Hidden Riches

sweet, isn’t it?”
    “Right up Aunt Maria’s alley.” DiCarlo kept the pleasant smile in place even after he’d spotted the four-figure price tag. “I think she’d love it,” he said, hoping to buy time by having it wrapped. “I had something a little different in my mind, but this is Aunt Maria all over.”
    “Cash or charge?”
    “Charge.” He pulled out a credit card. “She used to have this mutt, you see,” he continued as he followed Terri to the counter. “A brown-and-white spotted dog who curled up on the rug and slept twenty hours out of twenty-four. Aunt Maria adored that dog. I was hoping to find something that looked like him.”
    “That’s so sweet.” Terri nestled the Staffordshire in tissue paper. “You must be a very considerate nephew.”
    “Well, Aunt Maria helped raise me.”
    “It’s too bad you weren’t in a few days ago. We had a piece very much like you’re talking about. In china, a spotted hound, curled up asleep. It was only in the shop a day before we sold it.”
    “Sold it?” DiCarlo said between smiling teeth. “That’s too bad.”
    “It wasn’t nearly as fine a piece as the one you’ve just bought, Mr. DiCarlo,” she added after a glance at his credit card. “Believe me, your aunt’s going to love you come Christmas morning.”
    “I’m sure you’re right. I notice you also carry art.”
    “Some. Mostly posters and old family portraits from estate sales.”
    “Nothing modern, then? I’m doing some redecorating.”
    “Afraid not. We’ve got some stuff piled in the storeroom in back, but I haven’t noticed any paintings.”
    While she wrote up his bill, DiCarlo drummed his fingers on the counter and considered. He had to find out who had bought the dog. If it hadn’t been broad daylight, with a wide display window at his back, he might have stuck his gun under the clerk’s pretty chin and forced her to look up the information for him.
    Of course, then he’d have to kill her.
    He glanced at the window behind him. There wasn’t much traffic, vehicular or pedestrian. But he shook his head. A young girl wrapped in a parka zoomed by on Rollerblades. It wasn’t worth the risk.
    “Just sign here.” Terri passed him the sales slip and his card. “You’re all set, Mr. DiCarlo. I hope you and your aunt have a terrific Christmas.”
    Because she watched him through the window, DiCarlo set the box carefully in the trunk of the car, then waved cheerfully before climbing in. He slid smoothly away from the curb.
    He’d go somewhere for a late lunch. When it was dark, when the shop was empty, he’d be back.
     
    Dora gave Jed’s door her best businesslike rap. She knew he was going to growl at her—it couldn’t be helped. The fact was, she’d gotten used to the way he snarled and spat. She didn’t look forward to it, but she’d gotten used to it.
    He didn’t disappoint her.
    His short-sleeved sweatshirt was damp with sweat. His forearms glistened with it. She might have taken a moment to admire the basic masculinity, but she was too busy studying the scowl on his face.
    Jed gripped the ends of the towel he’d hooked around his neck. “What do you want now?”
    “Sorry to disturb you.” She peeked over his shoulder and spotted his weight equipment scattered over the living area. “When you’re so involved with building muscles, but my phone’s out of order. I need to make a call.”
    “There’s a phone booth on the corner.”
    “You’re such a sweet guy, Skimmerhorn. Why hasn’t some lucky woman snapped you up?”
    “I beat them off with a stick.”
    “Oh, I bet you do. Be a pal. It’s a local call.”
    For a minute, she thought he was going to shut the door in her face. Again. But he swung the door wider and stepped back. “Make it fast,” he told her, and stalked into the kitchen.
    To give her privacy? Dora wondered. Hardly. Her judgment proved correct when he came back in glugging Gatorade from the bottle. Dora juggled the phone, sworesoftly, then dropped the receiver back on the hook.
    “Yours is out, too.”
    “Not so surprising, since we’re in the same building.” He’d left his door open, as she had. From her apartment he could hear the strains of music. Christmas music this time. But it was something that sounded like a medieval choir, and intrigued rather than annoyed.
    Unfortunately, Dora had exactly the same effect on him.
    “You always dress like that to talk on the phone?”
    She was wearing a slithery