Hidden Riches

Theater,” Mary Pat added, giving the word a dramatic punch. “I’ve seen the mother, too.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d like to look like that when I grow up.”
    “You look fine, hon,” Brent assured her.
    “Fine.” Shaking her head, Mary Pat sealed the containers.
    “Does he say gorgeous? Does he say sexy?”
    “I’ll say it.”
    “Thank you, Jed. Why don’t you bring the landlord over sometime? For dinner, or drinks?”
    “I pay her rent; I don’t socialize with her.”
    “You chased a bad guy for her,” Mary Pat pointed out.
    “That was reflex. I gotta go.” He gathered up the food she’d pressed on him. “Thanks for dinner.”
    With her arm hooked around Brent’s waist, Mary Pat waved goodbye to Jed’s retreating headlights. “You know, I might just drop by that shop.”
    “You mean snoop around, don’t you?”
    “Whatever it takes.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’d like to get a look at this gorgeous, sexy, single landlord of his.”
    “He won’t appreciate it.”
    “We’ll see. He needs someone in his life.”
    “He needs to come back to work.”
    “So we’ll double-team him.” She turned, lifting her mouth for a kiss. “He won’t have a chance.”
     
    In LA Finley dined on pressed duck and quail eggs. Joining him in his mammoth dining room was a stunning blonde, green-eyed, slenderly built. She spoke three languages and had an excellent knowledge of art and literature. In addition to her beauty and intelligence, she was nearly as wealthy as Finley. His ego demanded all three attributes in a companion.
    As she sipped her champagne, he opened the small, elegantly wrapped box she’d brought.
    “So thoughtful of you, my dear.” He set the lid aside, pausing in anticipation.
    “I know how you enjoy beautiful things, Edmund.”
    “Indeed I do.” He flattered her with a warm look before reaching into the tissue paper. He lifted out a small ivory carving of a kirin, cradling it gently, lovingly in his palm. His deep, appreciative sigh whispered on the air.
    “You admire it every time you dine with me, so I thought it would be the perfect Christmas gift.” Pleased with his reaction, she laid her hand over his. “It seemed more personal to give you something from my own collection.”
    “It’s exquisite.” His eyes gleamed as he studied it. “And, as you told me, one of a kind.”
    “Actually, it seems I was mistaken about that.” She picked up her glass again and missed the sudden spasm in his fingers. “I was able to obtain its twin a few weeks ago.” She laughed lightly. “Don’t ask me how, as it came from a museum.”
    “It’s not unique.” His pleasure vanished like smoke, replaced by the bitter fire of disappointment. “Why would you assume I would wish for something common?”
    The change in tone had her blinking in surprise. “Edmund, it’s still what it is. A beautiful piece of exceptional workmanship. And extremely valuable.”
    “Value is relative, my dear.” As he watched her, cooleyed, his fingers curled around the delicate sculpture. Tighter, tighter, until the carving snapped with a sound like a gunshot. When she cried out in distress, he smiled again. “It seems to be damaged. What a pity.” He set the broken pieces aside, picked up his wine. “Of course, if you were to give me the piece from your collection, I would truly value it. It is, after all, one of a kind.”

CHAPTER
EIGHT
    W hen Jed knocked on Dora’s door a little after nine on the day after Christmas, the last thing he expected was to hear a man’s voice saying wait a damn minute.
    There was a thud, a curse.
    Will, a flowered sheet wrapped around his thin frame like a toga, and favoring the toe he’d smashed against the Pembroke table, opened the door to an unfriendly sneer.
    “If you’re selling anything,” he said, “I hope it’s coffee.”
    She sure could pick them, Jed thought nastily. First a pin-striped accountant with overactive glands, now a skinny kid barely out of college.
    “Isadora,” Jed said, and showed his teeth.
    “Sure.” Mindful of the trailing sheet, Will moved back so that Jed could step inside. “Where the hell is she?” hemuttered. “Dora!” His voice echoed richly off the walls and ceiling.
    The kid had lungs, Jed decided, then noticed, intrigued, the tangle of pillows and blankets on the sofa.
    “You’re not getting in here until I dry my hair.” Dora stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a terrycloth robe