Hidden Riches

them?”
    “Not necessary. Happy Christmas, Mr. O’Malley.”
    “Same to you and yours.” He walked out, a satisfied customer, with a spring in his step.
    There were another half a dozen customers in the shop, two being helped by Dora’s assistant, Terri. The prospect of another big day before the after-holiday lull made Dora’s heart swell. Skirting the counter, she wandered the main room of the shop, knowing the trick was to be helpful but not intrusive.
    “Please let me know if you have any questions.”
    “Oh, miss?”
    Dora turned, smiling. There was something vaguely familiar about the stout matron with lacquered black hair.
    “Yes, ma’am. May I help you?”
    “Oh, I hope so.” She gestured a bit helplessly toward one of the display tables. “These are doorstops, aren’t they?”
    “Yes, they are. Of course, they can be used for whatever you like, but that’s the primary function.” Automatically, Dora glanced over as the bells jingled on her door. She merely lifted a brow when Jed walked in. “Several of these are from the Victorian period,” she went on. “The most common material was cast iron.” She lifted a sturdy one in the shape of a basket of fruit. “This one was probably used for a drawing room. We do have one rather nice example of nailsea glass.”
    It was currently in her bedroom upstairs, but could be whisked down in a moment.
    The woman studied a highly polished brass snail. “My niece and her husband just moved into their first house. I’ve got them both individual gifts for Christmas, but I’d like to get them something for the house as well. Sharon, my niece, shops here quite a lot.”
    “Oh. Does she collect anything in particular?”
    “No, she likes the old and the unusual.”
    “So do I. Was there a reason you had a doorstop in mind?”
    “Yes, actually. My niece does a lot of sewing. She’s put together this really charming room. It’s an old house, you see, that they’ve been refurbishing. The door to her sewing room won’t stay open. Since they have a baby on the way, I know she’d want to be able to keep an ear out, and that this would be an amusing way to do it.” Still, she hesitated. “I bought Sharon a chamber pot here a few months ago, for her birthday. She loved it.”
    That clicked. “The Sunderland, with the frog painted on the inside bottom.”
    The woman’s eyes brightened. “Why, yes. How clever of you to have remembered.”
    “I was very fond of that piece, Mrs . . . .”
    “Lyle. Alice Lyle.”
    “Mrs. Lyle, yes. I’m glad it found a good home.” Pausing, Dora tapped a finger to her lips. “If she liked that, maybe she’d appreciate something along these lines.” She chose a brass figure of an elephant. “It’s Jumbo,” she explained. “P. T. Barnum’s?”
    “Yes.” The woman held out her hands and chuckled as Dora passed Jumbo to her. “My, hefty, isn’t he?”
    “He’s one of my favorites.”
    “I think he’s perfect.” She took a quick, discreet glance at the tag dangling from Jumbo’s front foot. “Yes, definitely.”
    “Would you like him gift-boxed?”
    “Yes, thank you. And . . .” She picked up the sleeping hound Dora had purchased at auction only the day before. “Do you think this would be suitable for the nursery?”
    “I think he’s charming. A nice, cozy watchdog.”
    “I believe I’ll take him along, too—an early welcoming gift for my newest grandniece or -nephew. You do take Visa?”
    “Of course. This will just take a few minutes. Why don’t you help yourself to some coffee while you wait?” Dora gestured to the table that was always set with tea and coffeepots and trays of pretty cookies before she carried both doorstops back to the counter. “Christmas shopping, Skimmerhorn?” she asked as she passed him.
    “I need a—what do you call it? Hostess thing.”
    “Browse around. I’ll be right with you.”
    Jed wasn’t completely sure what he was browsing around in. The packed apartment was only a small taste of the amazing array of merchandise offered in Dora’s Parlor.
    There were delicate figurines that made him feel big and awkward, the way he’d once felt in his mother’s sitting room. Still, there was no sense of the formal or untouchable here. Bottles of varying sizes and colors caught the glitter of sunlight and begged to be handled. There were signs advertising everything from stomach pills to boot polish. Tin soldiers arranged in battle lines fought beside