Hidden Riches

to her feet. “If you don’t get up right now, I’ll hit you again. I mean it.”
    Afraid, he heaved himself to his hands and knees. “You’re crazy,” he managed, and took out a snowy-white handkerchief to check his face for blood.
    “You’re right. Absolutely.” She picked up his coat and held it out. “You’re better off without me. Now run along home, Andrew. And put some ice on that eye.”
    “My eye.” He probed at it, winced. “What am I supposed to tell Mother?”
    “That you walked into a door.” Impatience snapping around her, Dora helped him to his feet. “Go away, Andrew.”
    Struggling for dignity, he snatched his coat away from her. “I took you out to dinner. Twice.”
    “Consider it a bad investment. I’m sure you can find a way to deduct it.” She yanked open her door just as Jed opened his across the hall. “Out! And if you ever try anything like that again, I’ll blacken both your eyes.”
    “Crazy.” Andrew scurried toward the door. “You’re out of your mind.”
    “Come back and I’ll show you crazy.” She pulled off a spiked heel and hurled it like a discus. “And you’re fired.” The shoe hit the back of the door with a satisfying thump. Dora stood, one shoe off, one shoe on, catching her breath. The quiet sound of Jed clearing his throat had her spinning back. He was grinning. It was the first time she’d seen him grin, but she wasn’t in the mood to be pleased with the wayit made his usually surly face approachable.
    “See something funny, Skimmerhorn?”
    He thought about it. “Yeah.” Because it had been a long time since he’d been quite so amused, he leaned against the doorjamb and continued to grin. “Interesting date, Conroy?”
    “Fascinating.” She hobbled down the hall to retrieve her shoe. Slapping it against her palm, she hobbled back. “You still here?”
    “Looks like.”
    Dora let out a long breath, dragged a hand through her tumbled hair. “Want a drink?”
    “Sure.”
    As she crossed the threshold into her apartment, she pulled off the other shoe and tossed them both aside. “Brandy?”
    “Fine.” He glanced at the broken china on the floor. That must have been the crash he’d heard. Between that and the shouting, he’d had a bad moment deciding whether or not to intervene. Even when he’d carried a badge, he’d worried more about answering a domestic dispute than collaring a pro.
    He looked over at Dora while she poured brandy into snifters. Her face was still flushed, her eyes still narrowed. He had to be grateful his Seventh Cavalry routine hadn’t been necessary.
    “So, who was the jerk?”
    “My former accountant.” Dora handed Jed a snifter. “He spends the evening boring me into a coma talking about Schedule Cs and long-term capital gains, then figures he can come back here and rip my clothes off.”
    Jed skimmed his gaze down her glittery black dress. “Nice clothes,” he decided. “Don’t know why he’d waste his time with capital gains.”
    Dora drank again, tilted her head. “Give me a minute. I think there was supposed to be a compliment buried in there.”
    Jed shrugged. “Looks like he got the worst of it.”
    “I should have broken his nose.” Pouting, she walked over and crouched to pick up broken bric-a-brac. “Look at this!” Temper began to simmer again. She held up a broken cup. “This was Derby. Eighteen-fifteen. And this ashtray was Manhattan.”
    Jed crouched beside her. “Expensive?”
    “That’s not the point. This used to be a Hazel Ware candy dish—Moroccan amethyst, with lid.”
    “It’s trash now. Leave it be; you’re going to cut yourself. Get a broom or something.”
    Muttering, she rose and went out to rummage in the kitchen. “He even had a toothbrush in his pocket.” She came out, waving a whisk broom and dustpan like a shield and spear. “A damn toothbrush. I bet the son of a bitch was an Eagle Scout.”
    “Probably had a change of underwear in his overcoat pocket.” Gently, Jed took the broom from her.
    “I wouldn’t be surprised.” Dora stalked back to the kitchen for the trash can. She winced as Jed dumped a load of broken glass into the trash can. “And a couple of condoms.”
    “Any self-respecting Eagle Scout would have those in his wallet.”
    Resigned, she sat on the arm of the chair again. The theatrics, it seemed, were over. “Were you?”
    “Was I what?”
    “An Eagle Scout.”
    He dumped the last load of glass, then sent her a long look.