Hidden Riches

onto the couch and fired an imaginary automatic weapon. “I told you.”
    “So you did.”
    “Richie, don’t stand on the furniture,” John ordered automatically. “Dora, you called the police?”
    “Yes. And it’s all in the hands of Philadelphia’s finest.” She scooped up Richie herself. “And the investigating officer is the father of a really, really good friend of yours, frog face. Jody Chapman.”
    “Jody Chapman!” Richie made gagging noises and clutched his throat.
    “She sends her love.” Dora fluttered her lashes and smacked her lips. The resulting din of groans and shrieks had her convinced the crisis had passed.
    “Willowby!” Trixie cut through the noise with one word and a raised hand. “You’ll stay at Isadora’s tonight. I won’t feel safe unless I know a man’s keeping watch.”
    “Mother.” It was enough to make Dora take back her wine. “I, on behalf of all feminists, am ashamed of you.”
    “Social and political ideals pale when it comes to the welfare of my child.” Trixie gave a regal nod. “Will, you’ll stay with your sister.”
    “No problem.”
    “Well, I have a problem,” Dora cut in. “He leaves shaving gunk in the sink, and he makes long, obscene phone calls to his women in New York.”
    “I use my calling card.” Will grinned. “And you wouldn’t know they were obscene if you didn’t listen.”
    “Your mother knows best.” Quentin rose to help himself to more eggnog. Tonight he looked trim and dapper in a starched collar and a derby. He detoured to kiss his wife’shand. “I’ll go by the shop myself tomorrow and take stock of the situation. Don’t worry your pretty head, my sweet.”
    “Talk about obscene,” Will mumbled, then grimaced. “What is that stench?”
    “Dinner,” Lea announced, swinging through the kitchen door. She smiled grimly at her mother. “Sorry, darling, I seem to have burned your meatballs.”
     
    A block away, Jed was trying to ease himself out the door. He’d enjoyed Christmas dinner at the Chapmans’ more than he’d anticipated. It was hard not to get a kick out of the kids, who were still wide-eyed and enthusiastic over their Christmas loot. Impossible not to relax with the scents of pine and turkey and apple pie sweetening the air. And there was the simple fact that he liked Brent and Mary Pat as people, as a couple.
    And the longer he stayed in their comfortable home, the more awkward he felt. There was no way to avoid comparing the homey family scene—a fire crackling in the hearth, kids playing on the rug—with his own miserable childhood memories of the holiday.
    The shouting matches. Or worse, far worse, the frigid, smothering silences. The year his mother had smashed all the china against the dining room wall. The year his father had shot out the crystal drops on the foyer chandelier with his .25.
    Then there had been the Christmas Elaine hadn’t come home at all, only to turn up two days later with a split lip and a black eye. Had that been the year he’d been arrested for shoplifting in Wanamakers? No, Jed remembered. That had been a year later—when he’d been fourteen.
    Those were the good old days.
    “At least you can take some of this food home with you,” Mary Pat insisted. “I don’t know what I’ll do with it all.”
    “Be a pal,” Brent put in, patting his wife’s bottom as he moved past her to pop the top on a beer. “You don’ttake it, I’ll be eating turkey surprise for a month. Want another?”
    Jed shook his head at the beer. “No, I’m driving.”
    “You really don’t have to go so soon,” Mary Pat complained.
    “I’ve been here all day,” he reminded her, and because she was one of the few people he felt relaxed with, kissed her cheek. “Now I’m going home to see if I can work off some of those mashed potatoes and gravy.”
    “You never put on an ounce. It makes me sick.” She heaped leftovers into a Tupperware container. “Why don’t you tell me more about this gorgeous landlord of yours?”
    “She’s not gorgeous. She’s okay.”
    “Brent said gorgeous.” Mary Pat sent her husband a narrow look. He only lifted his shoulders. “Sexy, too.”
    “That’s because she gave him cookies.”
    “If she’s Lea Bradshaw’s sister, she must be more than okay.” Mary Pat filled another container with generous slices of pie. “Lea’s stunning—even first thing in the morning with a bunch of squalling kids in the car. The parents are actors, you know.