Blood Orchid

28

Holly walked Daisy and fed her some of the dry food and water she kept in her car, thinking the whole time. So Carlos had come into money? He wouldn’t have been paid so much to bug her phones and jimmy her alarm system, but Carlos had other talents. For the wiretapping and for three murders, he’d be very well paid indeed. Of course, he’d missed Ed Shine, but he’d been very successful with the other two.

But why would the people who’d hired him murder him? Because they were finished with him, of course, and maybe because he’d failed with Ed Shine, and the property went to another buyer.

She wasn’t driving back to Orchid Beach tonight; she had two other stops to make in the area, and she began thinking about where to spend the night. There were a lot of motels in the area, but would they take dogs? Then she remembered something. The year before, when she had been working with the FBI on a case, they had put her up at the Delano, a jazzy and elegant hotel in South Beach. What the hell, she was a woman of means, Jackson had seen to that in his will, and she deserved a good night’s rest. She called the Delano and made a reservation, getting an okay on Daisy, then she started driving.

She spent half an hour at a mall buying some extra clothes, then headed south. Fifteen minutes from her destination she saw a sign with a familiar name, and she braked hard, nearly throwing Daisy off the seat. She whipped into a parking spot. “You stay here, baby,” she said to Daisy. “It’s time for your mama to have dinner.” Daisy was used to waiting in the car.

She walked into Pellegrino’s and looked around; she saw the man almost immediately, talking to customers at a nearby table. He left them and approached her.

“Good evening,” he said. “May I help you?”

He was as Marina had described him, sleek and well dressed, about fifty, she reckoned.

“I haven’t made a reservation,” she said. “Do you have room for one for dinner?”

“I’m very sorry,” he said with a regretful smile, “we’re fully booked, but you can have dinner at the bar, if you wish. The menu is the same.”

“Thank you, I’ll sit at the bar.” She offered him a smile of her own.

He led her to the bar, which was half full, and pulled out a seat at the less populated end. He snapped his fingers for the bartender, who came quickly. “Perhaps you’d be my guest for a drink while you’re looking at the menu,” he said.

“Thank you, I’d love one. A bourbon on the rocks?”

“Any special brand?”

“Do you have Knob Creek?”

“Of course.” He nodded at the bartender, who went to pour the drink, then he handed Holly a menu. “Would you like me to recommend something?”

“Why don’t you order for me?” Holly said, handing back the menu.

The man beamed. “Of course. How hungry are you?”

“Very.”

“In that case I will start you with our famous antipasti and continue with our specialty, the osso buco.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“May I introduce myself? I’m Pio Pellegrino.”

“I’m Helen Benson,” she said. “You’re the owner, then?”

“It’s a family business,” he replied. “My father, over there, is still the owner, but we run it together.” He nodded at an elderly man sitting near the kitchen door, eating pasta. “He likes to sit there because it’s near the waiters’ station, and he wants to be sure they don’t steal the cutlery.”

Holly laughed. “A smart businessman.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Excuse me, I’ll order your dinner.”

Holly sipped her bourbon and looked around the place. It was handsomely designed, fairly large, and filling up fast-obviously a popular place.

Her antipasti arrived, and she had a bit of everything. Delicious. Then came the osso buco, and Pio, with half a bottle of red.

“I hope you’ll drink some wine,” he said. “With my personal compliments.”

“Thank you, yes.”

He poured the wine, a very good Chianti Classico, and she made appreciative noises. He left to seat other customers.

Holly loved the osso buco, and when Pio returned, she had finished it. “Thank you so much for ordering for me, and for the wine,” she said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Not in my own restaurant,” he said, “but I’d be delighted to have one with you.” He spoke to the bartender in Italian, and two glasses of a golden liquid appeared.

“What is it?”

He settled on a stool next to her. “Strega, an Italian apperitif.”

She liked it and told him so.

“So, are you from Miami?”

“No, from out of town.”

“How did you choose my restaurant?”

“Pure luck; I was driving past and saw the sign, and I was in the mood for Italian.”

His smile turned into a leer, but he didn’t rise to the line. “Where are you staying?”

“Over on South Beach.” She looked at her watch. “In fact, I’d better be going. I’m meeting my boyfriend at our hotel, and I’m late.”

His face fell. “I hope you’ll come back again,” he said. “And alone. I enjoy your company.”

“That’s very kind of you; I’ll keep it in mind. I’m here for a few more days. May I have a check?”

“There is no check,” he said grandly.

“My goodness,” Holly said, batting her eyes. “You’re even kinder than I thought.” She shook his hand, and he held on for a little too long, then she left and went back to the car, feeling that she had only just escaped his further intentions.

At the Delano, Holly checked in, with only a shopping bag for luggage, settled into her room, then called her office and told them where she was. “Don’t give out that information, though,” she said. “Just take a message.”

Then she called Ham. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m in Miami for a couple of nights on business,” she said. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Me, worry? You don’t need my permission for a dirty weekend.”

“It’s not a weekend, and it’s not dirty,” she replied. “It’s just a couple of days’ work on a case.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, shut up, Ham. I’ll see you later in the week.” She hung up.

Daisy hopped onto the bed and put her head in Holly’s lap.

“Your grandfather has a dirty mind,” she said. She thought about Grant and wished it was a dirty weekend.