Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

“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.