Hidden Riches

“I suppose most of your work now is administrative.”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Do you miss the action?” She smiled, handing Jed her empty glass. “In fiction cops always miss the action.”
    “As a matter of fact, I do. From time to time.”
    “I have to ask. I have this bloodthirsty nephew who’ll want to know. Were you ever shot?”
    If the question surprised him, Riker covered it well. “No. Sorry.”
    “That’s all right. I’ll lie.”
    “I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Conroy, but I need to steal Jed for a minute. The mayor would like a word with him.”
    Dora gave way graciously. “Nice to have met you, Commissioner Riker.”
    “My pleasure. I’ll only keep Jed a moment.”
    Trapped, Jed handed her back her empty glass. “Excuse me.”
    Oh, he really hated this, she mused as she watched him walk away. It hadn’t shown, not in his face, not in hiseyes, but he hated it. A man faced a firing squad with more enthusiasm.
    When he returned he’d be simmering with fury or tight-lipped with guilt or simply miserable. Feeling for him, Dora wondered if she could find some way to distract him, to turn whatever emotions the commissioner and the mayor managed to stir up into a different channel.
    Joke him out of it? she mused as she wandered over to get a refill on her champagne. Irritate it out of him would probably be easier. It wouldn’t even take much effort.
    “I would think they would take more care as to who attends these affairs.”
    The gravelly voice was instantly recognizable. Dora turned with a bright smile on her face. “Mrs. Dawd, Andrew. How . . . interesting.”
    Mrs. Dawd drew air fiercely through her nostrils. “Andrew, fetch my club soda.”
    “Yes, Mother.”
    Mrs. Dawd, with her bulky frame draped in black satin, leaned forward, close enough that Dora saw the few gray hairs stabbing out of her chin that her tweezers had missed. “I knew what you were, Miss Conroy. I warned him, of course, but Andrew is as susceptible as any man to a woman’s wiles.”
    “I had all my wiles surgically removed. I could show you the scars.”
    The woman ignored her. “But what would you expect, bred from a family of actors?”
    Dora took a careful breath, a careful sip. She would not, absolutely not, let this idiotic old woman make her lose her temper.
    “Those acting families,” Dora said lightly. “The Fondas, the Redgraves, the Bridges. God knows how they can be permitted to taint society.”
    “You think you’re clever.”
    “Mother, here’s your drink.”
    Mrs. Dawd swept Andrew and the club soda back witha violent gesture. “You think you’re clever,” she said again, her voice lifting enough to have several onlookers murmuring. “But your little tricks didn’t work.”
    “Mother—”
    “Be still, Andrew.” There was fire in her eyes now. She was the mama bear protecting her cub.
    “Yes, Andrew, be still.” Dora’s smile was tiger sharp. “Mother Dawd was about to tell me about my little tricks. Do you mean the one when I told your slimy son to get his hand out from under my skirt?”
    The woman hissed in anger. “You lured him into your apartment, and when your pathetic seduction failed, you attacked him. Because he recognized you for exactly what you are.”
    There was a laser gleam in Dora’s eye now. “Which is?”
    “Whore,” she hissed. “Slut. Floozy.”
    Dora set down her glass to free her hand. She balled it into a fist and gave serious consideration to using it. She settled for upending her plate on Mrs. Dawd’s heavily lacquered hair.
    The resulting screech should have shattered crystal. With salmon mousse dripping into her eyes, Mrs. Dawd lunged. Dora braced for the attack, then gave out a howl of her own as she was snatched from behind.
    “Jesus Christ, Conroy,” Jed muttered as he dragged her toward the ballroom doors. “Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes?”
    “Let me go!” She might have taken a swing at him, but he locked her arms at her sides. “She had it coming.”
    “I don’t feel like bailing you out of jail.” He strode toward a sitting area with cushy chairs and potted plants. He heard the orchestra strike up “Stormy Weather.”
    Perfect.
    “Sit.” He punctuated the order with a shove that had her tumbling into a chair. “Pull yourself together.”
    “Look, Skimmerhorn, that was my own personal business.”
    “You want me to have the commissioner haul you in for disturbing the peace?” he asked mildly. “A