Free Hidden Riches by Nora Roberts Page A

as thin and sharp as pencils. Breath wheezing, Ashworth swung awkwardly with the golf club as he fought to save his balance. More in reaction than intent, DiCarlo grabbed at the club as it whooshed by his ear. Ashworth pitched forward. His head hit a cast-iron coal shuttle with an ominous crack.
    â€œAh, Christ.” Disgusted, DiCarlo shoved Ashworth over with the toe of his shoe. In the spill of the upstairs light, he could see the flow of blood, the open staring eyes. Fury had him kicking the body twice before he pulled himself back.
    He was out the rear door and half a block away when he heard the sound of sirens.
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    Finley was switching channels on several of his television screens when the call came through.
    â€œDiCarlo on line two, Mr. Finley.”
    â€œPut him through.” After he’d switched the phone to speaker, Finley said, “You have news for me?”
    â€œYes. Yes, sir. I have the porcelain figurine with me, Mr. Finley, as well as a list locating all the other merchandise.” DiCarlo spoke from his car phone, and kept his speed to a law-abiding fifty-five on his way back to Dulles International.
    Finley waited a beat. “Explain.”
    DiCarlo began with Porter, pausing every few sentences to be certain Finley wanted him to continue. “I’d be happy to fax the list to you as soon as I reach the airport, Mr. Finley.”
    â€œYes, do that. You sound a bit . . . uneasy, Mr. DiCarlo.”
    â€œWell, actually, sir, there was a bit of a problem in recovering the figurine. An antique dealer in Front Royal had purchased it. His shop was closed when I arrived, and knowing that you wanted results quickly, I broke in to retrieve it. The dealer was upstairs. There was an accident, Mr. Finley. He’s dead.”
    â€œI see.” Finley examined his nails. “So I assume you took care of this Porter.”
    â€œTook care of?”
    â€œHe can link you to the . . . accident, correct? And a link to you, Mr. DiCarlo, is a link to me. I suggest you snap the link quickly, finally.”
    â€œI’m—I’m on my way to the airport.”
    â€œThen you’ll have to turn around and go back, won’t you? Don’t bother with that fax. After you’ve finished tidying up in Virginia, I’ll expect you here, with the figurine. We’ll discuss the next steps.”
    â€œYou want me in California? Mr. Finley—”
    â€œBy noon, Mr. DiCarlo. We’ll be closing early tomorrow. The holidays, you know. Contact Winesap with your flight information. You’ll be met.”
    â€œYes, sir.” DiCarlo broke the connection and headed for the first exit ramp. He hoped to God Porter was still in his office and well drunk so that he could put a bullet in the man’s brain with little fuss.
    If he didn’t get this whole mess straightened out soon, he’d never make it home for Christmas dinner.
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    â€œReally, Andrew, really, there’s no need for you to walk me up.” With the self-defense only a woman who’d been bored beyond redemption could possibly understand, Dora body-blocked the stairway. Just let me get inside, she thought, behind a locked door. Then she could beat her head against the wall in private.
    Andrew Dawd, a CPA who considered bundling funds into tax shelters the height of intrigue, gave one of his hearty laughs and pinched her cheek. “Now, Dora, mymother taught me to always see the girl to her door.”
    â€œWell, Mama’s not here,” Dora pointed out, and inched up the steps. “And it’s late.”
    â€œLate? It’s not even eleven. You’re not going to send me off without a cup of coffee, are you?” He flashed the white teeth that his doting mama had spent thousands to have straightened. “You know you make the best coffee in Philadelphia.”
    â€œIt’s a gift.” She was searching for some polite way to refuse when the outside