly.”

  “She bought a couple of doorstops,” Dora remembered. “And she was telling me how her niece was expecting a baby.” She shuddered. “How awful.”

  “You can’t take it inside.” Jed got up to turn off the television himself.

  “Is that what they teach you in cop school?” she snapped, then immediately shook her head. “Sorry. That’s why I never listen to the damn news. The only thing I read in the paper are the classified section and the comics.” She pushed her hair back and struggled to shake off the mood. “I think I’ll go down and open up early, leave Will to clean up the mess before he goes back to New York.”

  This time he didn’t resist the urge to brush his knuckles along her jawline. The skin there was as soft as rose petals. “It’s tough when they’re not strangers.”

  “It’s tough when they are.” She lifted a hand, touched his wrist. “Is that why you quit?”

  He dropped his hand. “No. I’ll head out to the hardware. Thanks for breakfast.”

  Dora merely sighed when the door closed behind him. “Will, when you finish your obscene call, do the dishes. I’m going down to the shop.”

  “I’m finished.” He popped out of the kitchen and snagged the juice. “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you, Dory? How come you didn’t tell me that your tenant was the big bad cop who took down Donny Speck?”

  “Who’s Donny Speck?”

  “Jeez, what world do you live in?” He nibbled on little bits of crepe while he cleared the table. “Speck ran one of the biggest drug cartels on the east coast—probably the biggest. He was crazy, too; liked to blow people up if they messed with him. Always the same MO—a pipe bomb triggered by the ignition.”

  “Jed arrested him?”

  “Arrested, hell. He whacked him in a real, old-fashioned gunfight.”

  “Killed him?” Dora asked through dry lips. “Is that—is that why he had to leave the force?”

  “Shit, I think he got a medal for it. It was all over the news last summer. The fact that he’s the grandson of L. T. Bester, Incorporated, got him a lot of press, too.”

  “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 a
nalogy. “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.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Mary 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.”