Stuart Woods - Orchid Blues

"What kind of guns?"

"Everything from antiques to handguns to military automatic stuff."

"Where does he keep it?"

"In plain sight, on the walls of his den."

"Be interesting to plow through it and see how much of it is illegal."

"Is it legal to own a Barrett's rifle?"

"What's a Barrett's rifle?"

"It's a fifty-caliber sniper's piece that can take out an armored personnel carrier."

"I've never heard of it, but I'll check it out."

"We saw it fired the first time we were out there," Holly said. "It was scary."

"Anything else they talked about?" Harry asked.

"They sort of implied that somebody with my shooting skills could make a difference in the world."

"You think they want you to shoot somebody?"

"The first thing they asked me was what I thought of the president."

"And you said?"

"I just held my nose and expressed my preference for George Wallace. I thought Adolf Hitler might be going a little too far."

"Ham, did you come away thinking that they wanted you to shoot the president?"

"It's hard to say, Harry. Asking about the president might just have been their way of asking about my politics. Still, they were awful interested in how well I shoot."

"And how well is that?"

Holly spoke up. "As well as it can be done," she said. "And with anything."

"I don't like the reference to the president," Harry said.

"Harry," Holly said, "do you think we ought to bring the Secret Service into this?"

"Not yet," Harry said quickly. "They'd be all over it, going in there with a search warrant, and we'd lose any hope of penetrating this group."

"That sounds a little like interservice rivalry to me," Ham said.

"Well, I guess it is, but it's my call on when to bring them in. Don't worry, I'm not going to let the president be put in jeopardy."

"Or Ham, either," Holly said.

"Of course not," Harry said quickly. "I wouldn't be using Ham at all, if I didn't think it was the only way into this group."

"Actually," Ham said, "I'm kind of enjoying this. I've taken a real dislike to these people, and it would tickle me to blow them out of the water, whatever they're doing."

"Any other impressions of last evening?"

"Well, I got the idea that they weren't hurting for money."

"Of course not," Holly said, "they just robbed a bank."

"I guess they could be making good money from this gun show of theirs," Harry said.

"You'd have to move a lot of weapons," Ham replied. "But I bet they could move a lot of weapons, if they felt the need. I bet if you wanted a couple hundred assault rifles or fifty Uzis, they could find them for you in a hurry."

"Anything else about last night?"

Ham thought for a minute. "Something they said," he replied.

"What?"

"It was when the brandy was poured, kind of a toast."

"What was the toast?"

"They all said, 'On the day.'"

Holly was on the way to work when her cell phone rang. "Holly Barker," she said into the instrument.

"It's Hurd," he said. "Franklin Morris's car has been found."

"Where?"

"At the Pirate's Cove Marina, in Sebastian."

Sebastian was the next town north of Orchid Beach, on the Indian River. "He didn't go far, did he?"

"Nope."

"Grab the tech and meet me there."

"You know the place?"

"I know it. It's near that seafood restaurant, Captain Hiram's, isn't it?"

"That's the place."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," she said, then punched off.

The Pirate's Cove Marina had fallen on hard times and had been closed for the better part of a year, not having found a buyer who would rescue it from bankruptcy. Holly remembered it from when she had first arrived in town, and, she thought, it had gone downhill fast. There was a chain at the entrance, with a sign saying, Strictly No Admittance. Trespassers Will Be Shot. The chain was lying in the dirt road.

Holly parked and got out of the car. A small group of people were standing down at the water, next to a boat ramp. A Sebastian police car was there, too, and a wrecker. Holly walked down to the ramp.

"Good morning, Sergeant," she said to the Sebastian cop. "I'm Chief Holly Barker from Orchid Beach."

"How you doin'?" he asked, looking her up and down.

Holly was used to that and ignored it. "I hear you found a car we've been looking for."

"There it comes," the cop said, nodding toward the water. The wrecker's cable stretched down the ramp and into the water, and the machinery was making terrible groaning sounds. A foot at a time, the Chrysler convertible backed up the ramp, leaking water. "That's too nice a car for somebody to do it that way," the cop said.

A man wearing a wet suit walked over, a set of fins in his hand. "That ain't all that's down there, Sergeant," he said. "There's a van and a trailer, too." He pointed. "Right about yonder."

"Well, that's the damndest thing I ever heard of," the cop said.

"We've been looking for all three," Holly said. She looked down at the rear end of the convertible. "Sergeant, would you do me a favor?"

"If I can," the sergeant replied.

"Will you run the plate on that convertible for me?"

"Sure," the cop said and went to his patrol car.

Holly watched the car continue its progress up the ramp. Finally, it was high and dry enough for the wrecker to tow it to one side. The man in the wet suit unhooked the cable from the convertible's rear bumper and began pulling the hook toward the ramp. "One down, two to go," he said, half to himself. A moment later, he pulled down his mask, put on his flippers and walked down the ramp until he disappeared underwater.

Hurd pulled up in his unmarked car, with the tech beside him in the front seat. He got out and walked over to where Holly stood, glancing at the convertible. "It got wet, huh?"

"Yep," Holly said, "and the van and the trailer are still out there." She turned to the tech. "See what you can find in the convertible," she said. "Sergeant, you mind if my tech goes over the car?"

"Well, if you'll share information, that'll be all right. Save our man a trip down here."

The horse trailer was backing up the ramp now, spilling water from between its slats. "Fully loaded with furniture," Holly said. "Now, I wonder where Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Morris could be?"

"Afoot, I reckon," Hurd said.

The sergeant came back from his patrol car. "The plate on the convertible belongs to a Buick in Fort Lauderdale," he said. "Reported stolen eight months ago-the plate, not the car."

"Thanks, Sergeant." She turned to Hurd. "Morris took a pretty big chance driving around with that plate on his car. If he'd been stopped for speeding or a broken taillight, he'd have been in trouble. Tell our man to get the VIN off the convertible, and let's run that. I'm sure the convertible must have been stolen, too."

The diver was going back into the water with the hook again.

"I don't get it," Hurd said. "If they were going to ditch the vehicles, why didn't they just walk away from the house and leave everything there. Why go to the trouble to pack everything up, then dump it all in the river?"

"Doesn't make any sense, does it," Holly said, half to herself. She was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

The van started up the ramp now, water pouring from an open driver's-side door.

"Come on, Hurd," she said, then started down the ramp. She approached the vehicle, taking care not to touch it. "Raymond!" she yelled, "get over here."

The tech trotted toward them, carrying his bag.

Holly stuck her head inside the van. The front seat was empty, but a woman's foot, wearing a sock, but shoeless, rested on the back of the passenger-side seat. Holly looked into the rear seat. "Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I presume."