Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

“What was his explanation?”

“I didn’t ask him about it; he had already told me that his outside work was none of my business.”

“How big a case? How long?”

“Just a standard zipper case, like one that would hold a hunting rifle or a shotgun.”

“How long ago?”

“I’m not sure; two or three weeks, maybe. I thought maybe he was taking it to the range, since it was his regular day to go.”

“Miami Bullseye?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Yes. He fired there every week.”

Holly nodded. “I’ll see you again, Pedro.” She left the shop and stowed the weapon in the lockable bin that held the spare tire in her SUV. Then she went back to the mall and went shopping again. It was lovely to be doing something so normal again, she thought as she shopped for shoes.

At her third stop in the mall, she became aware of a woman she had seen the morning before. She was thirtyish, dressed in a business suit, with fairly short brown hair. Holly felt she was beginning to see too much of her. As she continued through the mall, she kept seeing the woman, and when she came out of the Ralph Lauren store, her tail was sitting on a bench in the middle of the mall, pretending to read a magazine.

Holly went and sat down next to her. “Good morning,” she said.

The woman glanced at her, nodded, and went back to her magazine.

“How’s Harry Crisp these days?”

The woman looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“How’s old Harry? Your boss?”

“I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else,” the woman said.

“I’m afraid you have me confused with someone who can’t spot a tail,” Holly replied.

“I’m sorry?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as that, but you’re not very good. You were outside the church at the Alvarez funeral, weren’t you? You followed Pedro home after the burial.”

The woman was becoming flustered now. “I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone,” she said.

“Sure, I will,” Holly replied, “and I’ll give you a choice. You can vanish, then call Harry and tell him you lost me, or I’ll call him myself and tell him what a lousy job you’re doing.”

“Goodbye,” the woman said, getting up. She walked quickly away, toward an exit to the parking lot.

Holly resumed her shopping, but she kept an eye out for the woman’s partner, if she had one.

30

Holly, unable to think of anything else to do, took in a movie at the mall, then after getting the address from the telephone information operator, drove to North Miami and Miami Bullseye. She figured Carlos’s shooting group would arrive early evening, after work and supper, so she had a burger at a fast-food joint across the street. When she felt the time was right, she retrieved Carlos’s Beretta from her car, shouldered her handbag, and walked into the shooting range.

It was pretty much what she had expected—a long, low building made of concrete blocks, divided into narrow alleys and shooting booths. She stopped at a window and told the woman behind the glass that she’d like to fire for an hour. The woman took her money and signed her in. “Can I buy some cartridges?” she asked.

“What do you need?”

“A box each of nine-millimeter and seven sixty-fives.”

The woman went to a steel cabinet behind her, unlocked it, took out two boxes, relocked the cabinet, and returned to the window. Holly paid her, and she took down the serial numbers of both weapons.

“Take position ten,” the woman said, pointing.