Hidden Riches Read Online Free PDF

spit out of the colorless sky. It was almost quiet in the back of the building. Though it fronted on busy South Street, Jed didn’t think he’d mind the noise and Bohemian atmosphere, the tourists or the shops. He was close enough to the river that he could take solitary walks when he chose.
    In any case, it would be a dramatic change from the manicured lawns of Chestnut Hill, where the Skimmerhorn family home had stood for two centuries.
    Through the gloom he could see the glow of coloredlights strung on the windows of neighboring buildings. Someone had wired a large plastic Santa and his eight tiny reindeer to a roof, where they were caught in the pretense of flying day and night.
    It reminded him that Brent had invited him to Christmas dinner. A big, noisy family event that Jed might have enjoyed in the past. There had never been big, noisy family events in his life—or none that could have been called fun.
    And now there was no family. No family at all.
    He pressed his fingertips to the ache at his temple and willed himself not to think of Elaine. But old memories, like the ghost of past sins, snuck through and knotted his stomach.
    He hauled the last of the boxes out of the trunk and slammed it with a force that rattled the reconditioned Thunderbird down to its tires. He wasn’t going to think of Elaine, or Donny Speck or responsibilities or regrets. He was going to go inside, pour a drink and try to think of nothing at all.
    With his eyes narrowed against the stinging sleet, he climbed the steep steps one last time. The temperature inside was dramatically higher than the wind-punched air outside. The landlord was generous with the heat. Overly generous. But then, it wasn’t Jed’s problem how the old guy spent his money.
    Funny old guy, Jed thought now, with his rich voice, operatic gestures and silver flask. He’d been more interested in Jed’s opinion on twentieth-century playwrights than in his references and rent check.
    Still, you couldn’t be a cop for nearly half your life and not understand that the world was made up of a lot of odd characters.
    Once inside, Jed dumped the last box onto the oak table in the dining area. He dug through crumpled newspaper in search of that drink. Unlike the crates in storage, these boxes weren’t marked, nor had they been packed with anysort of system. If there had been any practical genes in the Skimmerhorn blood, he figured Elaine had gotten his share as well as her own.
    The fresh thought of his sister made him swear again, softly through his teeth. He knew better than to let the thought dig roots, for if it did it would bloom with guilt. Over the past month he’d become all too aware that guilt could give you night sweats and a dull, skittering sense of panic.
    Sweaty hands and panic weren’t desirable qualities in a cop. Nor was the tendency to uncontrollable rage. But he wasn’t a cop anymore, Jed reminded himself. His time and his choices, as he’d told his grandmother, were his own.
    The apartment was echoingly empty, which only served to satisfy him that he was alone. One of the reasons he’d chosen it was because he’d have only one neighbor to ignore. The other reason was just as simple, and just as basic: It was fabulous.
    He supposed he’d lived with the finer things for too long not to be drawn to them. However much he claimed that his surroundings didn’t matter, he would have been quietly miserable in some glossy condo or soulless apartment complex.
    He imagined the old building had been converted into shop and apartments sometime in the thirties. It had retained its lofty ceilings and spacious rooms, the working fireplace and slim, tall windows. The floors, a random-width oak, had been highly polished for the new tenant.
    The trim was walnut and uncarved, the walls a creamy ivory. The old man had assured Jed they could be painted to suit his tastes, but home decorating was the last thing on