Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

“You sound like my wife.”

“Listen to her, Harry.” Holly hung up. She thought for a minute, then called information and got the number for the Miami office of the General Services Administration and dialed it. Shortly, she had Willard Smith on the line.

“My name is Holly Barker, Mr. Smith. I’m chief of police in Orchid Beach, Florida, up the coast.”

“What can I do for you, Chief?” He sounded in a hurry.

“It appears that the death of Howard Singleton might be related to a case I’m working on up here.”

“And what case would that be?”

“Perhaps you’ll recall that there were two murders and another attempt that were related to your office’s auction of the Palmetto Gardens property?”

“I know about that. Listen, I’ve already talked to the FBI about that.”

“I know; I’ve just talked to Harry Crisp.”

“Then your question must be the same as his?”

“Yes. Is there anything at all you’re working on that sounds like the Palmetto Gardens deal?”

“Nothing.”

“You mean you have no confiscated properties for sale?”

“All the time, Chief, but not like that one. In that case, we appeared to have lowball bidders who had been killing off the competition, but when they failed to kill Mr. Shine and the sale to him went through, they had no further reason to kill people.”

“But what I’m asking is, is there another sale pending which might attract the same sorts of bidders?”

“You mean a criminal element?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not. I’ve been through every sale on Howard’s desk—and incidentally, I was the one who put those sales on his desk—and neither Howard nor I has spotted anything remotely similar to the Palmetto Gardens case. I’ve been reviewing the files again this morning, just to be sure, and there’s nothing. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a great deal of work to do today.”

“Will you call me if something similar comes up?”

“I will certainly do that, Chief,” he said, then hung up.

And he didn’t even take my number, Holly thought.

Her phone rang; it was the medical examiner.

“Morning,” she said. “I hope you’ve done the autopsy on our shooter of last evening.”

“I have, and he died of two gunshot wounds to the chest, both from your weapon.”

“Anything else?”

“He had amalgam dental fillings, just like the other one.”

“So he’s Cuban?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not, if the fillings are the same?”

“Well, he’s blond and blue-eyed, for one thing.”