Hidden Riches (33 page)

“I saw his face.” As if overcome, Dora covered her own with her hand. “I'll never forget it. And I identified him to the police. He's killed a police officer, Mr. Finley, and a woman. He left another woman for dead, one of my customers.” The thought of Mrs. Lyle urged the first tear down her cheek. “I'm sorry. I've been so upset, so frightened. Thank you,” she managed when Finley gallantly offered his handkerchief. “None of it makes any sense, you see. He only stole a few trinkets, and as for Mrs. Lyle, my customer, he took nothing of any real value. Just a china dog, a statue she'd bought from me the day before. I think he must be crazy,” she murmured, lowering her hand again. “I think he must be mad.”

“I hope you understand this is difficult for me to take in. Mr. DiCarlo has worked for me for years. The idea of one of my own staff attacking women, murdering police officers. Miss Conroy—Isadora.” He took her hand again, gently, a father comforting a child after a bad dream. “Are you absolutely certain it was Anthony DiCarlo?”

“I saw his face,” she said again. “The police said he had a record. Nothing like—like this, and nothing for several years, but—

“I knew he'd had some trouble.” With a sigh, Finley sat back. “Just as I felt I understood the need to overcome the past mistakes. But I would never have believed . . . It seems I misjudged him, badly. What can I do to help you?”

“I don't know.” Dora twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “I guess I'd hoped you'd have some idea what to do, where the police might look. If he contacted you—”

“My dear, I assure you, if he contacts me, I will do everything in my power to lead the authorities to him. Perhaps his family knows something?”

She dried her tears and, calmer, shook her head. “The police have questioned them, I believe. I actually thought
of going to see his mother myself, but I couldn't. I couldn't face that.”

“I'll make some calls. Do whatever I can to help you.”

“Thank you.” She let out a shaky sigh followed by a shaky smile. “I feel better doing something. The worst is the waiting, the not knowing where he is or what he's planning. I'm afraid to go to sleep at night. If he came back—” She shuddered, sincerely. “I don't know what I'd do.”

“You have no reason to think he will. Are you sure he gave you no idea why he chose your shop?”

“None. That's what's so terrifying. To be picked at random that way. Then Mrs. Lyle. He shot her housekeeper and left Mrs. Lyle for dead, all for some little statue.” Her eyes, still wet, were guileless and trusting. “A man doesn't kill for that, does he?”

“I wish I knew.” Finley heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Perhaps, as you say, he's gone mad. But I have every confidence in the authorities. I'll say, with full confidence, that you won't be bothered by Mr. DiCarlo again.”

“I'm trying to hold on to that. You've been very kind, Mr. Finley.”

“Edmund.”

“Edmund.” She smiled again, courageously. “Just talking it out has helped. I'd like to ask, if you find anything, anything at all, that you'd call me. The police aren't very free with information.”

“I understand. And, of course, I'll keep in touch with you. We have an excellent security team on retainer. I'm going to put them on this. If there's a trace of DiCarlo, they'll find it.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, let her shoulders relax. “I knew I was right to come here. Thank you.” When she rose, he took both her hands in his. “Thank you so much for listening to me.”

“I only regret I can't do more. I'd consider it a favor if you'd agree to have dinner with me tonight.”

“Dinner?” Her mind went sheet blank.

“I don't like to think of you alone, and upset. I feel responsible. DiCarlo is, after all, my man. Or was,” he corrected, with a small smile.

“That's very kind of you.”

“Then indulge me. Ease my conscience a bit. And, I admit, I would find it very pleasant to spend the evening with a lovely young woman who shares some of my interests.”

“Your interests?”

“Collecting.” Finley gestured toward a curio cabinet. “If you run an antique and collectibles shop, I think you'd be interested in some of my treasures.”

“Yes, I am. I'm sure you're much more knowledgeable than I, but I've already admired several of your pieces. The horse's head?” She nodded toward a stone figure. “Han dynasty?”

“Precisely.” He beamed, a professor to a prize student. “You have a good eye.”

“I love things,” she confessed. “Owning things.”

“Ah, yes. I understand.” He reached up to brush a fingertip lightly over her lapel pin. “A plique-à-jour—early nineteen hundreds.”

She beamed back at him. “You, too, have a good eye.”

“I have a brooch I'd like you to see.” He thought of the sapphire, and the pleasure it would give him to taunt her with it. “I only recently acquired it, and I know you'd appreciate it. So it is decided. I'll have a car pick you up at your hotel. Say, seven-thirty.”

“I . . .”

“Please, don't misunderstand. My home is fully staffed, so you'll be well chaperoned. But I don't often have the opportunity to show off my treasures to someone who recognizes their intrinsic worth. I'd love your opinion on my pomander collection.”

“Pomanders?” Dora said, and sighed. If she hadn't been on a mission, she'd have agreed in any case. How could she resist a collection of pomanders? “I'd love to.”

* * *

Dora strolled back into the hotel room filled with the warmth of success. She found Jed pacing, the air blue with smoke and rattled by an old war movie on television he wasn't watching.

“What the hell took you so long?”

“It was only an hour.” She slipped out of her shoes as she walked to him. “I was brilliant,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I'll tell you if you were brilliant.” He put a hand on top of her head and pushed her into a chair. Snatching the remote, he ended the war with a fizzle. “You tell me about Finley. Everything, from the top.”

“Is there any coffee left?” She picked up a room-service pot, sniffed the contents. “Let me savor the moment, will you?” She poured coffee and sipped it black and tepid. “I want some cheesecake,” she decided. “Order us up some cheesecake, okay?”

“Don't push it, Conroy.”

“You know how to take the fun out of things. All right.” She took a last sip, sat back and told him.

“He really was nice,” she concluded. “Very understanding, and properly shocked by my story. I, of course, played the part of the high-strung, spooked-at-every-shadow heroine to perfection. The police simply aren't doing enough to ease my mind, so he very gallantly offered to do whatever he could, down to hiring a private firm to track down DiCarlo.”

“What about Winesap?”

“He wasn't there. I asked for him at first, but the receptionist told me he was out of the office today.”

“If he's the one who's going to keep the appointment next Thursday, he couldn't afford having you see him.”

“I thought of that. So I stopped to talk to the security guard in the lower lobby on the way out. I told him I'd seen Abel Winesap's name on the board, and that my father had worked with an Abel Winesap once, years ago, and
had lost touch. So I asked if this guy was tall and heavyset with red hair. It turns out this Winesap is short and skinny, round-shouldered and balding.”

“Good girl, Nancy.”

“Thanks, Ned. Do you think Nancy and Ned ever made love? You know, in the back of her coupe after a particularly satisfying case.”

“I like to think so. Get back on track, Conroy.”

“Okay.” Now came the hard part, Dora mused. She would have to work up to it carefully. “Finley's office is incredible—oh, I forgot to mention the monitors. He has a whole wall of them. Kind of creepy, you know? All these television shows running silently side by side with different parts of the building. I guess he has security cameras everywhere. But that's not why it's incredible. He had a Gallé lamp in his office that made me want to sit up and beg. And a Han horse. That barely touches on it. Anyway, I'll see his personal collection at dinner tonight.”

Jed snatched her wrist before she could bound up. “Play that back, Conroy, slow speed.”

“I'm having dinner with him.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because he asked me, and I accepted. And before you start listing all the reasons why I shouldn't, I'll tell you why I should.” She'd worked it out point by point in the cab on the way back. “He was kind to me in the office—very concerned and avuncular. He believes I'm in town alone, and that I'm upset. He knows I have a rabid interest in collectibles and antiques. If I'd said no, it would have set the entirely wrong tone.”

“If he's involved, the last place you should be is alone with him, at his house.”

“If he's involved,” she countered, “the last place he'd want anything to happen would be his own house. Especially when I tell him I called my parents to check in and told them I'd be having dinner with him.”

“It's a stupid idea.”

“It isn't. It will give me more time to cultivate him. He likes me,” she added, and walked over to the closet. She'd brought a little black dress along, and had paired it with a glittery bolero jacket in red and gold stripes. Holding them in front of her, she turned to the mirror. “He doesn't like the idea of me spending the evening alone in LA while I'm upset.”

Jed watched the sequins glimmer through narrowed eyes. “Did he come on to you?”

Dora paused in the act of unbuttoning her suit jacket. “Are you jealous, Skimmerhorn?” The laugh bubbled out, quick and delighted. “Isn't that cute?”

“I am not jealous.” He'd never been jealous of a woman in his life. Never. He wasn't about to admit it now. “I asked you a simple question, and I'd like an answer.”

She took off the jacket, revealing the creamy lace and silk of the camisole beneath. “You're going to put yourself in the awkward position of making me tell you I love you again. We wouldn't want that, would we?”

When his stomach clenched, he swore under his breath, grabbed another cigarette. “Maybe I'm fed up with watching you deck yourself out for another man.”

“That's what I'm here for, isn't it? To meet him, gain his sympathy and confidence and to find out everything I can.” With her head tilted to the side, she studied Jed's set face. “Would you feel better if I told you I didn't have any intention of sleeping with him?”

“Yeah, I'll rest easy now.” He blew out a frustrated stream of smoke. “I don't like you going in there alone. I don't have enough on him, and I don't like it.”

“You'll have more when I get back, won't you?” She walked over to hang up the jacket. He crossed the room so quietly she jumped when his hands touched her shoulders.

“I'm not used to being the one who waits.”

She arranged the jacket meticulously on the hanger. “I guess I can understand that.”

“I never had anyone to worry about before. I don't like it.”

“I can understand that, too.” She unzipped her skirt and clipped it neatly on another hanger. “I'll be fine.”

“Sure you will.” He lowered his cheek to the back of her head. “Dora . . .” What could he say? he wondered. Nothing that was churning inside him seemed right. “I'll miss you tonight. I guess I've gotten used to having you around.”

Wonderfully touched, she smiled and lifted a hand to cover one of his. “You're such a sentimental slob, Skimmerhorn. It's always hearts and flowers with you.”

“Is that what you want?” He turned her to face him. “Is that what you're looking for?”

Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she brushed her knuckles over his cheek. “I've got a heart, thanks, and I can buy flowers anytime I like.” To comfort him, she nuzzled her lips to his. “I've also got an hour before I have to get ready. Why don't you take me to bed?”

It would have been a pleasure, and a relief, but both pleasure and relief would have to wait. “We've got work to do, Conroy. Put on your robe, and we'll go over the ground rules for your dinner.”

Huffing, she stepped back. “I'm standing here in little more than a lace garter belt and you're telling me to put on a robe?”

“That's right.”

“You have gotten used to me,” she muttered.

D
ora stepped off the curb and into a white Mercedes limo at precisely seven-thirty. There was a single white rosebud laid across the seat, and a Beethoven sonata playing softly on the stereo. A bottle of champagne was iced beside a crystal bowl of beluga.

Brushing the rose petals across her cheek, she looked up toward the window where she knew Jed would be watching.

Too bad, she mused as the car pulled smoothly away. It appeared that she did need hearts and flowers, and was unlikely to receive them from the man who mattered most.

Because she was looking back she noticed a man in a gray suit slip into a dark sedan and cruise out into traffic behind them.

Dora closed her eyes, slipped out of her shoes to run
her bare feet luxuriously over the plush carpet and put all thoughts of Jed behind her.

For the next few hours, she was alone.

Armed with a glass of champagne and a toast point of caviar, she enjoyed the ride up into the hills. Though under other circumstances she might have struck up a conversation with the driver, she hugged the silence to her and prepared for Act Two.

After her impressions of his office, she'd expected Finley's house to be lavish. She wasn't disappointed. The sweeping drive up, the quick, teasing peeks of the building through screening trees. Then the full impact of stone and brick and glass simmering in the last fiery lights of the dying sun.

A well-set stage.

She took the rose with her.

There was only a moment to appreciate the Adam door knocker in the shape of a dolphin before the door was opened by a uniformed maid.

“Miss Conroy. Mr. Finley would like you to wait in the drawing room.”

Dora didn't bother to disguise her open-mouthed admiration for the magnificence of the entrance hall. In the parlor she gave the maid a murmured assent at the offer of wine, and was grateful when she had the glass in hand and was alone to worship.

She felt as though she had entered some personal museum, one structured for her alone. Everything she saw was spectacular, and every piece her eyes feasted on seemed more glorious. So glorious it was impossible not to gorge.

She saw herself reflected in the George III mirror, ran her fingers delicately over a mahogany armchair of the same period, crooned over a Japanese Kakiemon tiger.

When Finley joined her she was mentally devouring a collection of netsukes.

“I see you're enjoying my toys.”

“Oh yes.” Eyes dark and brilliant with appreciation, she turned from the curios. “I feel like Alice, and I've just stumbled into the best corner of Wonderland.”

He laughed and poured himself a glass of wine. He'd known he would enjoy her. “I was certain I'd find it pleasant to share my things with you. I'm afraid I spend too much time alone with them.”

“You've made my trip very worthwhile, Mr. Finley.”

“Then I'm content.” He walked over, placed a light hand at the small of her back. It wasn't a suggestive move. She had no explanation as to why her skin crawled under the friendly pressure. “You were looking at the netsukes.” He opened the curio and deliberately chose one of the pieces of erotica that had been smuggled in the mermaid bookends. “Not everyone can appreciate the humor and the sexuality, as well as the artistry of these pieces.”

Chuckling, she took the figure of the man and woman into her palm. “But they look so pleased with themselves, trapped forever in that moment of anticipation. It's hard to imagine some stoic samurai with something like this dangling from his obi.”

Finley merely smiled. “And yet that's precisely how I like to imagine it. Worn by a warlord, into bed and into battle. One of the Tokugawa family, perhaps. I enjoy giving a history to each of my possessions.” He replaced the figure. “Shall I give you the tour before dinner?”

“Yes, please.” Agreeably, she slipped a hand through his arm.

He was knowledgeable, erudite and entertaining, Dora thought. Why, before an hour was up, she was violently uncomfortable she couldn't have said.

He took a greedy delight in all that he'd acquired, yet she understood greed. He was unfailingly correct in his manner toward her, yet she felt increasingly as though she were being subtly violated. It took all of her skill and control to play out her prescribed role as they moved from room to room. By the time they were nearly finished, she'd begun
to understand that one could have too much of even the beautiful and precious.

“This is the pin I mentioned earlier.” Excited by the fact that he was showing her each and every one of the smuggled items, Finley offered her the sapphire brooch. “The stone is, of course, magnificent, but the workmanship of the setting, and again, the history, add intrigue.”

“It's beautiful.” It was, the gleaming blue eye winking up at her from its bed of delicate gold filigree and fiery diamonds, both beautiful and tragic. Tragic, she realized, because it would be forever behind glass, never again to grace a woman's silks or make her smile when she adorned herself with it.

Perhaps that was the difference between them. She passed her treasures on, gave them a new life. Finley locked his away.

“It was said to belong to a queen,” Finley told her, waiting, watching her face for a sign of recognition. “Mary, Queen of Scots. I often wonder if she wore it when she was arrested for treason.”

“I'd rather think of her wearing it when she was riding across the moors.”

“And this.” He chose the etui. “This belonged to another queen with a sad fate. Napoleon gave it to Josephine. Before he divorced her for being barren.”

“You give your treasures a sad history, Edmund.”

“I find poignancy increases their meaning for me. The trinkets of the rich and the royal, now a part of the collection of a commoner. Shall we dine?”

There was lobster bisque and Peking duck so delicate it all but melted on the tongue. The meal was served on Limoges and eaten with Georgian silver. Dom Perignon was poured into antique Waterford that glittered like crystal tears.

“Tell me about your shop,” Finley invited. “It must be exciting for you to buy and sell every day, to handle lovely things time and again.”

“I do love it.” Dora fought to relax and enjoy the meal. “I'm afraid most of what I have falls far below your collections. What I stock is a mixture of antiques and estate items, along with . . .” Junk—she all but heard Jed's sneering and comforting voice. “Novelty items,” she said a bit primly. “I love the foolish as well as the beautiful.”

“And, like myself, you appreciate the having, the control. There's something innately satisfying about making your own business out of something you love. Not everyone has the opportunity, or the courage, to make it a success. I believe, Isadora, that you have a great deal of courage.”

Her stomach fluttered, but she managed to swallow the bite of duck. “My family considers it stubbornness. I hate to confess, but I frighten very easily.”

“You underestimate yourself. After all, you came here, to me.” He smiled, watching her over the rim of his glass with eyes as sharp as carved jade. “For all you knew, DiCarlo might have been acting on my orders. After all, he is—was—an employee.”

When she went pale and set down her fork with a rattle, he laughed, patted her hand. “Now I have frightened you. I apologize. It was merely said to illustrate my point. What sense would it make for me to have DiCarlo break into your shop and steal a few trinkets when I could so easily acquire them myself?”

“I doubt I'd have very much you'd find interesting.”

“Oh, I disagree.” He smiled and signaled for dessert. “I believe I'd find a great deal of what you have to offer of interest. Tell me,” he said, “do you ever come across any Grueby?”

“I once had a statue of a boy—badly chipped, I'm afraid.” She fisted and unfisted her hands in her lap as the creamy chocolate soufflé was served. “I noticed your vase in the library. It's lovely.”

She relaxed into the discussion of pottery, and began to believe that she'd imagined he'd been baiting her.

Later, they had coffee and brandy before a sedate fire in
the drawing room. The conversation was easy again, like that of old friends. All the while Dora's nerves drummed. She'd never wanted to escape so badly in her life.

“I'm sorry you can't extend your visit.” Finley passed a small porcelain nude from hand to hand.

“Running a business doesn't give one as much flexible time as some people think. I'm sure you'd understand.”

“Yes, indeed. There are times when I feel a prisoner of my own success. Do you?” He skimmed a fingertip over the nude's glossy breast. “Feel trapped?”

“No.” But she couldn't shake the sensation that the walls of the room were shrinking in on her. “You must have marvelous contacts.” Again she scanned the room. She couldn't watch the way he was fondling the nude. “Do you do much of the traveling and acquiring?”

“Not as much as I'd like. Over the years I've had to delegate that pleasure. But I take the occasional trip to the Orient, or Europe. I even get to the east coast from time to time.”

“I hope you'll let me return your hospitality if you're ever in Philadelphia.”

“I wouldn't think of taking the trip without paying you a call.”

“Then I hope you find the time to come east soon. It was a wonderful meal, Edmund, a delightful evening.” She rose to play her final scene, the contented guest taking a reluctant leave.

“Believe me, it was my pleasure.” He stood, took her hand and kissed it gallantly at the knuckles. “I'd be happy to arrange for my car to take you to the airport tomorrow.”

“That's so nice.” It made her feel ashamed of the urge she had to rub her hand clean on her jacket. “But I've already arranged transportation. Please, call me if you—if there's any news about DiCarlo.”

“I will. I have a feeling it will all be sorted out very soon.”

* * *

When she returned to the Beverly Hills Hotel, Dora waited until the limo had driven away, then simply stood on the sidewalk breathing slowly and waiting to calm. She didn't want to face Jed until she had herself under control.

She felt idiotic to be shaken. Though she knew she would have to tell him how the evening had affected her, she wanted to be cool and precise when she did so.

Then she saw the dark sedan pull up across the street. And the man with the gray suit.

On a skidder of panic she bolted into the lobby.

Jumping at shadows, Conroy, she berated herself while her heartbeat roared in her ears. Chin up, she punched the button for the elevator. It was just jet lag. It helped a great deal to believe it. She was overtired and overstressed. Once she'd gotten through relaying everything to Jed, she'd get a good night's sleep and be fine again.

By the time she'd ridden up to her floor and slipped the key into the lock, she had herself back in line. She was even able to smile when she walked in and saw Jed scowling out of the window.

“Ah, you waited up for me.”

“You're always good for a laugh, Conroy. You really ought to—” He broke off after he'd turned and gotten a look at her. He hadn't known anyone could appear so exhausted and still stand on both feet.

“What?” Such were her nerves that she groped at her throat and stepped back. “What is it?”

“Nothing. My mind was wandering. Have a seat.”

“I'd just as soon get out of this dress first.” Habit had her going to the closet for a hanger.

“Let me give you a hand.” He tugged down the zipper for her. Casually, he gave her shoulders a quick massage and found them, as he'd suspected, knotted with tension. “You want a nightgown or something?”

“Or something.” She sat tiredly on the edge of the bed to remove her hose. “You had something for dinner, didn't you?”

“I'm a big boy now, Conroy.” He unhooked the black strapless bra, tossed it aside, then slipped the thin nightshirt over her head.

“We had duck.”

“Beats the hell out of my cheeseburger.”

“It was excellent. The house—really, you should see it. It's immense, with all these lofty rooms leading into other lofty rooms. I've never seen so many museum-quality pieces in one place.”

When her eyes began to droop, she shook her head. “I need to wash my face. You should see if you can get some kind of financial report on E. F., Incorporated.” In the bathroom she ran the water cold, scooping it up with both hands to splash on her face. “The butler served coffee out of a Meissen worth ten, twelve thousand.” She yawned and splashed more water. “And a paperweight in the library—an Alméric Walter. I watched one go at Christie's a couple of years ago for fifteen big ones. Plus this—”

“I don't want an inventory.”

“Sorry.” After choosing a tube from the bathroom counter, she began creaming off her makeup. “I've never seen a collection to compare with it. Never heard of one to compare with it. You can't even call it a collection, really. It's more of a private little empire.” Dutifully, she dabbed on moisturizer. “And there was something odd about the way he showed it to me.”

“In what way?”

“Like he was waiting for me to do something, say something.” She shook her head. “I don't know. I can't explain exactly, but the atmosphere was different than it had been in his office.” Her eyes met his in the mirror. There were faint bruises of fatigue under hers and a fragility to her skin now that it was without the shield of cosmetics. “He spooked me, Jed. He was a perfect gentleman, a perfect host. And being alone with him terrified me.”

“Tell me.” He combed a hand through her hair. “It doesn't have to make sense.”

Relieved, she nodded and walked back in to sit on the side of the bed. “He took me all through the house,” she began. “And like I said, there was something off about the way he showed off his pieces. A handful of them in particular. I could feel him watching me when I looked at them, and it was . . . it was like watching someone masturbate. I kept telling myself I was imagining it because he was being so charming. We had dinner, this elegant dinner in this elegant room on elegant china. And we discussed art and music, and so forth. He never touched me in a way that wasn't perfectly correct, but . . .”