Hidden Riches

and he still had until January the second. Coming up empty for one night played hell with his schedule, but in reality it was only a delay, not a disaster.
    He chewed another nut and washed it down with the Beaujolais left over from his lunch. It baffled him that the man knew his apartment had been searched. Leaning back, DiCarlo went over his moves of the night before step by step. He hadn’t disturbed anything. He’d resisted taking even easily fenceable merchandise from the two apartments. What he’d taken from the store below would be attributed to simple shoplifting.
    Since the man suspected the woman next door had entered his apartment, his plans didn’t change.
    All he had to do was go back in, DiCarlo decided. He’d do exactly what he had planned to do the night before—exactly. Only this time he would go in knowing he’d kill the woman when he’d finished.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
    T he temperature had dipped to a brisk fourteen degrees under a dazzling night sky splattered with icy stars and sliced by a thin, frosty moon. The shops along South Street were locked up tightly, and traffic was light. Occasionally someone stepped out of one of the restaurants, huddled inside a warm coat, and made a dash for a car or the subway. Then the street would be quiet again, with only the splash from the streetlamps to light the way.
    DiCarlo spotted the police cruiser on his first circle of the block. His hands tightened on the wheel as he turned the corner to ride along the river. He hadn’t counted on outside interference. Cops were usually too busy to stake out a building because of a possible minor break-in and a little shoplifting.
    So, maybe the lady was boffing the chief of police,DiCarlo mused. Or maybe it was just bad luck. Either way, it was only one more detail. And one more reason to take the shapely Miss Conroy out when he was finished with her.
    To calm himself, he tooled around aimlessly for ten minutes, switching the radio off and running through various scenarios in his head. By the time he’d circled around to South again, DiCarlo had his plan formulated. He pulled to the curb in front of the black-and-white. Taking his Philadelphia street map out of the glove box, he climbed out of the car. DiCarlo knew the cop would see only a well-dressed man in a rental car, obviously lost.
    “Got a problem there, buddy?” The uniform rolled down his window. The air inside smelled of coffee and pastrami.
    “I sure do.” Playing his part, DiCarlo grinned sheepishly. “I was glad to see you pulled over here, Officer. I don’t know where I made the wrong turn, but I feel like I’ve been driving around in circles.”
    “Thought I saw you drive by before. We’ll see if we can set you straight. Where you trying to get to?”
    “Fifteenth and Walnut?” DiCarlo pushed the map inside the window. “I found it on here, fine. Finding it in the car’s been something else.”
    “No problem. You just want to go down here to Fifth and make a left. You’ll run right into Walnut at Independence Square, make another left.” He reached for a pen. “Let me show you.”
    “I appreciate it, Officer.” Smiling, DiCarlo pressed his silenced pistol against the uniform’s breast. Their eyes met for less than a heartbeat. There were two muffled pops. The cop’s body jerked, slumped. Meticulously, DiCarlo checked the pulse, and when he found none, quietly opened the driver’s door with his gloved hands, straightened the body into a sitting position. He rolled up the window, locked the door, then strolled back to his own car.
    He was beginning to understand why his cousin Guido got such a kick out of murder.
    * * *
    Dora was disappointed that Richie hadn’t taken her up on her invitation to sleep over. It seemed he’d had a better offer, so she’d dropped him off at a friend’s after the movies.
    She wished now that she’d swung back by Lea and John’s and picked up the other kids for the night. A nice noisy pajama party would have calmed her nerves. The simple fact was, she didn’t want to be alone.
    No, she corrected, the complicated fact was, she didn’t want to be alone and a few easy steps away from Jed Skimmerhorn. No matter how attractive and charming he’d been that afternoon, she couldn’t let herself forget that he was a man capable of wild bursts of temper.
    She believed—and accepted—his apology absolutely. She even understood a portion of his motivation. That didn’t negate the fact that he was