Hidden Riches

stump with arms. Her sallow face was set in permanent annoyance.
    “What you want?”
    “We’ll have tea, Carlotta,” Trixie instructed, her voice suddenly very grande dame. “Oolong, I believe.”
    Carlotta’s beady black eyes scanned the group. “They staying for lunch?” she demanded in her harsh and somehow exotic voice.
    “No,” Dora said.
    “Yes,” her mother said simultaneously. “Set for four, if you please.”
    Carlotta lifted her squared-off chin. “Then they eat tuna fish. That’s what I fixed; that’s what they eat.”
    “I’m sure that will be delightful.” Trixie waggled her fingers in dismissal.
    “She’s just plain ornery,” Dora muttered as she sat on the arm of Jed’s chair. It was unlikely they would escape without tea and tuna fish, but at least she could focus her mother on the matter at hand. “The painting? I thought you were going to hang it in here.”
    “I did, but it simply didn’t work. Too frenzied,” she explained to Jed, whom she now considered an expert on the subject. “One does like to let the mind rest in one’s drawing room. We put it in Quentin’s den. He thought it might energize him.”
    “I’ll get it.”
    “An extraordinary girl, our Isadora,” Trixie said when Dora was out of earshot. She smiled at Jed, but didn’t quite disguise the gleam of calculation in her eyes. “So bright and ambitious. Strong-minded, of course, which only means she requires an equally strong-minded man to complement her. I believe a woman who can run her own business will run a home and family with equal success. Don’t you, dear?”
    Any response could spring the trap. “I imagine she could do whatever she set out to do.”
    “No doubt about it. Your wife is a professional woman, isn’t she, Brent? And a mother of three.”
    “That’s right.” Since Jed was clearly on the hot seat, Brent grinned. “It takes a team effort to keep all theballs in the air, but we like it.”
    “And a single man, after a certain age . . .” Trixie aimed a telling look at Jed, who barely resisted the urge to squirm. “He benefits from that teamwork. The companionship of a woman, the solace of family. Have you ever been married, Jed?”
    “No.” Jed’s eyes sharpened when Dora walked back in, carrying the painting.
    “Mom, I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ll have to eat lunch alone. I called in to the shop to let them know I’d be delayed getting back. There’s a little problem I need to see to. I’ll have to leave right away.”
    “Oh, but darling . . .”
    “We’ll do lunch soon.” She bent to kiss Trixie’s cheek. “I think I have something Dad might like better for his den. One of you drop by and we’ll see.”
    “Very well.” With a resigned sigh, Trixie set down her cup and rose. “If you must go, you must. But I’ll have Carlotta pack up lunch for you.”
    “You don’t—”
    Trixie patted Dora’s cheek. “I insist. It’ll just take a moment.”
    She hurried off, leaving Dora sighing.
    “Very smooth, Conroy.” Jed took the painting from her to examine it himself.
    “Speaking of smooth.” She turned back, smiling curiously. “Amorphous shapes?”
    “I dated an artist for a while. You pick stuff up.”
    “It should be interesting to see what you’ve picked up from me.”
     
    “I don’t even like tuna fish.” But Dora bit into the sandwich nonetheless while Jed finished removing the frame from the canvas.
    “I like the way she chopped up hardboiled eggs and pickles.” Brent polished off his second sandwich with a sigh of satisfaction.
    They’d chosen to work in Dora’s apartment rather than the storeroom because there was both room and privacy. No one had mentioned the fact that Brent hadn’t insisted on taking the painting or the information he’d gathered to his superior.
    It was an unspoken fact that Brent still considered Jed his captain.
    “Nothing in the frame.” Still, Jed set it carefully aside. “Nothing to the frame, for that matter. We’ll let the lab boys take a look.”
    “Can’t be the painting itself.” Dora washed down tuna with Diet Pepsi. “The artist is an unknown—I checked the day after I bought it in case I’d happened across some overlooked masterpiece.”
    Thoughtfully, Jed turned the painting over. “The canvas is stretched over plywood. Get me something to pry this off with, Conroy.”
    “You think there might be something inside?” She spoke from the kitchen, rummaging through drawers.