Hidden Riches

identified him to the police. He’s killed a police officer, Mr. Finley, and a woman. He left another woman for dead, one of my customers.” The thought of Mrs. Lyle urged the first tear down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so upset, so frightened. Thank you,” she managed when Finley gallantly offered his handkerchief. “None of it makes any sense, you see. He only stole a few trinkets, and as for Mrs. Lyle, my customer, he took nothing of any real value. Just a china dog, a statue she’d bought from me the day before. I think he must be crazy,” she murmured, lowering her hand again. “I think he must be mad.”
    “I hope you understand this is difficult for me to take in. Mr. DiCarlo has worked for me for years. The idea of one of my own staff attacking women, murdering police officers. Miss Conroy—Isadora.” He took her hand again, gently, a father comforting a child after a bad dream. “Are you absolutely certain it was Anthony DiCarlo?”
    “I saw his face,” she said again. “The police said he had a record. Nothing like—like this, and nothing for several years, but—
    “I knew he’d had some trouble.” With a sigh, Finley sat back. “Just as I felt I understood the need to overcome the past mistakes. But I would never have believed . . . It seems I misjudged him, badly. What can I do to help you?”
    “I don’t know.” Dora twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “I guess I’d hoped you’d have some idea what to do, where the police might look. If he contacted you—”
    “My dear, I assure you, if he contacts me, I will do everything in my power to lead the authorities to him. Perhaps his family knows something?”
    She dried her tears and, calmer, shook her head. “The police have questioned them, I believe. I actually thoughtof going to see his mother myself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face that.”
    “I’ll make some calls. Do whatever I can to help you.”
    “Thank you.” She let out a shaky sigh followed by a shaky smile. “I feel better doing something. The worst is the waiting, the not knowing where he is or what he’s planning. I’m afraid to go to sleep at night. If he came back—” She shuddered, sincerely. “I don’t know what I’d do.”
    “You have no reason to think he will. Are you sure he gave you no idea why he chose your shop?”
    “None. That’s what’s so terrifying. To be picked at random that way. Then Mrs. Lyle. He shot her housekeeper and left Mrs. Lyle for dead, all for some little statue.” Her eyes, still wet, were guileless and trusting. “A man doesn’t kill for that, does he?”
    “I wish I knew.” Finley heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Perhaps, as you say, he’s gone mad. But I have every confidence in the authorities. I’ll say, with full confidence, that you won’t be bothered by Mr. DiCarlo again.”
    “I’m trying to hold on to that. You’ve been very kind, Mr. Finley.”
    “Edmund.”
    “Edmund.” She smiled again, courageously. “Just talking it out has helped. I’d like to ask, if you find anything, anything at all, that you’d call me. The police aren’t very free with information.”
    “I understand. And, of course, I’ll keep in touch with you. We have an excellent security team on retainer. I’m going to put them on this. If there’s a trace of DiCarlo, they’ll find it.”
    “Yes.” She closed her eyes, let her shoulders relax. “I knew I was right to come here. Thank you.” When she rose, he took both her hands in his. “Thank you so much for listening to me.”
    “I only regret I can’t do more. I’d consider it a favor if you’d agree to have dinner with me tonight.”
    “Dinner?” Her mind went sheet blank.
    “I don’t like to think of you alone, and upset. I feel responsible. DiCarlo is, after all, my man. Or was,” he corrected, with a small smile.
    “That’s very kind of you.”
    “Then indulge me. Ease my conscience a bit. And, I admit, I would find it very pleasant to spend the evening with a lovely young woman who shares some of my interests.”
    “Your interests?”
    “Collecting.” Finley gestured toward a curio cabinet. “If you run an antique and collectibles shop, I think you’d be interested in some of my treasures.”
    “Yes, I am. I’m sure you’re much more knowledgeable than I, but I’ve already admired several of your pieces. The horse’s head?” She nodded toward a stone figure. “Han dynasty?”
    “Precisely.” He beamed, a professor