Hidden Riches by Nora Roberts Page A

building, and he enjoyed working with his hands, liked the feel of wood under them. Once, he’d considered adding a small workshop onto the back of the house in Chestnut Hill. A place where he could have tinkered and built when the job gave him time. But that had been beforeDonny Speck. Before the investigation that had become an obsession.
    And, of course, it had been before Elaine had paid the price.
    Before Jed could switch off his mind, he saw it again. The silver Mercedes sedan sitting sedately under the carport. He saw the dull gleam of pearls around Elaine’s neck and remembered inanely that they had been a birthday gift from the first of her three husbands. He saw her eyes, the same brilliant blue as his own—perhaps the only family trait they had shared—lift and look curiously in his direction. He saw the faint annoyance in those eyes and saw himself racing across the manicured lawn, between the well-tended rosebushes that had smelled almost violently of summer.
    The sun had glinted off the chrome, speared into his eyes. A bird high up in one of the trio of apple trees had trilled insanely.
    Then the explosion had ripped through the air with a hot fist that had punched Jed back, sent him flying away toward the roses, where the petals were sheared off by the force of the blast.
    The silver Mercedes was a ball of flame with a belch of black smoke stinking upward into the summer sky. He thought he heard her scream. It could have been the screech of rending metal. He hoped it had been. He hoped she’d felt nothing after her fingers had twisted the key in the ignition and triggered the bomb.
    Swearing, Jed attacked the new banister with Brent’s power sander. It was over. Elaine was dead and couldn’t be brought back. Donny Speck was dead, thank Christ. And however much Jed might have wished it, he couldn’t kill the man again.
    And he was exactly where he wanted to be. Alone.
    â€œHo, ho, ho.”
    Distracted by the hearty voice behind him, Jed switched off the sander. He turned, his eyes narrowed behind histinted aviator glasses as he studied, with equal parts annoyance and curiosity, the pink-cheeked Santa.
    â€œYou’re a couple days early, aren’t you?”
    â€œHo, ho, ho,” Santa said again, and patted his comfortable belly. “Looks like you could use a little Christmas cheer, son.”
    Resigned to the interruption, Jed took out a cigarette. “Mr. Conroy, right?” He watched Santa’s face fall. “It’s the eyes,” Jed told him, and struck a match. They were Dora’s eyes, Jed thought. Big and brown and full of secret jokes.
    â€œOh.” Quentin considered, then brightened. “I suppose a policeman is trained to see past disguises, the same way an actor is trained to assume them. I have, of course, played many upholders of law and order in my career.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œIn keeping with the season, I’ve been entertaining the children at Tidy Tots Day Care.” He stroked his silky white beard. “A small engagement, but a satisfying one, as it gives me the opportunity to play one of the world’s most beloved characters to an audience of true believers. Children are actors, you see, and actors, children.”
    Amused despite himself, Jed nodded. “I’ll take your word for it.”
    â€œI see Izzy’s put you to work.”
    â€œIzzy?”
    â€œMy darling daughter.” Quentin wiggled his eyebrows and winked. “Pretty thing, isn’t she?”
    â€œShe’s all right.”
    â€œCooks, too. Don’t know where she gets it from. Not her mother.” Conspiratorily, Quentin leaned closer. “Not to complain, but boiling an egg is a culinary triumph for her. Of course, she has other talents.”
    â€œI’m sure she does. Dora’s inside.”
    â€œNaturally. A dedicated businesswoman, my firstborn, not at all like the rest of us in that