Hidden Riches

air. He counted the laps himself, gaining arrogance and satisfaction with each turn.
    The pool was his, and his alone. Finley allowed no servant, no companion, no guest, to sully his waters.
    Once, when he had been entertaining, a tipsy acquaintance had tumbled in. The following day Finley had had the pool drained, scrubbed out and refilled. Needless to say, hishapless guest had never been invited back.
    Now, he rose in the water, enjoying the sensation of having the water slice off his skin. Gooseflesh popped out over his body as he strode up the wide, curving steps, onto the terra-cotta skirt and into the snowy-white robe his butler held for him.
    “Time?” he said, rubbing down briskly.
    “Twelve minutes, eighteen seconds, sir.”
    The butler always stopped the clock at precisely that time. Once, he made the mistake of timing Finley at a bit over thirteen minutes. An ugly scene had followed, during which the man had nearly lost his well-paying job. Finley never went over twelve-eighteen again.
    “Excellent.” Smugly satisfied, Finley accepted his vitamin drink, a concoction created especially for him by his personal trainer. Even served in a Waterford tumbler, the thick, nasty-looking mixture of herbs, vegetables and Chinese roots tasted foul. Finley drank it quickly, as though it were the fresh, clear water of the Fountain of Youth. He’d convinced himself it was exactly that.
    Finley dismissed the butler by handing him back both the damp towel and the empty glass.
    Now that the first part of his morning ritual was behind him, Finley allowed himself to consider the problem of Isadora Conroy. It was not an altogether unpleasant problem, he mused. One couldn’t become overly disgruntled at the prospect of dealing with a young, beautiful woman. He strode in through the French doors of the parlor as he reflected on the possibilities.
    Secure in his power, Finley showered and groomed and dressed. He enjoyed a pleasant breakfast of fresh fruit, whole-wheat toast and herbal tea on the patio a few feet from where he had gut-shot DiCarlo. All the while he considered Isadora. When the solution came to him, he smiled, even chuckled softly, and blotted his lips.
    It would work, he decided. And if it didn’t—well then, he would simply kill her.
    * * *
    Dora was trying not to be annoyed. It was too predictable a reaction, she told herself, much too typical. Any woman would be annoyed if she awakened alone in bed without a clue as to where her lover had gone, or when he might be returning.
    She wasn’t any woman, Dora reminded herself. And she wasn’t going to be annoyed—she wasn’t even going to be mildly miffed. They were each free to come and go as they pleased. She wouldn’t even ask him where the hell he’d been.
    But when she heard the knock on the door, she tugged down the hem of her oversized sweatshirt, lifted her chin and marched into the living room.
    “Okay, Skimmerhorn, you pig,” she muttered. “This better be good.”
    She yanked open the door, searing words ready to leap off her tongue. She had to swallow them back when she stood face-to-face with Honoria Skimmerhorn Rodgers.
    “Oh.” Dora pushed at the hair she’d bundled untidily on top of her head. “Mrs. Rodgers. Hello.”
    “Good morning, Dora.” Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Honoria reveal her amusement in watching the changes in Dora’s expressive face. The fury, the shock, the embarrassment. “Have I caught you at an awkward time?”
    “No. No. I was just . . .” Dora swallowed a nervous giggle and smiled. “If you’re looking for Jed, he doesn’t seem to be around.”
    “Actually, I was hoping for a word with you. May I come in?”
    “Of course.” Dora stepped back, miserably regretting that she hadn’t opened the shop that day and therefore hadn’t dressed for work. She felt like a used dust rag in her Steelers sweatshirt and bare feet while Honoria swept in smelling of Paris and wrapped in a luxurious fur jacket.
    “How charming!” The sincerity in Honoria’s voice did a great deal to put Dora back on keel. “How utterlycharming.” Her appreciative gaze roamed the room while she tugged off her gloves. “I must confess, I often wondered about these apartments over shops on South Street. It’s quite large, isn’t it?”
    “I need a lot of room. May I take your coat?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    As Dora hung up the mink, Honoria continued to wander the room. “I peeked in your shop window