Hidden Riches

jumpsuit in silver with strappy spiked heels. A chain of stars hung at each ear. “I have a couple of parties to drop in on. How about you? Are you spending Christmas Eve lifting weights?”
    “I don’t like parties.”
    “No?” She shrugged and the silver silk whispered invitingly at the movement. “I love them. The noise and the food and the gossip. Of course, I enjoy having conversations with other human beings, so that helps.”
    “Since I haven’t got any wassail handy to offer you, why don’t you run along?” He tossed the towel aside and picked up a barbell. “Make sure your date doesn’t hit the Christmas punch.”
    “I’m not going with anyone, and since I don’t want to have to worry about how often I dip into the Christmas punch, I was calling a cab.” She sat on the arm of the couch, frowning as she watched Jed lift his weights. She shouldn’t have felt sorry for him, she mused. He was the last person on earth that inspired sympathy. And yet she hated to imagine him spending the evening alone, with barbells. “Why don’t you come with me?”
    The long, silent look he sent her had her hurrying on.
    “It’s not a proposition, Skimmerhorn. Just a couple of parties where you hang out and make nice.”
    “I don’t make nice.”
    “I can see you’re rusty, but it is Christmas Eve. A time of fellowship. Good will among men. You might have heard of it.”
    “I heard rumors.”
    Dora waited a beat. “You forgot bah-humbug.”
    “Take off, Conroy.”
    “Well, that’s a step up from this morning. People will say we’re in love.” She sighed, rose. “Enjoy your sweat, Skimmerhorn, and the coal I’m sure Santa’s going to leave in your stocking.” She stopped, tilted her head. “What’s that noise?”
    “What noise?”
    “That.” Her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Oh boy. Don’t tell me we do have mice.”
    He lowered the barbell and listened. “Someone down in the shop.”
    “What?”
    “In the shop,” he repeated. “The sound carries up through the vent. Don’t you know your own building, Conroy?”
    “I’m not over here that much, and not when the shop’s open.” She started to dismiss it, then froze. “But the shop’s not open.” Her voice had lowered to a stage whisper. “There’s no one down there.”
    “Somebody is.”
    “No.” Her hand slid up to rub at the nerves in her throat. “We closed hours ago. Terri left by three-thirty.”
    “So she came back.”
    “On Christmas Eve? She’s giving one of the parties I’m going to.” Dora’s heels clicked smartly on the floor as she crossed to the door.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Downstairs, of course. Somebody must have cut the alarm and broken in. If they think they can gather up a sack of goodies from my shop, they’re in for a surprise.”
    He swore, ripely, then took her arm, pushed her into a chair. “Stay there.” He strode into the bedroom. Dora was still working out what name to call him when he walked back in, carrying a .38.
    Her eyes rounded. “What’s that?”
    “It’s a parasol. Stay in here. Lock the door.”
    “But—but—”
    “Stay.” Jed closed the door behind him. It was probably her assistant, he thought as he moved quickly, silently down the hall. Or her sister, who’d forgotten some package she’d hidden. Or the old man, looking for a bottle.
    But there was too much cop in him to take chances. And too much cop to dismiss the fact that the phones were out, and that the sounds coming through the vent had been stealthy, rather than careless.
    He reached the door that led down to the storeroom, eased it open. There was no generous spill of light from below. He heard a sound—a drawer closing.
    Did she keep cash down there? he wondered, and swore under his breath. Probably. In some old-time canister or cookie jar.
    A movement behind him had him braced and pivoting. And swearing again. Dora was three steps back, her eyes swallowing her face, and a barbell hefted in one hand.
    Jed jerked a thumb. She shook her head. He curled his hand into a fist. She lifted her chin.
    “Idiot,” he muttered.
    “Same goes.”
    “Stay back, for Christ’s sake.”
    He started down, jerking still when the third step groaned under his foot. There was a rapid series of pops, and the wall inches away from his face spat plaster.
    Jed crouched, took the rest of the steps in a sprint, rolling when he hit bottom and coming up, weapon drawn in time to see the rear door slam shut. He