Hidden Riches

staging—and asked all these questions.” Dora had purposely left out the part about the bullets. It didn’t seem like Christmas conversation. “And it turns out that Jed’s ex-partner is a neighbor of yours.”
    “Oh?” Lea chewed her knuckle as she basted her candied yams.
    “Carly Chapman’s father. She goes to school with Missy.”
    “Carly?” While she ran through her daughter’s friends, Lea lifted a lid and sniffed. “Oh, yeah. Brent and Mary Pat. We carpool.”
    “So I hear.” Dora helped herself to a glass of the wine Lea had breathing on the counter. “Here’s the good part. They’re going to question Andrew.”
    “You’re kidding! Andrew?”
    “Jilted accountant seeks revenge by destroying woman’s tax files.” Dora shrugged and passed a glass of wine to her sister. “Makes as much sense as anything. When’s dinner?”
    “Twenty minutes. Why don’t we take what you’ve left of my crudités out. If we can keep Mom busy for—” She broke off, swore lightly under her breath as Trixie Conroy made her entrance.
    Trixie always made an entrance, whether it was onto a stage or into the corner market. She’d dressed for the simple family dinner in a flowing caftan of bleeding colors that trailed fringe from its sweeping hem and draping sleeves. The material billowed theatrically around her willowy form. Her hair, cropped gamine short, was a bold, fire-engine red. Her face, milk-pale and unlined, thanks to religious pampering and one discreet lift, was striking. The soft blue eyes Lea had inherited were lavishly lashed, the full, sensuous mouth lushly red.
    She breezed into the kitchen, trailing silks and her signature scent—one ripe with woodsy undertones.
    “Darlings!” Her voice was as dramatic as the rest of her, a husky whisper that could easily carry to the last row in any theater. “It’s so lovely to see my two girls together.” She took a deep sniff of the air. “Oh, and those glorious aromas. I do hope you’re not overheating my meatballs, Ophelia.”
    “Ah . . .” Lea sent Dora a desperate look and was met by a shrug. “No, of course not.” Lea hadn’t heated them at all, but had stuck them under the sink with hopes of palming them off on the dog later. “Mom, did you know . . . they’re green.”
    “Naturally.” Trixie buzzed around the stove, clanging lids. “I dyed them myself in honor of the season. Perhapswe should put them out now, as an appetizer.”
    “No. I think we should . . .” Since she couldn’t think of a good ruse, Lea sacrificed her sister. “Mom, did you know someone broke into Dora’s shop?”
    “Damn it, Lea.”
    Lea ignored the muttered curse and barreled ahead. “Last night.”
    “Oh, my baby. Oh, my lamb.” Trixie rushed across the kitchen to clasp Dora’s face between her heavily ringed hands. “Are you hurt?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Why don’t you take Mom in the other room, Dora? Sit down and tell her all about it.”
    “Yes, yes, you must.” Trixie gripped Dora’s hand and dragged her toward the doorway. “You should have called me the minute it happened. I would have been there in the blink of an eye. My poor little darling. Quentin! Quentin, our daughter was robbed.”
    Dora had time for one speedy glare over her shoulder before she was yanked into the fray.
    The Bradshaw family room was in chaos. Toys were strewn everywhere, making the practical buff-colored carpet an obstacle course. There were shouts and yips as a remote control police cruiser, operated by a steely-eyed Michael, terrorized the family dog, Mutsy. Will, looking very New York in a dark silk shirt and paisley tie, entertained Missy with bawdy numbers on the spinet. John and Richie were glassy-eyed over a Nintendo game, and Quentin, well plied with eggnog, boisterously kibitzed.
    “Quentin.” Trixie’s stage voice froze all action. “Our child has been threatened.”
    Unable to resist, Will played a melodramatic riff on the piano. Dora wrinkled her nose at him.
    “I wasn’t threatened, Mom.” Dora gave her mother a comforting pat, eased her into a chair and handed over her glass of wine. “The shop was broken into,” she explained.“It didn’t amount to much, really. They didn’t get anything. Jed scared them off.”
    “I had a feeling about him.” Quentin tapped the side of his nose. “A sixth sense, if you will. Were there fisticuffs?”
    “No, Jed chased him away.”
    “I’d’ve shot him dead.” Richie leaped