Stuart Woods: Blood Orchid

“Any problems with the unions?”

“Always,” Shine said, “but I worked hard at being fair with them; they think I’m soft, too. Anyway, it’s been a long time since we hadthat sort of problem with the unions. The feds have pretty much cleaned them up.”

“How about your neighbors? Any problems with them?”

“No, they’re all very nice. I made a point of having them over for a drink after I moved in, and they’ve since had me over for dinner, the people on both sides of me.”

“Once more: can you think ofanybody who might wish you ill?”

Shine shook his head vehemently. “I’ve tried to live my life in such a way as not to make enemies. You know what I think? I think this is some kid, some vandal, who just wanted to break some glass, that’s all.”

The two cops came into the house, careful to wipe their feet. “Chief,” one of them said, “we found where the shooter parked his car and stood, right over there about thirty yards away. But the ground is too dry from the drought for there to be any footprints or tire tracks.”

“Then how do you know you’ve found the spot?” Holly asked.

A cop held up a shell casing, hanging on a pencil. “Twenty-two long rifle, magnum load.”

Ham spoke for the first time. “With a silencer, that’s an assassin’s weapon,” he said. “Teenaged vandals don’t employ silencers. You can’t even buy the things, legally; you have to make them.”

Holly nodded. “Ed, I think you have to accept that this was an intentional act and behave accordingly. I’m going to leave a squad car here tonight, with one officer, but tomorrow morning I think you ought to consider moving to a hotel, at least for a while. And you really need to think about who might have been behind this. It seems likely that the shooter was hired, and you’re the best one to tell us who among the people you know might be capable of that.”

“I’ll certainly think about it very hard,” Shine said, “but I’m not leaving my home. I’m going to buy a gun.”

“You can do that in Florida,” Holly said, “but I wouldn’t advise it. You’re more likely to hurt yourself than an intruder, and guns are a favorite target of burglars.”

“Thanks for your advice,” Shine said, but he seemed determined.

Holly stood up. “Well, I think we can wrap up this stage of our investigation,” she said. “Tomorrow morning I’ll assign a detective to the case, and he’ll want to interview you again.”

Shine took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’ll be at his disposal.”

Holly shook his hand. “Thanks for a wonderful bottle of wine at dinner. Ham and I enjoyed your company.”

“I hope to see you both again soon,” Shine said. “Do you two play golf?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Want to play sometime?”

“Sure, give us a call,” Holly said. “You can always reach me at police headquarters.”

Holly and Ham walked out into the cool night and stood by their cars. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Mistaken identity?”

“I don’t think a pro would make that kind of mistake. Maybe Ed will come up with something when he’s had time to think about it.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “Good night, Ham; drive safely.”

“You too.”

Over breakfast the following morning, Holly leafed through the local paper and theNew York Times, which were delivered to her door. Her Doberman pinscher, Daisy, lay at her feet, having already breakfasted and been for her run in the dunes. Holly and Daisy lived in the beach house that had been left to Holly by her fiancé, Jackson Oxenhandler, who had been killed the year before while a bystander in a bank robbery, an hour before they were supposed to have been married.

There was nothing in the local papers about the previous night’s attempt on Ed Shine’s life, but theTimes had something that interested her: The day before, in Miami, two property developers had been shot dead, in different locations, by apparent assassins-one in the garage of an office building, one on a golf course. The investigating detective was quoted in the news article.

It didn’t take long to get him on the phone.

“Jim Connor,” a man’s voice said.

“Detective Connor, my name is Holly Barker. I’m chief of police in Orchid Beach, a hundred and fifty miles north of you.”

“What can I do for you, Chief?”

“I read a news report of the two property developers who were homicides yesterday. Are you handling both cases?”

“I am. You got something to tell me about them?”

“No, but last night we had something similar up here. Somebody took a shot at a local man who is a retired developer from New York. The weapon was a twenty-two rifle, magnum cartridge.”

“Hollow point?”

“We couldn’t tell from the casing, but a silencer was used, so we assume a hired killer. He’d probably use a hollow-point slug.”

“That’s what killed my golfer yesterday; made a real mess of him. You have any reason to think there’s a connection between my killings and your attempt?”

“Only that they’re all three property developers,” she said. “The intended victim swears he has no enemies, but you never know about a thing like that.”

“Both my victims’ wives said the same thing. They can’t think of anybody who’d want to hurt their husbands. Closest I could come to an enemy was the golfer’s playing partner, who thought he was being hustled by the victim. But he’s not a suspect.”

“I’d be very interested to know what your two developers had in common.”

“Same business, is all,” the detective replied. “They didn’t even know each other, best we can tell.”

“Were they direct competitors?”

“We’re still working on that. Why don’t you send me your shell casing, and I’ll compare it to the one we found.”

He hadn’t mentioned a shell casing before. “After we’ve had a look at it,” she replied. She took note of his mailing address. “Would you let me know if you come up with a connection between the two victims? I’d like to see if it relates to my case.”

“Sure, I’ll give you a call.” He hung up before she could give him her number.

Howard Singleton, head of the Miami office of the federal government’s General Services Administration, went through the papers on his desk slowly, then he looked up at one of his people, Willard Smith, who was sitting across the desk from him. “Is this all we got?” he asked.

“Three bids,” Smith replied.

“I don’t get it, Smitty,” Singleton said. “This is prime real estate.”

“Well, it’s not exactly Palm Beach,” the man replied. “ Orchid Beach is just some backwater. I looked into it; it’s pretty, but there’s no big-league shopping, only a few decent restaurants, and none of the other stuff you’d expect to find where there’s high-end construction going on-very few interior decorators, upscale furniture stores, and all that. Not much in the way of entertainment, either.”

“But still, this property has three golf courses, fifty houses already built, a clubhouse.”

“There’s no beachfront property attached; it’s all west of A1A; that holds down the value. Fact is, Orchid Beach isn’t the sort of town to support the kind of big-time development that this property would require if someone is going to turn a profit. It’s over the top, and by a long way.”

“Well, two of these bids are not credible, as far as I’m concerned. Did you read the backup paperwork?”

“Yes, and I agree. There’s only one bid that we could properly accept, I think, and it’s this BOP, Blood Orchid Properties.”

“Weren’t we expecting bids from a couple of big Miami developers?”