From the Heart

remarried?”
    “Yes, it’s been wonderful for her. After my father died, she was so lost. We both were,” she murmured. And after nearlyfive years, she mused, there was still an ache. It was dull with time, but it was still there.
    “There’s nothing harder than to lose someone you loved and lived with and depended on. Especially when you think that person is indestructible; then he’s taken away with no warning.”
    Her voice had thickened, touching off a chord of response in him. “I know,” he answered before he thought.
    Her eyes came up and fixed on his. “Do you?”
    He didn’t like the emotion she stirred up in him. “My father was a cop,” he answered curtly. “He was killed in action five years ago.”
    “Oh, Slade.” Jessica reached for his hand. “How terrible—how terrible for your mother.”
    “Wives of cops learn to live with the risk.” He moved his hand back to his beer.
    Sensing withdrawal, Jessica said nothing. He wasn’t a man to share emotion of any kind easily. She rose, stacking plates. “Do you want something else? I imagine there’re cookies stashed around here somewhere.”
    She wouldn’t probe, he realized, wouldn’t eulogize. She’d offered him her sympathy, then had backed off when she’d seen that it wasn’t wanted. Slade sighed. It was difficult enough to deal with his attraction to her without starting to like her as well.
    “No.” He rose to help her clear the table.
    When they entered the shop, Jessica went straight to the door to snap up the shade on the glass. Slade whirled sharply as he heard her quick cry of alarm. It was immediately followed by a laugh. “Mr. Layton.” Jessica flipped the lock to admit him. “You scared the wits out of me.”
    He was tall, well dressed, and fiftyish. His bankerish suit was offset by a gray silk tie the same color as his hair. The rather thin, stern face lightened with a smile as he took Jessica’s hand. “Sorry, dear, but then, you did the same to me.” Glancing past her, he gave Slade an inquiring look.
    “This is James Sladerman, Mr. Layton. He’s staying with us for a while. David’s been ill.”
    “Oh, nothing serious, I hope.”
    “Just the flu,” Jessica told him. “But a heavy dose of it.”She gave him a sudden shrewd smile. “You always manage to pop in on me when I’ve just gotten in a shipment. I’ve just managed to get this one arranged, and another’s on its way.”
    He chuckled, a hoarse sound due to his fondness for Cuban cigars. “It’s more your predictability than chance, Miss Winslow. Your Michael’s been in Europe for three weeks. I’d asked him to keep an eye out for a piece or two for me before he left.”
    “Oh, well—” The jingle of the door interrupted her. “Mr. Chambers, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
    Chambers gave her a rather sheepish smile as he removed his hat. “The box with the pearl inlay,” he began. “I can’t resist it.”
    “Go on ahead, my dear.” Layton gave Jessica’s shoulder a pat. “I’ll just browse for the moment.”
    Pretending an interest in a collection of pewter, Slade watched both men. Layton browsed, lingering here and there to examine a piece. Once he drew out a pair of half glasses and crouched down to study the carving on a table. Slade could hear Jessica’s quiet voice as she discussed a snuffbox with Chambers. He choked back a snort of derision at the idea of a rational man buying anything as ridiculous as a snuffbox. After telling Jessica to wrap the box, Chambers turned to fuss over a curio cabinet.
    It was a simple matter for Slade to mentally note both men’s descriptions and names. Later he would commit them to paper and call them in. Whoever they were, they appeared to have at least a basic knowledge of antiques—at least from what he could glean from their conversation as they both discussed the cabinet. Wandering to the counter, Slade glanced down at the ticket Jessica was writing up. Her handwriting was neat, feminine, and legible.
    One eighteenth-century snuffbox. French with pearl inlay.
    It was the price that had him doing a double take. “Are you kidding?” he asked aloud.
    “Ssh!” She glanced over at her customers, saw that they were occupied, then sent Slade a wicked grin. “Don’t you have any vices, Slade?”
    “Immoral, not insane,” he retorted, but the grin had appealed to him. He leaned a bit closer. “Do you?”
    She let the look hold, enjoying the easy humor in his eyes. It was the