Hidden Riches

by Nora Roberts

  sure Lieutenant Chapman filled you in on the mess we’ve got back home. This quick work on your part will be some comfort to Officer Trainor’s widow.”

  It was exactly the right button. Dearborne’s eyes frosted, his mouth thinned. “Your lieutenant told me the corpse was a cop killer. I’m only sorry the coyotes didn’t take more of an interest in him. Sit down, Captain, Miss Conroy.”

  “Thanks.” Stemming impatience, Jed took a seat. If he rushed Dearborne, it would probably cost him hours of time in diplomacy. “I was told there was no identification on the body.”

  “Not a lick.” Dearborne’s chair creaked comfortably as he sat back. “But we ruled out robbery right off. The wallet was gone, but the guy had a diamond on his pinkie and one of those gold chains around his neck.” Dearborne sneered just enough to let Jed know he considered such trappings suspiciously unmasculine. “The body wasn’t in such good shape, but I didn’t need the coroner to tell me how he bought it. He’d been gut-shot. Not much blood on the tarp he’d been wrapped in though. Stands to reason the body had been moved after he bled to death. Probably took a good long nasty time. Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said for Dora’s benefit. “Coroner confirmed it.”

  “I’d like a look at the coroner’s report, if that’s all right,” Jed began. “And any physical evidence you’ve gathered. The more I go back with, the better.”

  Dearborne drummed his fingers on the desk as he considered. East Coast wasn’t pushy, he decided. “I think we can accommodate you there. We’ve got the tarp and what’s left of his clothes downstairs. I’ll have the rest of the paperwork brought in after you’ve finished. If you want a look at the body, we’ll take a run down to the coroner’s.”

  “I’d appreciate that. If Miss Conroy could wait here?” he said as Dora started to rise.

  “That’s fine.” Dearborne admired a woman who knew her place. “You just make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.” The sarcasm was thinly veiled, but Dearborne wasn’t a man for subtleties. “May I use my credit card to make a call?”

  “Help yourself.” Dearborne gestured toward the phone on his desk. “Use line one.”

  “Thank you.” There was no use being annoyed with Jed, she mused. In any case, while he was off doing cop things, she could let her family know she was being delayed a few hours. After Jed and Dearborne trooped off, she settled behind Dearborne’s desk. And she smiled. She wondered if Jed realized that Dearborne had called him “Captain”—and that Jed hadn’t even winced at the title.

  He’ll have his badge back by spring, she predicted, and wondered what Jed Skimmerhorn would be like when he was completely happy.

  “Good afternoon, Dora’s Parlor.”

  “You’ve got a great voice, honey. Ever think about phone sex?”

  Lea answered with a rich chuckle. “All the time. Hey, where are you? At thirty thousand feet?”

  “No.” Dora pushed back her hair and sent a smile to the officer who carried in a mug of coffee and a file folder. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she said, deliberately mistaking his rank.

  “Oh, it’s just deputy, ma’am.” But he flushed and grinned. “And you’re welcome.”

  “Sergeant?” Lea demanded. “What, are you in jail or something? Do I have to post bond?”

  “Not yet.” She picked up the mug, tapping a finger idly against the file the deputy had set on the desk. “Just taking care of a little business Jed wanted to handle while we were here.” No need to mention dead guys and gut shots, she mused. No need at all. “So we’ll be taking a later plane. Everything there okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. We sold the Sherbourne desk this morning.”

  “Oh.” As always with a particularly loved piece, Dora felt the twin tugs of pleasure and regret.

  “No haggling either.” The smug pride came through. “Oh, how did your meeting go?”

  “Meeting?”

  “With the import-export guy.”

  “Oh.” Hedging, Dora thumbed at the file tab. “It went. I don’t think we’ll be doing business after all. He’s out of my league.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose you’d consider the trip a waste. See any movie stars?”

  “Not a one, sorry.”

  “Oh well. You had Jed along to help you soak up the LA sunshine.”

  “There was that.” She didn’t add that she calculated she’d spent more time with Jed on the plane than she had since they’d landed.

  “Call me when you get in so I’ll know you’re safe and sound.”

  “All right, Mommy. I don’t imagine we’ll make it much before ten your time, so don’t start worrying until after eleven.”

  “I’ll try to restrain myself. Oh, I should warn you, Mom’s planning on having an informal gathering—so she can check Jed out on a more personal level. I thought you should know.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Sighing, Dora idly flipped open the folder. “I’ll try to prepare Jed for—” Her mouth went dust dry as she stared down at the photo. Through the buzzing in her head, she heard her sister’s voice.

  “Dora? Dory? Are you still there? Shoot. Did we get cut off?”

  “No.” With a herculean effort, Dora leveled her voice. Even when she lifted her gaze to stare at the wall, the photo’s grim image remained imprinted on her mind. “Sorry, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow, honey. Safe trip.”

  “Thanks. Bye.” Very gently, very deliberately, Dora replaced the receiver. Her hands had gone icy cold beneath a sheer layer of sweat. Breathing shallowly, she looked back down.

  It was DiCarlo. There was enough of his face left for her to be sure of that. She was also sure that he hadn’t died well, that he hadn’t died easy. With numb fingers she shifted the first police photo aside and stared at the second.

  She knew now just how viciously cruel death could be to human flesh. No amount of Hollywood horror fantasies had prepared her for this ghastly reality. She could see where the bullet had ripped, where the animals had feasted. The desert sun had been every bit as merciless as the bullet and the carrion. The color photo was both lurid and dispassionate.

  She couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t take her eyes away even when the buzzing in her head became a roar. She couldn’t stop looking even when her vision blurred and grayed until the bloated body seemed to float off the surface of the photo toward her horrified eyes.

  Jed let out one concise oath when he walked in and saw her white face and the open file. Even as he strode toward her he watched her eyes roll back. He had her chair pushed away from the desk and her head between her knees in two brisk moves.

  “Just breathe slow.” His voice was drum tight, but the hand on the back of her head was gentle as he reached up and slapped the file closed.

  “I was calling Lea.” Dora swallowed desperately as her stomach heaved. Bile tickled gleefully in the back of her throat. “I was just calling Lea.”

  “Keep your head down,” he ordered. “And breathe.”

  “Try a little of this.” Dearborne held out a glass of water to Jed. There was sympathy in his voice. He remembered his first murder victim. Most good cops did. “There’s a cot in the back room if she wants to stretch out.”

  “She’ll be all right.” Jed kept the pressure light on Dora’s head as he accepted the water. “Would you give us a minute, Sheriff?”

  “Sure. Take your time,” Dearborne added before he closed the door behind him.

  “I want you to come up real slow,” Jed told her. “If you feel faint again, put your head back down.”

  “I’m okay.” But the trembling was worse than the nausea, and much more difficult to control. She let her head fall back against the chair and kept her eyes closed. “I guess I’ve made a lasting impression on the sheriff.”

  “Try some of this.” He brought the cup to her lips, urging her to swallow. “I want you to feel better before I yell at you.”

>   “You might have to wait awhile.” She opened her eyes as she sipped. Yes, his were angry, she realized. Really angry. But she couldn’t worry about that just yet. “How can you face that?” she said softly. “How can you possibly face that on a regular basis?”

  He dipped his fingers in the cool water and rubbed them on the back of her neck. “Do you want to lie down?”

  “No, I don’t want to lie down.” She looked away from him. “And if you have to yell, get it over with. But before you do, you should know I wasn’t prying or playing detective. Believe me, I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t need to see that.”

  “Now you can start working on forgetting it.”

  “Is that what you do?” She made herself look at him again. “Do you just file this sort of thing away and forget it?”

  “We’re not talking about me. You have no business being this close, Dora.”

  “I have no business?” She moistened her dry lips and set the cup aside before she forced herself to stand. “The man inside that file tried to rape me. He would certainly have killed me. That brings me pretty Goddamn close. Even knowing that, knowing what he did and what he tried to do, I can’t justify what I saw in those pictures. I just can’t. I guess I want to know if you can.”

  He’d seen enough to know just what kind of afterimage she’d be carrying with her. He’d seen enough to know it was worse than most. “I don’t justify, Dora. If you want to know if I can live with it, then yeah, I can. I can look at it. I can go down to the coroner’s right now and take a good long look at the real thing. And I can live with it.”

  She nodded, then walked shakily to the door. “I’m going to wait in the car.”

  Jed waited until she was gone before he picked up the file and studied the photos. He swore, not at what he saw, but at what Dora had seen.

  “She okay?” Dearborne asked as he came back in.

  “She’ll do.” He handed the file over. “I’d like to take you up on your offer of talking to the coroner.”

  “Guess you want to see the stiff, too.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” Dearborne picked up his hat, settled it on his head. “You can read the autopsy report on the way. It’s interesting. Our pal had a hell of a last meal.”

  Dora refused the snack the flight attendant offered and stuck with icy ginger ale. Her system balked at even the thought of food. She did her best to ignore the scents of deli meat and mayo as the other passengers dug in.

  She’d had a lot of time to think, stretched out on the front seat of the rental car while Jed had been with Dearborne. Time enough to realize that she’d taken her shock and revulsion out on him. And he hadn’t taken his anger out on her.

  “You haven’t yelled at me yet.”

  Jed continued to work his crossword puzzle. He’d have preferred to read through Dearborne’s reports again, but they would wait until he was alone. “It didn’t seem worth it.”

  “I’d rather you did, so you’d stop being mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” She wasn’t certain what she was feeling herself, only knew it had to be put behind them. “You’ve hardly spoken since we left LA. And if I hadn’t been making a fool of myself in the sheriff’s office, you’d have torn into me.” His eyes flicked up from his paper to meet her strained smile. “You wanted to.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to. But I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad because you’d seen those pictures. Because I knew you’d walked through a door you wouldn’t close easily, and never completely. There was nothing I could do about it.”

  She put a hand over his. “I can’t go as far as saying I’m glad I opened that file. But you were right, it brings me closer. I think I’d handle it all better if you told me what you found out from Sheriff Dearborne and at the coroner’s. Speculation can be even worse than reality.”

  “There isn’t that much to tell.” But he let the paper fall into his lap. “We know DiCarlo flew out to the coast on New Year’s Eve, rented a car, booked a hotel room. He didn’t sleep in the room that night, he didn’t return the car. That hasn’t turned up yet, either. Apparently he’d also booked a flight for Cancún, but he didn’t use the ticket.”

  “So he didn’t plan on coming back east anytime soon.” She left her hand over his as she tried to think it through. “Do you think he came out to see Finley?”

  “If he did, he didn’t sign in. There’s no record of him going to the offices on that date. If we go by the theory that he was working for himself, DiCarlo might have run into some bad luck on his way out of the country. Or he could have had a partner, a business disagreement.”

  “Makes me glad I’m in business for myself,” Dora murmured.

  “Or, choice number three, and my personal favorite, he worked for Finley, came out to report, and Finley killed him or had him killed.”

  “But why? DiCarlo hadn’t finished the job, had he? I still had the painting.”

  “That might be the reason.” Jed shrugged. “But there’s no physical evidence to link Finley to any of it at this point. We know DiCarlo came to LA, and he died there. He was murdered sometime between December thirty-first and January second—as far as the coroner can pinpoint at this time. He died from a single gunshot wound to the abdomen, then, from the lack of blood on the tarp, was moved several hours later. Someone had the presence of mind to take his wallet to slow up the identification if and when his body was found. The bruises on the face were several days old. I put them there myself. Other traumas occurred after death.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that DiCarlo had also been kneecapped.

  “I see.” To keep her voice clear and steady, she continued to sip the ginger ale like medicine. “That’s like no signs of struggle, right?”

  “That’s right, Miss Drew.” He gave her hand an approving squeeze. She was toughing it out, he thought, and admired her for it. “The condemned man had enjoyed a hearty last meal that had included pheasant, a considerable amount of wine and raspberries with white chocolate.”

  Nope, Dora thought as her stomach curdled, she definitely wouldn’t be eating anytime soon. “Then one would assume,” she began, pressing her free hand surreptitiously to her roiling stomach, “that the deceased was relaxed before he died.”

  “Kind of tough to put away a meal like that if you’re tense. Dearborne’s going to have his hands full checking restaurant menus. There were also some white stones and mulch found rolled up in the tarp. The kind you find in flower beds and around ornamental shrubs.”

  “I wonder how many flower beds there are in the LA area.”

  “I told you police work was tedious. Did Finley have gardens?”

  “Extensive ones.” She let out a shaky breath. “He’s very proud of them, and was disappointed that there was a cloud cover so he couldn’t show them to me properly in natural starlight. I admired part of them from his solarium.” Her color had drained again when she turned to look at Jed, but her voice was level. “They were very neat and tidy, well mulched with narrow pathways of white stone.”

  “You’ve got good eyes, Conroy.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Now close them for a while.”

  “I think I’d be better off watching the movie.” She reached unsteadily for the headphone. “What did they say it was?”

  “It’s the new Costner flick.” Jed plugged the cord in for her. “I think he plays a cop.”

  “Perfect.” Dora sighed, slipped on the headphones and escaped.

  In LA Winesap entered Finley’s office. Timid men, like small dogs, often sense the mood of their master by the scent of the air. Winesap was wringing his hands.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Finley?”

  Without looking up from his paperwork, Finley gestured Winesap in. With a stroke of his pen he initialed changes in a contract that would eliminate nearly two hundred jobs. His eyes were blank when he sat back.

  “How long have you worked f
or me, Abel?”

  “Sir?” Winesap moistened his lips. “Eight years now.”

  “Eight years.” Nodding slowly, Finley steepled his index fingers and tapped his top lip. “A fair amount of time. Are you happy in your work, Abel? You feel you’re well treated, well compensated?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. You’re very generous, Mr. Finley.”

  “I like to think so. And just, Abel. Do you find me a just man, as well?”

  “Always.” Unbidden, the image of DiCarlo’s bloody body flashed into his brain. “Without exception, sir.”

  “I’ve been thinking of you this morning, Abel, all through the morning and into the afternoon. And as I did so, it occurred to me that over these—eight years, did you say?”

  “Yes, eight.” Winesap began to feel like a spider stunned by a hornet. “Eight years.”

  “That over these eight years,” Finley continued, “I’ve had very