Blood Orchid

2

Holly Barker walked into the Ocean Grill in Vero Beach and looked around for her father. Nowhere in sight. She looked at her watch; okay, she was ten minutes early, and Ham was always exactly on time.

“Hi, Holly,” the woman at the headwaiter’s station said. “How many tonight?”

“Just two,” Holly replied. “Ham ought to be here in a few minutes. Tell him I’m in the bar.”

“Right. I ought to have a table in twenty minutes or so.”

The Ocean Grill didn’t take reservations, so Holly always came early. One side of the bar was empty, so she plopped down on a stool there.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

“A three-to-one vodka gimlet, straight up, shaken, very cold.”

“Make that two,” a man’s voice said from behind her, and someone took a seat two stools down. “My favorite,” he said to Holly.

Jackson had been dead for nearly a year, but Holly still wasn’t ready to be hit on. She half-turned toward the stranger and nodded. She wasn’t getting into a conversation. Then she relaxed. He was sixtyish and well preserved, at that. He was beautifully, if casually dressed in a blue blazer, gray trousers, black alligator loafers, and what looked like a silk shirt, pale yellow and open at the collar. A pocket square that matched the shirt peeped from his breast pocket.

“It’s a wonderful drink,” she said, comfortable talking to someone who was so much older than she, and who, into the bargain, was quite handsome-tall, slim, tanned, and with thick, perfectly white hair, well cut.

“I’ve never understood the charm of martinis,” he said, “except that they look so wonderful. A gimlet gives you the aesthetic reward of the martini, without having to drink it. Three-to-one is just right, too; bartenders never measure, and they always put too much vodka in a gimlet.” He glanced at the bartender, who pretended not to be listening. The man picked up a jigger and started measuring.

“Yep,” Holly said, “you have to train your bartender to do it right.”

The bartender set two frosted martini glasses on the bar, shook the cocktail shaker for half a minute, then strained the pale, green liquid into the two glasses, decorating each with a slice of lime. “Try that,” he said.

Holly and the man raised their glasses to each other and sipped.

“You’ve earned your tip,” the man said to the bartender.

“You certainly have,” Holly echoed.

The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Ed Shine,” he said, “like the shine on your shoes.”

Holly took the hand. “Holly Barker.”

“From Vero?”

Holly shook her head. “ Orchid Beach, up the road.”

“Really? Me too, for the past four months.”

“I haven’t seen you around,” Holly said.

“Oh? Do you get around all that much?”

“I sure do,” Holly replied. “I work for the city. What do you do, Mr. Shine?”

“Ed, please. I’m retired from the property development business, in New York. Now all I do is grow orchids and play golf.”

“What sort of orchids?” Not that she knew much about them.

“Lots of sorts. I develop hybrids. You know anything about them?”

“Not really.”

“I was attracted to Orchid Beach first because of the name. Saw it on a map and thought I’d have a look.”

“And you liked the town?”

“ Orchid Beach is the way Florida should have turned out but didn’t,” he said. “No high-rises on the beach, beautiful neighborhoods, very manicured.”

“I agree,” Holly said.

Ham stepped up to the bar. “One of those,” he said to the bartender, pointing at Holly’s drink. He gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek.

“Ed, this is my father, Hamilton Barker, known as Ham. Ham, this is Ed Shine, a recent arrival in Orchid.”

The two men shook hands. “Move over here, Ed,” Ham said, pointing at the stool next to Holly. “We’ll bracket her.” He took the stool on the other side of her.

“Ed grows orchids,” Holly said.

“Well, I guess Orchid Beach is the place for it. They grow wild everywhere, you know; that’s how the place got its name.”

They chatted on for a few minutes, then the headwaitress showed up to say their table was ready.

“Join us, Ed, if you’re alone.”

Shine stood up. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

“Can you squeeze in another chair?” Ham asked the headwaitress.

“Sure we can.”

They were shown to their table.

“Let me order some wine for us,” Shine said, picking up the list. “I assume we’re all here for the seafood.”

Ham and Holly nodded.

Two hours later, they finished their coffee. Ed Shine had been an excellent companion-intelligent, amusing, and full of stories, and he had chosen a superior wine.

“Why don’t the two of you stop by my place for a nightcap on the way home?” Shine asked. “I’ll show you some orchids.”

Ham and Holly consulted each other with a glance. “Sure,” Ham said for both of them.

They followed Shine back up A1A, the highway that joins the barrier islands up and down the Florida coast. He took a few turns, and they wound up at a low, nicely designed house on the Indian River, which doubled as the Intercoastal Waterway. Shine led them inside and switched on some lights, revealing a beautifully decorated living room with good pictures on the walls. He poured them each a brandy, then waved them to follow him.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll show you my orchids.” He led the way through the house, opened a door, and switched on the lights.

They found themselves in a greenhouse some forty feet long, filled with tropical plants and many orchids.

“These are my babies,” Shine said, waving a hand. “One in particular.” He held up a pot containing a plant with a single, deeply red bloom. “This is my own creation, after a great deal of work: She’s called the Blood Orchid.”

Then there was the sound of shattering glass, and the pot in Shine’s hand exploded. Holly hit the deck, along with Ham, pulling Shine down beside them.

“What was that?” Shine asked. “And why are we on the floor?”

“That,” Ham said, “was the sound of a bullet fired into your greenhouse by a small-caliber rifle equipped with a silencer.”

“And how the hell would you know that?” Shine asked.

“Believe me,” Holly said, “he knows.”

“Army,” Ham said. “Thirty years of small-weapons use.”

Holly crawled over to the door, reached up, and switched off the lights. “He missed you by inches, Ed. I think we should get back into the house,” she said.

The three of them crawled out of the greenhouse and closed the door behind them. They sat on the floor and looked at one another.

“You carrying, Holly?” Ham asked.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “I carry all the time in Orchid, but not when I go to Vero.”

“Maybe you ought to carry all the time, period.”

“It makes a handbag heavy,” Holly said.

Then they heard a car start, and the spinning of tires on gravel.

“He’s gone,” Ham said.

“Jesus, I hope so,” Shine replied. “I guess we’d better call the police.”

“Iam the police,” Holly said.