Hidden Riches

  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 . . .”

  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 roo
m 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.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sheriff 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