Hidden Riches

script here, I figure our hero, the wealthy police captain, is taking some downtime. Last summer was pretty hairy. The Speck investigation kept him in the news for months, then when his sister was killed in the car explosion—”
    “Wait.” She gripped Will’s arm. “His sister?”
    “They figured it was Speck, but I don’t think they ever proved it.”
    “Oh, that’s horrible.” Paling, she pressed a hand to her grinding stomach. “Horrible.”
    “Worse—he saw it happen. The headlines said: ‘Police captain watches sister’s fiery death.’ Pretty tough.”
    “Poor Jed,” Dora murmured.
    “The tabloids got a lot of play out of it, too. Can’t remember it all, but there were lots of hints of scandal in the Skimmerhorn-Bester clan. The sister’d been divorced three or four times. The parents used to have public brawls. I think there was some stuff about Jed getting in scrapes as a juvenile. You know how people like to read about wealthy families suffering.”
    “No wonder he wants to be left alone. But,” she continued after a moment, “that’s not the answer.” Leaning over, she kissed Will’s cheek. “Lock up when you leave. See you New Year’s?”
    “Wouldn’t miss it. Dora?”
    “Hmm?”
    “Do what he tells you. I like having you around.”
    “I like being around.” She grabbed her keys and headed downstairs.
     
    Customer traffic was light through the morning, which gave Dora time to think. What she didn’t know about Jed Skimmerhorn could apparently fill a football stadium. The fascinating tidbits Will had dropped only made her lack of knowledge seem more acute.
    “Good morning, Izzy, my darling daughter.” Quentin swept into the shop with mink earmuffs clamped over his mane of striking pewter-colored hair. He was wearing an ankle-length shearling coat, a Christmas gift from his wife.
    “Dad. Just the man I want to see.”
    “It’s rewarding to be wanted by your children. Proves a man’s worth in his middle years. Ah, Terri, a vision as always.” He strode over to the redhead, took her hand and bowed theatrically over it. “A credit to the Liberty Players, to your humble director as well as to Dora’s Parlor. What, no clientele this morning?”
    “A couple of browsers, one exchange and a brisk sale of a twenty-dollar door knocker in the shape of a roaring hippo,” Dora reported. “I imagine the malls are packed. Terri, you can handle things out here, can’t you?”
    “Blindfolded and hog-tied.”
    “Dad.” Dora took her father’s arm and drew him out of the main shop into one of the smaller display rooms. “What do you know about Jed Skimmerhorn?”
    “Know?” To stall for time, Quentin took out a roll of spearmint Certs. “Let’s see. He’s about six-one, I’d say.A hundred seventy-five pounds, athletically proportioned. Mid-thirties. Anglo-Saxon lineage from his coloring.”
    “Cut it out. I know you, Quentin D. Conroy. Lea might think you’d rent the apartment to some chain-wielding biker with ‘Born to Raise Hell’ tattooed on his chest, but I know better.”
    Quentin blinked, clearly shocked. “Lea said such a thing? A serpent’s tongue, by God.” He slapped his fist into his palm.
    “Don’t change the subject. Whatever there is to know about Skimmerhorn, you know or he wouldn’t be living here. So spill it. What’s this business about his being from some wealthy family?”
    “The Bester-Skimmerhorn clan,” Quentin confirmed. Wearily, he slipped out of his coat and folded it lovingly over a balloon-back chair. “Most of the money is from his mother’s side, though the Skimmerhorn branch aren’t exactly pikers. Jed is the heir, if you will, as there is only himself and a couple of distant cousins remaining on the dwindling family tree.”
    “So he really is independently wealthy,” Dora murmured. “I’ll be damned.”
    “Independence was apparently more important.” Quentin coughed gently into his hand. His cheeks pinked. “You know I dislike repeating gossip, Izzy.”
    “You’ll only have to say it once.”
    He chuckled, patted her cheek. “My girl is quick. Very quick. Well then, rumor is that young Jed joined the police force against his family’s wishes. They disapproved of his choice of career and threatened to cut him off.” His voice had dropped into its story-telling mode, rich and perfectly paced. “In any case, the parents were notorious socialites. I say ‘notorious’ literally. They were given to public