Hidden Riches

painting and had to take it back.” Lea gave up on willpower and chose a frosted cookie. “She’s thinking about buying it for Dad for Valentine’s Day. Seems he really took a shine to it.”
    “Oh . . . I, ah, sold it.” At least that was true, she reminded herself. She still had Jed’s $80 tucked in her jewelry box like love letters.
    “Are you okay?” Lea’s keen eyes scanned Dora’s face. “You look a little flustered.”
    “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just getting back in the swing. Actually, I’m a little scattered. I may have to go to LA for a couple of days.”
    “What for?”
    “There’s an import business out there that I may want to cultivate. I don’t want to close the shop again.” No reason to, she assured herself. Since Brent was still pulling strings to ensure police protection.
    “Don’t worry about it. Terri and I can keep things going.” The phone on the counter rang twice. Lea raised a brow. “Want me to get that?”
    “No.” Dora shook off the guilt and lifted the receiver that was an inch away from her hand. “Good afternoon, Dora’s Parlor.”
    “I’d like to speak to Miss Isadora Conroy, please.”
    “Speaking.”
    “Miss Conroy.” From his desk in Los Angeles, Winesap turned to his meticulously rehearsed notes. “This is, ah, Francis Petroy.”
    “Yes, Mr. Petroy,” Dora said as Lea turned to greet a customer.
    “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I was given your name and number by a Mrs. Helen Owings of Front Royal, Virginia.”
    “Yes.” Dora’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “What can I do for you?”
    “I hope it’s what we can do for each other.” Winesap read the words “genial chuckle” in his notes and did his best imitation of one. “It concerns a painting you bought at auction in December. A Billingsly.”
    All moisture evaporated in her mouth. “Yes, I know the piece. An abstract.”
    “Exactly. As it happens, I’m a collector of abstract work. I specialize in unknown and emerging artists—in a regretfully small way, you understand.”
    “Of course.”
    “I was unable to attend that particular auction—a family emergency. It gave me some hope when Mrs. Owings informed me that the painting had been sold to a dealer, rather than an art collector.”
    “Actually,” Dora said, playing for time. “I’m a little of both.”
    “Oh dear.” He shuffled through his papers. Nothing in his copious notes addressed that particular response. “Oh dear.”
    “But I’m always interested in a legitimate offer, Mr. Petroy. Perhaps you’d like to come in and see the painting. It would have to be sometime late next week, I’m afraid.” She paused and mimed flipping through an appointment book. “My schedule’s rather hectic until then.”
    “That would be excellent. Really excellent.” Relieved, Winesap mopped his sweaty neck with a handkerchief. “What day would be good for you, Miss Conroy?”
    “I could fit you in on Thursday, say at two?”
    “Perfect.” Hurried, Winesap scribbled down the date. “I hope you’ll hold the painting until then. I’d hate to miss the opportunity.”
    “Oh, I’d hate you to miss it, too.” She smiled grimly at the wall. “I promise, it won’t go anywhere until we have the chance to discuss terms. Do you have a number where I can reach you in case something comes up?”
    “Certainly.” As his notes instructed, Winesap recited the number for one of Finley’s fronts in New Jersey. “During business hours,” he said. “I’m afraid I keep my private number unlisted.”
    “I understand perfectly. Next Thursday then, Mr. Petroy.”
    She hung up, almost too furious to enjoy the sense of elation. He thought she was an idiot, Dora fumed. Well, DiCarlo or Finley or Petroy or whoever the hell you are, you’re in for a rude surprise.
    “Lea! I have to go out for an hour. If Jed comes in, tell him I have to talk to him.”
    “Okay, but where—” Lea broke off, fisting her hands on her hips as she stared at the closing door.
     
    She should have called ahead. Dora turned back into the parking lot after a fruitless trip to the police station. Lieutenant Chapman was in the field. Sounded as though he were out hunting pheasant, she thought grumpily.
    How was she supposed to tell anyone she’d made contact if there wasn’t anyone around to tell? Then she spotted Jed’s car and allowed herself a smug smile. He was about to learn that he wasn’t the only one who could think on his