Orchid Beach

CHAPTER

42

Holly didn’t have to wait long. When she got back from lunch, John Westover was sitting in her office. “Hey, John, how are you?” she asked.

Westover got up and shook her hand, but he didn’t look happy. “I’m good, Holly? You?”

“Just fine, thanks.” She sat down behind her desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Holly, there’s something we have to talk about,” Westover replied.

“Shoot.”

“Let me start at the beginning.”

“All right.”

“Some years ago when the Palmetto Gardens people were looking for land here…”

“Oh, this is about Palmetto Gardens?”

“Please let me finish.”

“Sorry, John, go right ahead.”

“When they were looking for land, they came to the council with a number of proposals that sort of set them apart from other developers, things they wanted that other developers never seem to think about.”

“What sort of things?”

“Well, at first, they wanted to incorporate as their own town. We explained to them that we wouldn’t do that, because that would put them outside our tax base. Then they wanted some other things that were all aimed at making them as separate as possible.”

“What sort of things?” Holly asked again, continuing to play dumb. She wanted Westover to have to spell it out.

“For instance, they let us know up front that they weren’t going to hire much local labor, that they would be mostly bringing in their own people.”

“But that wouldn’t be so good for Orchid, would it, John?”

“Normally, no, but the taxes on such a large and expensively developed parcel of land more than made up for that.”

“I see, it was the money.”

“Well, of course it was the money,” Westover said irritably. “That one development accounts for a very healthy percentage of our income from local property taxes.”

“I understand, John.”

“They even brought in their own construction workers, which didn’t sit well with local builders, I can tell you, and there were other things we don’t need to go into right now.”

“What things?”

“I just said, I don’t want to go into all of them now,” Westover said heatedly.

“Sorry, go ahead, John.”

“Well, the whole thing has worked out brilliantly for Orchid Beach,” Westover said.

“Yes, I’ve seen the Westover Motors stickers on the vehicles from out there.”

“Damnit, Holly, I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about the community as a whole, and how we benefit from having them out there.”

“How does the community benefit, apart from the tax revenues?” Holly asked.

“In many ways.”

“Such as?”

Westover was sweating now. “Holly, you’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

“I’m glad to do that, John,” she replied.

“Now, as I say, the Palmetto Gardens people want to be as separate as possible, and that works very well for the community, too.”

“You already said that, John.”

“Now I understand that the question of the licensing of a security guard has arisen.”

“You spoke to Barney Noble, then?”

“Yes, he called me an hour ago.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Well, as you might understand, Barney is upset that we’re trying to deprive him of one of his valued people, and I really don’t think that we should be sticking our noses into his operation out there.”

“I see, John. Tell me, did Barney explain to you who this man is and why I have a problem with him?”

“I didn’t ask any questions,” Westover said quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s really not necessary for me to know about it.”

“I think you need to know about this individual, John,” Holly said, continuing over his protests. “Mr. Elwood Mosely, a.k.a. Cracker Mosely, has a record going back to his teens, when he was convicted of vandalism and cruelty to animals. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’ve got to do something really cruel to animals to attract the attention of the authorities.”

“Holly, I…”

“Please listen to me, John. Mr. Mosely joined the Miami Police Department, and soon he was running a protection racket for drug dealers. They’d give him a cut of their take, and Mr. Mosely would spread the money around, keeping some for himself, of course, thus removing these drug dealers from the attention of the police. Then one day one of these dealers failed to give Mr. Mosely his cut, so Mr. Mosely, when he saw the man, jumped out of his police car and, in broad daylight, in front of witnesses, beat the man to death. Mr. Mosely’s own partner arrested him, and Mr. Mosely was convicted of manslaughter, a serious crime, and sent to prison.”

Westover had turned pale now. He was mopping the sweat from his face with a large handkerchief, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Now, John, perhaps you don’t know that a convicted felon may not be licensed as a security guard in the state of Florida; neither may he be licensed to carry a weapon. But, because of some anomaly in the state’s record keeping, Mr. Mosely now holds both those licenses. This means that a convicted killer is wearing a badge and carrying a gun in our lovely community, and, John”—Holly leaned forward and rested her hands on her desk—“I’m not going to have it.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Westover said, his shoulders slumping.

“So,” Holly continued, “I think you’d better call Barney Noble back and tell him that if Mr. Mosely isn’t in this office by noon tomorrow to surrender those licences, I’m going to come out to Palmetto Gardens and get him.”

“Holly…”

“I hope I’ve made myself perfectly clear on this, John, and if I haven’t, then I suggest you call an urgent meeting of the city council, and I’ll explain it to them.”

“All right, all right,” Westover said, defeated. He stood up and walked out of her office without another word, mopping the back of his neck with his handkerchief.

Holly watched him go with some satisfaction. She had known that she was going to butt heads with him eventually, and she was glad that she had been on such solid ground when it had happened.

The private line on her desk rang, and she picked it up. “Holly Barker.”

“Holly, it’s Harry Crisp.”

“Hey, Harry, what’s up?”

“You’ve got the bureau’s attention. I’m coming up there with some people later today; we should be at Jackson’s place by eight o’clock tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Harry,” she said. “Are you bringing somebody who can sweep Jackson’s house and my trailer for electronic surveillance?”

“I am, and he’s very good, believe me.”

“I believe you. Do you need any help from me? Do you have someplace to stay?”

“I’m staying at Jackson’s, and we’ve booked the others into various motels around town, so as not to attract attention.”

“Harry, I had one other thought.”

“Go ahead.”

“That communications building. I have a hunch that it’s at the heart of whatever is going on out there. Do you know anybody at the National Security Agency?” Holly knew that the agency existed to monitor communications around the world.

“I’m way ahead of you. I’ve put in a request for analysis of their transmissions, but I don’t know whether they’re going to give us what we want or even how long it will take to find out if they will or won’t.”

“Okay, I’ll leave the red tape to you.”

“Will you call Jackson and tell him we’re on the way, and that I expect dinner for six hungry feds?”

“I sure will, and don’t worry, he’s a wonderful cook.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No kidding. See you around eight.” Holly hung up the phone with hope in her heart.