Hidden Riches (15 page)

She went with him to the bar, ordered champagne while he chose scotch. “Tell you what.” Her voice was light again. “We'll try something new. I won't give you a hard time—and vice versa. I won't make suggestive comments or clever insults.”

He rattled the ice in his glass while he studied her. “What's left?”

“We'll both be agreeable and have a good time.” At his lifted brow she laughed, hooked her arm through his. “Okay, I'll have a good time, and you'll make the best of the situation. Hungry?”

“I could be.”

“Let's go check out the buffet. If you have a plate in your hand, none of the women who are ogling you will expect you to dance.”

“Nobody's ogling me.” But he went with her.

“Sure they are. I'd ogle you myself if I didn't know you.” She debated between the salmon mousse and the stuffed mushrooms, settled on both. “I don't believe I've seen you at the Winter Ball before, and I've attended the last three years.”

He'd always been able to use work as an excuse, Jed remembered. He plucked a cube of cheese from her plate and said nothing.

“This conversation thing is tough for you, isn't it?” She kept a smile on her face as she heaped more food on her plate, then generously held it out to share. “I'll give you a hand. I say something, then, depending on the content, you laugh, look bemused, annoyed, intrigued, and say something back. Ready?”

“You've got an awfully smart mouth, Conroy.”

“Good. Good start.” She sampled a thumb-sized spinach pastry. “Tell me, is your grandmother the Honoria Rodgers who purchased the Qing dynasty cloisonné enamel candle holder, in the form of an elephant, at Christie's a few months ago?”

“I don't know about elephants, but she's the only Honoria Rodgers I'm aware of.”

“Gorgeous piece—at least it looked terrific in the catalogue. I couldn't get up to New York, but I put in a couple of telephone bids during that auction. Not on the Qing, though. Out of my range. I'd love to see it sometime.”

“If you're wrangling for an invitation, you should talk to her.”

“Just making chitchat, Skimmerhorn. Try one of these,” she invited with her mouth full, and picked up another pastry. “Incredible.”

Before he could accept or refuse, she had it up to his mouth and in. “Great, huh?”

“I don't like spinach.” Grimacing, he washed it down with scotch.

“I used to be the same way, but my father got me hooked on it by singing ‘Popeye the Sailorman.' I was twenty,” she said earnestly. “And naive.” When his lips quirked, she lifted her glass in toast. “There now. And you look so pretty when you smile.”

“Dora, darling.” With her young artist in tow, Ashley glided up to the buffet. “How do you manage to eat like that and stay so slim?”

“Just a little agreement I have with Satan.”

Ashley laughed gaily and gave Jed one long sweeping glance—what Dora would definitely term an ogle. “Isadora Conroy, Heathcliff.” She presented her date as though he were the prize stud at a thoroughbred farm. “I discovered him in this marvelous little gallery on South Street.”

“Oh?” Dora didn't bother to remind Ashley that her shop was on South. “I've always wanted to discover something—like Christopher Columbus. Or Indiana Jones.” Because Heathcliff only looked baffled, she took pity on him. After passing her plate to Jed, she offered a hand. “Ashley tells me you're an artist.”

“I am. I—”

“He does the most sensual life studies.” Ashley stroked Heathcliff's arm, as a woman might a favored pet. “You simply must see them sometime.”

“Top of my list.”

“I don't believe you've introduced us to your escort.”

“I don't have one. That's an odd term, don't you think? It sounds as though you'd need someone along because you couldn't find where you were going yourself. Personally, I have an excellent sense of direction.”

“Dora.” Ashley gave another quick, tinkling laugh. “You're such a wit.”

“Only half,” Jed said under his breath.

Dora spared him even the mildest of glances. “Jed Skimmerhorn, Ashley Draper and Heathcliff.”

“Oh, I recognized Captain Skimmerhorn.” Ashley held out a hand, waiting until Jed had juggled the plate back to Dora. “I should say, the elusive Captain Skimmerhorn.” Her fingers glided over his. “It's so rare that we're able to tempt you to one of our little affairs.”

“I don't find little affairs tempting.”

This time Ashley's laugh was low and throaty. “I prefer long, steamy ones myself. And how do you two know each other?”

Dora picked up the ball to save Ashley from one of Jed's nastier comments. “Jed and I share a passion,” she said, and took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne. “For pincushions.”

Ashley's avid eyes went blank. “For—”

“Jed has the most incredible collection. We met at a flea market, when we both reached for the Victorian blue-satin-and-lace heart-shaped—pins included.” She gave a fluttery, romantic sigh.

“You collect . . . pincushions?” Ashley asked Jed.

“Since I was a child. It's an obsession.”

“And he's such a tease.” Dora gave him an intimate look over the rim of her glass. “He keeps dangling his horse's hoof with plated mounts under my nose. And he knows
perfectly well I'd do anything—
anything
—to have it.”

“Negotiations . . .” He trailed a fingertip down the line of her throat. “Are open.”

“How fascinating,” Ashley murmured.

“Oh, it is,” Dora agreed. “Oh, there's Magda and Carl. Excuse us, won't you? I simply have to catch up.”

“Pincushions?” Jed muttered against her ear as they lost themselves in the crowd.

“I thought about sardine dishes, but they seemed so pretentious.”

“You could have told her the truth.”

“Why?”

He thought about it. “Simplicity?”

“Too boring. Besides, if she knew you lived across the hall from me, she'd start hanging around my apartment, hoping to seduce you. We wouldn't want that, would we?”

Lips pursed in consideration, Jed glanced over his shoulder to give Ashley a thorough study. “Well . . .”

“She'd only use you and toss you aside,” Dora assured him. “I see your grandmother over there. Should you join her?”

“Not if you're going to grill her about candleholders.”

That hadn't been her intention—exactly. “You're just afraid she'll make you dance with me again. Tell you what, I really will go talk to Magda and Carl, and you can catch up with me later, if you like.”

He took her arm, frowned down at his own hand and removed it. “Stick around.”

“What a charming invitation. Why?”

“Because if I'm going to be trapped in here for a couple more hours, it might as well be with you.”

“Poetry, sheer poetry. How can I resist? Let's go see if your grandmother wants some nibbles. I promise not to bring up candleholders unless it seems appropriate.”

“Jed.”

A hand clamped on his shoulder. Jed braced, turned. “Commissioner,” Jed said, both his face and voice neutral.

“Good to see you.” Police Commissioner James Riker gave Jed a quick but thorough study. What he saw obviously pleased him as his thin, dark face creased in a smile. “You're keeping fit, I see.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you were overdue for a vacation, God knows. How was your Christmas?”

“Fine.” Because he couldn't ignore Riker's pointed look toward Dora, Jed did his duty. “Commissioner Riker, Dora Conroy.”

“Hello.” As both her hands were full, Dora beamed him a smile instead of a handshake. “So, you're in charge of keeping the law and order in Philadelphia.”

“I'm in charge of keeping men like Jed on the job.”

If Riker couldn't feel the tension shimmering off Jed, she could. The need to protect clicked in. Dora smoothly changed the course. “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 his
eyes, 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 with
a 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 couple hours in the tank would cool you off.”

He would, too, she thought viciously. Dora huffed, tapped her foot, folded her arms. “Give me a—”

He already had a cigarette lit and was handing it to her.

“Thanks.” She fell into silence.

He knew her routine. She would take three, maybe four quick shallow puffs, then stab it out.

One, he counted. Two. She shot him a furious glare. Three.

“I didn't start it.” Her lips moved into a pout as she crushed out the cigarette.

Jed decided it was safe to sit. “I didn't say you did.”

“You didn't threaten to have
her
arrested.”

“I figured she was going to have enough problems picking pimentos out of her hair. Want a drink?”

“No.” She preferred to sulk. “Look, Skimmerhorn, she was insulting me, my family, women in general. And I took it,” she said righteously. “I took it even when she called me a tramp, a slut, a whore.”

A great deal of his amusement faded. “She said that to you?”

“And I took it,” Dora barreled on, “because I kept telling myself she was just a crazy old lunatic. I was not going to cause a scene. I was not going to lower myself to her level. Then she went too far, she went one step too far.”

“What did she do?”