Hidden Riches (34 page)

She laughed a little. “I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't say I was being an overimaginative female when I tell you this, because that's exactly how I feel. But I felt as though he was seeing me naked. We're spooning up this incredibly delicate soufflé with Georgian silver and I felt as though he could see right through my dress. I have no explanation for it, just that unshakable and very creepy feeling.”

“Maybe he was thinking of you that way. Men do, even elegant ones.”

She could only shake her head. “No, it wasn't like that—not really sexual on either side. It was more like being defenseless.”

“You were alone.”

“Not really—or not often. He has an army of servants. I wasn't really afraid that he'd hurt me. I was afraid he wanted to. And there was that business in the bathroom.”

“He took you into the bathroom?”

“No. I went into the powder room after dinner. I was freshening my makeup, and I kept feeling like he was right there, watching over my shoulder.”

She blew out a breath, grateful that Jed didn't snort and tell her she was being a fool. “I honestly didn't think he had anything to do with this whole business after I'd left his office this afternoon. And now, I don't know what to think. I do know that I wouldn't want to go back into that house
even if he offered me my pick of his pomanders. Which, I might add, were wonderful.”

“You don't have to go back. We'll see if the IRS wants to poke a few fingers into Finley's pie.”

“Good.” There was a throbbing over her left eye she couldn't quite rub away. “You might see what you can find out about a sapphire brooch—possibly sixteenth-century. The stone looked to be about eight carats in a horizontal setting of gold filigree with some small, round-cut diamonds. He made a real issue of showing it to me.”

“Fine. You did good.”

“Yeah.” She gave him a sleepy smile. “Do I get a detective's gold star?”

“That's gold shield, Nancy. And no. You're retiring.”

“Good.”

“You want something for that headache?”

She stopped rubbing her temple long enough to grimace. “Morphine, but I didn't bring any along. I do have something less effective in my makeup bag.”

“I'll get it. Stretch out.”

She took him up on it without bothering to crawl under the sheets. “I forgot. I saw this guy in a dark sedan—God, that sounds like a Charlie Chan movie. Anyway, I saw him pull out after the limo when we left. Then he drove up a few minutes after I got back. I don't know why Finley would have me followed to and from his house though.”

“He didn't. I did. Where the hell do you keep pills? You've got all these little bottles.”

“The pills aren't in a bottle, they're in a box. What we call a pillbox in the trade.”

“Smartass.”

“The little one with the enameled violets. What do you mean you had me followed?”

“I've had you tailed all day. Local PI.”

She was smiling when he walked out with the pills. “Almost as good as flowers,” she murmured. “You hired a bodyguard for me.”

“I hired him for me,” he said lightly.

After pillowing her head on her folded arms, she shut her eyes.

Straddling her, he began to rub her neck and shoulders. “Relax, Conroy, you don't get rid of a stress headache by tensing up.”

But his fingers were already working their magic. “Jed?” Her voice was a thick murmur, hardly audible.

“Yeah.”

“Mirrors. I forgot. He has dozens of them. You couldn't walk into a room without seeing yourself coming and going.”

“So he's vain.”

“I've got a cheval glass I could probably sell him.”

“Shut up, Conroy. You're off the clock.”

“Okay, but I don't think he just likes to watch himself. I think he likes to watch.”

“Okay. He's a vain pervert.” He ran the heels of his hands down the sides of her spine.

“I know. That doesn't make him a smuggler. I wish . . .”

“Wish what?”

But whatever she wished, it would remain unsaid. She was asleep.

Quietly, he turned down the covers and, lifting her, slipped her between the sheets. She never stirred. Jed studied her a moment before he turned off the lights, got in bed beside her. After a little while, he gathered her close to hold her while he joined her in sleep.

 

Because his arms were around her, her first shudders awakened him. Instinctively he tightened his grip, his hand soothing at her neck.

“Hey. Hey, Dora, come on. Pull out of it.” He heard her gasping gulp of air, and her body trembled hard as she broke through the surface of the dream. “Bad one, huh?” he murmured.

She responded by pressing her face to his chest. “Can you reach the light? I need the light.”

“Sure.” Keeping an arm firm around her, he shifted to grope for the switch. The light flashed, cutting through the unrelieved dark. “Better?”

“Yeah.” But she continued to shiver.

“Want some water?”

“No.” The instant panic in the word had her biting down on her lip. “Just stay right here, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And don't let go.”

“I won't.”

And because he didn't, her fluttering heart began to settle again. “That was the first nightmare I've had since I reread Stephen King's
The Shining.
”

“Scary book.” Though his eyes were far from calm, the kiss he brushed over her hair was light and easy. “Too bad about the movie.”

“Yeah.” Her laugh was shaky, but it was a laugh. “I didn't know you went in for horror stuff, Skimmerhorn.”

“It relieves tension. It's tough to worry about life's little problems when you're reading about kiddie vampires or the walking dead.”

“I've always been a sucker for the walking dead.” Because he didn't ask, didn't press, she found herself able to tell him. “I was in that house, Finley's house all those rooms and mirrors. All those things, those beautiful things. Did you ever read
Something Wicked?
”

“Bradbury. Sure.”

“In the carnival, that house of mirrors? Remember, if you bought a ticket, they promised you you'd find what you wanted inside. But it was a very nasty trick. That's what it was like. I wanted to see all those beautiful things. Then I couldn't get out. DiCarlo was in there, too, and Finley. Every time I turned, one of them was there, reflected all around me. I kept running into walls of glass.” Taking
comfort in the heat of Jed's body, the press of muscle, she cuddled closer. “I feel like a jerk.”

“You shouldn't. I've had some beauts.”

“You have?” Intrigued, she tilted her head to study his face. “Really?”

“My rookie year I responded to a ‘shots fired.' I was lucky enough to be first on the scene of a murder-suicide.” He didn't add that what was left of a human head after a shotgun blast was not a pretty sight. “My subconscious pulled that little scene out on me in the middle of the night for weeks after. And after Elaine . . .” He hesitated, then continued. “I kept reliving that. Running across the lawn, through the roses. Watching her turn her head to look at me. The sound of the blast when she turned the key. I'll take the kiddie vampires any day.”

“Yeah. Me too.” They lay for a moment in silence. “Jed?”

“Hmmm?”

“You want to see if there's an old horror movie on TV?”

“Conroy, it's nearly six in the morning.”

“It's too dark to be nearly six in the morning.”

“The drapes are closed.”

“Oh.”

“Tell you what.” He shifted, rolling on top of her and catching her chin between his teeth. “Why don't I show you something really scary?”

She chuckled, and slipped her arms around his neck just as the phone shrilled beside them. Her heart shot to her throat and pushed out a shriek.

“Hold that thought,” he murmured, then lifted the receiver. “Skimmerhorn.”

“Jed. Sorry to wake you.” But the edge of excitement in Brent's voice had nothing to do with apology. “I've got something you might want to check out.”

“Yeah?” Automatically Jed rolled over and picked up the pen from the nightstand.

“I just picked up a fax from the sheriff's department out
there. A couple of hikers stumbled over a body a few days ago wedged in a shallow ravine in the hills. There was enough left for a couple of prints. We can stop looking for DiCarlo. He's real dead.”

“How long?”

“They're having a tough time pinpointing it, given the exposure and the wildlife. Sometime around the first of the year. Since you're out there, I figured you might want to talk to the coroner, the investigating officers.”

“Give me the names.” Jed wrote down the information.

“I'm going to fax them back as soon as I hang up with you,” Brent continued. “Tell them that you were on a related investigation out there. They'll be ready for you.”

“Thanks. I'll be in touch.”

Dora was sitting up in bed, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, studying Jed when he hung up the phone. “You've got cop all over your face. It's an interesting metamorphosis to witness.”

“Why don't you order up some breakfast?” He was already out of bed and on his way to the shower. “We're going to have to take a later flight.”

“All right.” She heard the water start. Her jaw clenched. Tossing back the covers, she marched into the bathroom, yanked back the shower curtain. “It's not enough to give orders, Captain. Some of us recruits require minimal information.”

“I've got something to check on.” He scooped up the soap. “In or out, Conroy, you're getting water all over the floor.”

“What do you have to check on?”

He decided the issue himself by reaching out and tugging the nightshirt over her head. She didn't object when he lifted her up and into the tub with him. Saying nothing, she adjusted the hot water so that it wouldn't blister the skin. She dragged the wet hair out of her eyes. “What do you have to check on?” she repeated.

“DiCarlo,” he said flatly. “They've found him.”

S
heriff Curtis Dearborne harbored an innate distrust of outsiders. Since he considered any member of the LAPD an outsider, an East Coast cop was an entity to be watched with extra care.

He was a towering, well-muscled man who wore his uniform proudly starched, kept his sandy moustache well trimmed and lightly waxed, and spit-polished his boots. Beneath his military sense of polish and style lurked a well of country-boy charm that he used cleverly and with great success.

He rose from his desk when Jed and Dora entered. His square, handsome face was set in serious lines, his handshake was dry and firm.

“Captain Skimmerhorn. Pretty handy you being out our way when we identify the John Doe.”

Jed summed up his man instantly. Dearborne was going
to be territorial. Jed's first move was to acknowledge Dearborne's authority.

“I appreciate your passing on the information, Sheriff. I'm 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.”