Hidden Riches

see her tonight,” Jed said after a moment. “I can probably pull some strings tomorrow.”
    “I don’t think you’d have to. I’d only have to ask Sharon—the niece.” Dora kept her eyes straight ahead and tried not to resent the absence of concern in his voice. “But I won’t do it unless I’m sure she’s up to it. I won’t let her be interrogated after what she’s been through.”
    Tires spat out gravel when he turned into the lot. “Do I look like the gestapo, Conroy? You figure I’ll shine a light in her eyes and find ways of making her talk?”
    Saying nothing, she snapped down the door handle and climbed out. He reached the steps before her and blocked the way.
    “Dora.” Searching for patience, he took her hands. They were icy and stiff. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m not in the habit of badgering hospitalized old ladies for information.” He looked down at her face. He didn’t like to ask.He didn’t like to need. But he found he had no choice. “Trust me.”
    “I do.” Watching his face, she linked her fingers with his. “Completely. This whole thing has shaken me up some, that’s all. I’ll get in touch with Sharon first thing in the morning.”
    “Good.” A bit shaken himself, he lowered his head to kiss her. No, he didn’t like to ask. He didn’t like to need. But he did. “Stay with me tonight.”
    The worry cleared from her eyes. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

CHAPTER
NINETEEN
    D ora had never considered herself phobic about hospitals. She was young and healthy and hadn’t spent a great deal of time in one, and never as a patient. When she thought of hospitals at all, she thought of babies in the nursery, bouquets of flowers and the brisk efficiency of the nursing staff striding down the corridors in crepe-soled shoes.
    Yet standing outside the Critical Care Unit waiting to speak with Mrs. Lyle, she felt as if a stone were lodged in her chest. Too quiet, she thought. It was much too quiet, with death patiently lurking behind glass doors and thin curtains, waiting to choose. She could hear the muffled beats and hums from machines and monitors, like grumbling old women complaining about aches and pains. From somewhere down the corridor came the pathetic sound of low and steady weeping.
    All at once she wanted a cigarette, with a razor-sharp craving.
    Sharon stepped through the swinging doors. Though she looked strained, her lips curved into a smile when she saw Dora. “She’s lucid. I can’t tell you how good it felt to talk to her, really talk to her.”
    “I’m glad.” Battered with both guilt and relief, Dora took Sharon’s hand in both of hers. “Sharon, this is Captain Skimmerhorn and Lieutenant Chapman.”
    “Hello. Dora told me you want to talk to Aunt Alice.”
    “We’ve cleared it with her doctor,” Brent said. “And we appreciate your cooperation.”
    Sharon’s mouth thinned into a hard, bloodless line. “Whatever I can do to help you find the person who did this to my aunt. She’s expecting you.”
    Jed read the concern in the way Sharon looked back toward the doors. “We won’t tire her.”
    “I know.” Her hand fluttered up, then came to rest on the child in her womb. There was family to protect. And there was family to avenge. “Dora said you’d be careful. You’ll let me know, won’t you, if you learn anything?”
    “Of course they will.” Dora steered her toward a bench. “In the meantime, you sit down. Get off your feet. Try to relax.”
    “We’ve only got fifteen minutes with her,” Jed said quietly when Dora returned. “Let’s make it count. You,” he added with a nod toward Dora. “Do nothing, say nothing unless you get the go-ahead.”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    Ignoring her, he turned to Brent. “She shouldn’t be going in at all.”
    “She’s seen the statue, we haven’t. Let’s see if it means anything.” He led the way through the doors, past the nurses’ station and into one of the small, curtained rooms.
    Dora was grateful she’d been ordered to silence. She couldn’t trust her voice. The woman she remembered as elegant and enthusiastic lay on the narrow bed, her eyesclosed and shadowed with dingy bruises. The formerly deeply black hair was dulled, and gray was beginning to show at the roots, and her skin was sallow against the startlingly white bandages. Her face was drawn, the cheekbones jutting up sharply against skin that looked thin enough to tear at a touch.
    “Mrs. Lyle.” Brent stood at