Hidden Riches

murmured. His gaze lifted, locked on hers. He’d felt something watching her work that had gone straight to the gut like a hot arrow. “Just like you played with dolls.”
    “Actually, I didn’t” She couldn’t quite manage a smile. For a moment there, he’d looked as though he could’ve taken her in one quick bite. “I never liked them much. I preferred imaginary playmates, because you could change them into any character you wanted at the time.” With more care than necessary she fit the lid with its gold-embossed DORA ’ S PARLOR onto the box. “What I was getting at is that most children collect and trade. Some people never grow out of it. Shall I gift-wrap this for you? There’s no extra charge.”
    “Yeah, go ahead.”
    He shifted, then moved down the counter. Not that he was interested in what was displayed there, but to give himself some breathing room. The sexual tug he’d felt wasn’t new, but it was the first time he’d experienced it because a woman had pretty hands. And huge brown eyes, he added. Then there was that smile, he thought. She always looked as though she was laughing at some secret joke.
    Obviously he’d been celibate too long if he was attracted to a woman who laughed at him.
    To pass the time he picked up a baseball-shaped item with a hole in the top. The words “Mountain Dew” were painted on the side. Curious, Jed turned it over in his hand. He didn’t think it could be some sort of odd drinking cup for the soft drink.
    “Interesting, isn’t it?” Dora set the gaily wrapped package in front of him.
    “I was wondering what it was.”
    “A match striker.” She put her hands over his on the bowl and guided his thumb to the rough edge. “You put the matches in the top, then light them on the side. Mountain Dew was a whiskey. This is from the late nineteenth century.” She caught the glimmer of a smile on his face. “Do you like it?”
    “It’s different.”
    “I’m very fond of the different.” She kept her handswarm over his for another moment. “Take it. Consider it a housewarming gift.”
    The inexplicable charm the object had for him dimmed considerably. “Hey, I don’t think—”
    “It’s not valuable, monetarily. A neighborly gesture, Skimmerhorn. Don’t be snotty.”
    “Well, when you’re so sweet about it.”
    She laughed then and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I hope your friend likes her gift.” She walked away then to help another customer, but she watched out of the corner of her eye as Jed left the shop.
    An unusual man, she mused. And, of course, the unusual was her stock-in-trade.
     
    DiCarlo raced along the Van Wyck toward the airport, dialing his car phone with one hand and steering with the other. “DiCarlo,” he stated, flipping the phone to speaker. “Get me Mr. Finley.” With his nerves bubbling, he checked his watch. He’d make it, he assured himself. He had to make it.
    “Mr. DiCarlo.” Finley’s voice filled the car. “You have good news, I assume.”
    “I tracked it all down, Mr. Finley.” DiCarlo forced his words into a calm, businesslike tone. “I found out just what happened. Some idiot clerk at Premium switched the shipments. Sent ours to Virginia. I’ll have it straightened out in no time.”
    “I see.” There was a long pause. DiCarlo’s bowels turned to ice water. “And what is your definition of ‘no time’?”
    “Mr. Finley, I’m on my way to the airport right now. I’ve got a flight booked into Dulles and a rental car waiting. I’ll be in Front Royal before five east coast time. I have the name and address where the shipment was misdirected.” His voice weakened. “I’m handling all of this at my own expense, Mr. Finley.”
    “That’s wise of you, Mr. DiCarlo, as I don’t wish for your mistake to cost me more than it already has.”
    “No, sir. And you have my word that this mistake will be corrected expediently.”
    “Very well. I’ll expect you to contact me when you reach your destination. Naturally, I’ll want the clerk fired.”
    “Naturally.”
    “And, Mr. DiCarlo? You do know how important that merchandise is to me, don’t you? You will use any means necessary to recover it. Any means at all.”
    “Understood.” When the connection broke, DiCarlo smiled grimly. The way this mess was screwing up his holiday, he was more than ready to use any means. Any means at all.

CHAPTER
FOUR
    “T his is quite a mix-up, isn’t it?” While he asked this rhetorical—and to