Hidden Riches

the bedside, spoke quietly.
    Dora could see the pale blue veins in the eyelids when they fluttered. The monitor continued its monotonous beep as Mrs. Lyle struggled to focus.
    “Yes?” Her voice was weak, and rough, as if her vocal cords had been sandpapered while she slept.
    “I’m Lieutenant Chapman. Do you feel able to answer a few questions?”
    “Yes.”
    Dora watched Mrs. Lyle try to swallow. Automatically she moved forward to pick up the cup of water and slip the straw between the dry lips.
    “Thank you.” Her voice was a shade stronger. She focused on Dora and smiled. “Miss Conroy. How nice of you to visit.”
    Jed’s order was easily forgotten. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She reached down to close her fingers gently over Mrs. Lyle’s frail hand. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
    “They told me Muriel is dead.” The tired eyes filled slowly, the aftermath of a storm already spent. “She was very dear to me.”
    Guilt was like a wave battering against the wall of Dora’s composure. She could stand against it, but she couldn’t ignore it. “I’m so sorry. The police hope you’ll be able to help them find the man who did this.” She pulled a Kleenex out of the box beside the bed and gently dried Mrs. Lyle’s cheeks.
    “I want to help.” Firming her lips, she looked back at Brent. “I didn’t see him, Lieutenant. I didn’t see anyone. I was . . . watching a movie on television, and I thought I heard Muriel—” She broke off then and her fingers shiftedin Dora’s for comfort. “I thought I heard her come in behind me. Then there was this horrible pain, as if something had exploded in my head.”
    “Mrs. Lyle,” Brent began, “do you remember buying a china dog from Miss Conroy the day before you were attacked?”
    “Yes, for Sharon’s baby. A doorstop,” she said, and turned her head toward Dora again. “I’m worried that Sharon’s not getting enough rest. This stress—”
    “She’s fine,” Dora assured her.
    “Mrs. Lyle.” Jed stepped forward. “Do you remember anything else about the statue?”
    “No.” Though she tried to concentrate, memories drifted through like clouds. “It was rather sweet. A watchdog, I thought, for the baby. Is that what he wanted?” Her hand moved restlessly again. “Is that what he wanted? The little dog? I thought—I thought I heard him shouting for the dog. But that couldn’t be.”
    Jed leaned forward so that her eyes would focus on his. There was panic in hers, but he had to press, just a little further. “What did you think you heard him shouting, Mrs. Lyle?”
    “ ‘Where’s the dog?’ And he swore. I was lying there, and I couldn’t move. I thought I’d had a stroke and was dreaming. There was crashing and shouting, shouting over and over about a dog. And then there was nothing.” She closed her eyes again, exhausted. “Surely he didn’t murder Muriel for a little china dog.”
     
    “But he did, didn’t he?” Dora asked when they stood together at the elevators.
    “Not much doubt of it.” Brent worried his glasses, stuck his hands in his pockets. “But that’s not the end of it. The bullet that killed Muriel came from the same gun that killed Trainor.” He looked at Jed. “Matched the ones we dug out of the plaster at the shop.”
    “So he came back for something else.” Calculating, Jedstepped into the elevator. “The dog wasn’t it—or wasn’t all of it. Whatever it is.”
    “But the piece wasn’t valuable or unique,” Dora murmured. “It wasn’t even marked. I only bid on it because it was cute.”
    “You bought it at an auction.” Slowly, Jed turned the possibilities over in his mind. “Where?”
    “In Virginia. Lea and I went on a buying trip. You remember. I got back the day you moved in.”
    “And the next day you sold the dog.” He took her arm to pull her out of the elevator when they reached the lobby. “There was a break-in at the shop, Mrs. Lyle was attacked, then another break-in. What else did you buy, Dora?”
    “At the auction. A lot of things.” She dragged her hand through her hair, leaving her coat unbuttoned to the cold as she stepped outside between the two men. The brisk air helped blow away some of the sickly scent of hospital. “I have a list at the shop.”
    “Don’t they have lots at auctions?” Brent asked. “Or groups of merchandise that come from the same place or the same seller?”
    “Sure. Sometimes you buy a trunk full of junk just