Orchid Beach

CHAPTER

37

Holly stood in the entrance hall of the municipal building, just outside the doors of her department, and looked at the large aerial photograph of Orchid Beach. She reckoned it must be many years old, because Palmetto Gardens simply did not exist. Prominent properties and developments were labeled, but the only thing named on what was now the development was a road that ran from the northern end of the island to just where Palmetto Gardens now stood. The road was called Jungle Trail.

Holly went upstairs to the county planning commission and introduced herself to the director, a woman named Jean Silver. “What I’m looking for,” she said, “is a map that shows the current state of development on the north end of the barrier island.”

“That’s easy,” the woman said, going to a wide drawer and extracting a map.

“Can I borrow this?” Holly asked, looking at the large sheet of paper.

“You can have that copy,” Silver replied. “Interdepartmental courtesy.”

“Thank you very much.” Holly went back to her office, closed the door and spread out the map. Apparently, Palmetto Gardens didn’t exist for the planning commission, either: it was shown as nothing more than an empty parcel of land, whereas other developments had maps of roads and lot divisions. She picked up the phone and called Jean Silver.

“Yes?”

“Jean, it’s Holly Barker.”

“What can I do for you, Holly?”

“I was just looking at the map you gave me, and I noticed that, with all the north-end developments, streets and lots are outlined.”

“That’s right. We include everything in developments where the city or county has built roads or installed sewer and water lines.”

“I notice that one place, Palmetto Gardens, is shown as just an empty space.”

“That’s correct. It’s a completely private development, which has made no demands for city services. In fact, they petitioned, early on, to have the whole of their acreage removed from the city limits, but the city council didn’t buy it because of the tax situation. If they’d been outside the city limits, they wouldn’t be paying property taxes, which, I suppose, was their intent. They also petitioned to be removed from the oversight of this department for planning purposes, and the council gave them that. That’s why there are no roads or lots marked on the map; they built their own. It’s officially none of our business what they do out there.”

“I see there’s a road called Jungle Trail along the river.”

“Right. It starts up at the north end of the island next to the Sebastian Inlet and runs nearly all the way to the south bridge. I think that when the council cut Palmetto Gardens out of the planning authority’s jurisdiction, they didn’t realize they were giving them the right to close that part of the road on their property to outsiders. There was a lot of anger about it, because that road was practically a city park, and, in fact, the rest of it has now been given that status, even though it crosses a lot of private property. Jungle Trail is a big favorite with bike riders and hikers.”

“I see. Thanks for the information. ’Bye.” Holly hung up.

There was a knock on her door.

“Come in.”

Jane Grey stuck her head in. “The telephone man is here to put in your private line,” she said.

“Oh, good, tell him to come ahead.” Holly had ordered the line at her own expense, because she felt uncomfortable talking to Jackson over departmental lines.

A man wearing a tool belt and carrying a telephone came in. “Hi, I’m Al,” he said, and went to work.

Holly was still looking at the map. “Al,” she said, “did you ever do any work on the phones out at Palmetto Gardens?”

“I worked on putting in their basic service a long time ago,” he said.

“What do you mean by basic service?”

“Well, it’s like when you do an office building: you run in the lines they’ve ordered to a central box, then they complete the installation. They’ll buy a phone system from somebody like Lucent or Panasonic, and the supplier’s people will run all the lines and extensions.”

“And that’s what you did at Palmetto Gardens?”

“Well, yeah, but it was pretty elaborate. They ordered something like two thousand lines.”

“That many?”

“Well, you figure they have a few hundred houses, and what with fax machines and computers they might have, say, four lines each. Then you’ve got all the common lines—the clubhouse, shops, maintenance, security, all that. It adds up. In the case of Palmetto Gardens, the company had to open a new prefix, just for them. Nobody had ever asked for two thousand lines before. It’s like they built a small town, from scratch.” He screwed something together and placed the new phone on her desk. “There you are. All hooked up.”

“Thanks, A1.”

He went on his way.

Holly called Jackson. “Okay, I’ve got a private line.” She gave him the number.

“Does this mean I can talk dirty on the phone now?”

“Certainly not, you pervert.”

“Then what’s the point of having a private line?”

“Oh, all right, you can talk dirty.”

“Wish I could, but I’m due in court,” he said.

“Promises, promises. See you tonight.”

“Oh, I talked to my buddy at the airport. He’s shooting our pictures today, and for only twelve hundred bucks.”

“A bargain. See you tonight.” She hung up, called Ham and gave him the number. “How’s Daisy?”

“She’s okay. I think she misses you, though.”

“I’ll come out there and get her later this afternoon,” Holly said.

“Maybe I’ll get a dog of my own.”

“Good idea.”

“This one is kind of spooky.”

“How so?”

“Well, she brought me a beer yesterday.”

“She does that. You just say, ‘Daisy, bring me a beer.’”

“I didn’t say anything, she just did it.”

“Maybe you looked thirsty.”

“Probably.”

“See you later.” Holly hung up and looked at the map again. Maybe it was time she saw Jungle Trail.