Orchid Beach hb-1

by Stuart Woods

  CHAPTER

  27

  H olly nearly fell into the trailer, with Daisy snarling, trying to get past her. “Freeze!” she shouted, getting the gun out in front of her.

  “Okay, I’m freezing!” a man’s voice called from the darkness inside. “Get hold of that dog, will you?”

  Holly dropped her left hand and got hold of Daisy’s collar, but she kept the gun pointed into the trailer.

  “Jesus, Holly,” the man said. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  The voice was familiar. “Ham?” she called out.

  “Right. Is that dog going to eat me?”

  “Daisy, back!” Holly said. She pointed to the walkway. “Sit!”

  Jackson was there now. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Jackson, I’d like you to meet my father. Ham, this is Jackson Oxenhandler.”

  Ham turned on a light and looked at the two of them. “How you doin’?” he said, offering Jackson his hand.

  “Good to meet you,” Jackson replied.

  Holly turned to the dog. “Daisy, come. It’s all right.”

  The dog walked warily into the trailer, her hackles still up.

  “Daisy, this is Ham; he’s good, good. Ham, hold out your hand, palm down.”

  “Am I going to get it back?” Ham asked.

  “Just do it.”

  Ham held out a hand. Daisy sniffed at it, tasted it.

  “Good dog,” Holly said. “Ham is good, and you’re a good dog. Don’t eat Ham.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Ham said. “I thought that was his next move.”

  “It’s a she,” Holly said. “What on earth are you doing here? I’ve been trying to call you today, and a recorded message said your phone had been disconnected. Didn’t you pay your bill?”

  “I moved,” Ham said.

  “Where did you move?”

  “Here. My truck’s parked down by the gate. There didn’t seem to be enough room for it by the trailer.”

  “Let’s all sit down,” Holly said. “Anybody want a beer?”

  “You talked me into it,” Ham said.

  “Nothing for me,” Jackson said.

  Holly got Ham a beer and sat down. The three of them and Daisy made the trailer seem crowded. “Okay, Ham, let’s have it.”

  “I’m a civilian,” Ham said. “I am officially a retired military person.”

  “Congratulations,” Holly said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

  “Well, it is. I’m glad to see you. What are your plans?”

  “Orchid Beach sounds like a nice place,” he said. “Chet said there was some golf to be had.”

  “Well, I’m delighted to hear it,” Holly said. “You just picked up and drove down here? Why so sudden?”

  “Look, Chet Marley and Hank Doherty are the two best friends I’ve ever had. It pisses me off when somebody shoots one and murders the other one. I thought I’d give you a hand finding out who did it—and killing the bastards.”

  Holly turned to Jackson. “Everybody’s a detective—first you and now him.” She nodded at Ham.

  “Unless you’ve already killed them,” Ham said.

  “Whoa, there, Sarge,” Holly said. “I’m not going to kill anybody, and neither are you.”

  “Well, is anybody going to do anything about this?”

  “I’m working on it,” she said. “It’s not an easy one.”

  “Tell me everything,” Ham said. “I’m all ears. Start with how Chet is.”

  “Still in a coma, and nobody knows if he’s ever going to come out of it.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right, start at the beginning,” Ham said.

  “Now?” Holly looked at her watch. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, and you’ve been driving all day. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Holly, tell me about it.”

  “Here’s how we’re going to do this, Ham: you’re sleeping here, and I’m going to Jackson’s house.”

  Ham’s eyes narrowed, and he looked back and forth at the two of them.

  “Now, don’t start, Ham,” Holly said. “I’ve been a big girl for a long time, and I’ll decide where I sleep.”

  Jackson looked at Ham and shrugged.

  Ham rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

  Holly looked down at his bag. “I see you’ve got your stuff. You get some sleep, and tomorrow morning, you come down to Jackson’s place, and we’ll all have breakfast, and I’ll fill you in.”

  “Okay, what time?”

  She looked at Jackson. “Ten o’clock?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “Hell, that’s practically afternoon,” Ham said.

  “If you get hungry earlier, just root around in my galley.” She gave him directions to Jackson’s.

  “Okay, ten o’clock.”

  Holly got a small duffel and stuffed some clean clothes and underwear into it. When Ham wasn’t looking she dug her diaphragm out of a drawer and stuck it under the clothes. “All right,” she said, “let’s go. The sheets are pretty clean, Ham; don’t get them any dirtier. If the phone rings, let the answering machine get it. The station knows to call my cell phone first if they need me.”

  “Okay, then,” Ham said. “See you in the morning.” He glared at Jackson. “You be nice to her.”

  “Ham, shut up!” Holly said.

  “Don’t worry,” Jackson replied, “I’ll take good care of her. See you at breakfast.”

  They left the trailer and got into Jackson’s car.

  “Jesus, what a shock!” Holly said.

  “Aren’t you glad to see him?”

  “Sure, I am, but I would have liked a little notice. What am I going to do with him? We can’t both sleep in the trailer. I’d kill him the first day.”

  “Listen, you can go right on bunking with me until we can find him a place.”

  She reached over and patted his thigh. “What a sweet offer,” she said.

  “He seems like a nice guy,” Jackson said. “But he talks about killing a lot.”

  “He’s done a lot of that in his time. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you with a single blow,” Holly replied. “He’s been trained to do that, you know.”

  “I’ll make it a point to be real nice to him.”

  “And me, too.”

  “Especially you.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  H olly woke up at nine forty-five and reached for Jackson, who wasn’t there. She struggled out of bed, threw on some clothes, brushed her teeth and her hair and went downstairs. Jackson and Ham were drinking coffee over the remains of a large breakfast. Daisy was leaning against Ham, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

  “What time did you get here?” she asked Ham.

  Ham shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Eight forty-five,” Jackson said. “I tried not to wake you.”

  “I got hungry,” Ham said, “and I didn’t want any of that health food crap you eat, so I came on down here and made Jackson scramble me some eggs.”

  “You want something?” Jackson asked.

  “I’ll toast myself a bagel,” she replied.

  “I’ve brought Ham up to date on what’s happened,” Jackson said while Holly made her breakfast.

  “Jesus, what a mess!” Ham chimed in. “Now I see why you haven’t found the bastards.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Holly said. “Now, Ham, it’s important that you don’t go sticking your nose into this.”

  “Why the hell not? Sounds like you could use the help.”

  “Ham, I’m running a police department, here, and the city council is watching me like a hawk. I can’t have some gung-ho military type, bent on revenge, messing with my investigation.”

  “What investigation? From what Jackson tells me, you’re about investigated out. You don’t have a damn thing to go on.”

>   “Ham, how would you like to spend your first few weeks in Orchid Beach in a cell?”

  “What?”

  “You ever hear of interfering with a police investigation? Obstruction of justice?”

  “You wouldn’t do that to your old man.”

  “Try me. I’m not having you under my feet, and I mean it.” She took a bite of her bagel.

  “All right,” Ham said sullenly, “I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “I’m talking about work, now, not personal.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t seem to be standing in your way personally,” he said, glancing sharply at Jackson. “I didn’t slow you down last night, did I?”

  “Ham, I am a woman in my prime, and you are a crusty, interfering old fart, and I don’t want to hear another word about sex.”

  Ham turned crimson. “Jesus, who said anything about sex?”

  “You did.”

  “I did not.”

  Jackson broke in. “Is it always like this?”

  “Only when he starts bitching about my private life,” Holly said. “He’s never approved of a single man I’ve known.”

  Ham pointed at Jackson. “I approve of him,” he said.

  Holly blinked. “You do?”

  “We’ve been talking for a while, and I reckon I know a lot about him by now.”

  Jackson spoke up. “Where I was born, education, hobbies, past sexual experience, time as a cop, my legal practice, how much money I make. Considerably more than you know about me.”

  “Ham, you can really be a pain in the ass sometimes,” she said.

  Ham held up a finger. “It’s a father’s right to know something about the man who’s screwing his daughter.”

  “HAM!” she screamed.

  Jackson broke up and started clearing the table. “I’m out of this,” he said. “You two can fight it out.”

  “All right, all right,” Ham said placatingly. “I guess I know enough for now. I’ll ask him the rest when he comes to me and asks for your hand.”

  “Arrrrrrghhhhh!!!” she yelled, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

  “Oh,” Ham said, “on a different subject, you had a phone call at the crack of dawn this morning.” He dug a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Guy named Paul Green.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Holly said, looking at the number. “Oh, it’s the hospital. Dr. Green. Maybe he’s got some news about Chet.” She went to the sofa, dialed the number and asked for Dr. Green.

  “I’ll put you through to his home,” the operator said.

  He answered on the first ring. “Green.”

  “Dr. Green, it’s Holly Barker. You left a message for me.”

  “Oh, Chief Barker, I’m sorry to have called so early. I seem to have woken up the gentleman who answered.”

  “That’s all right, he’s my father.”

  “I called with bad news, I’m afraid.”

  Holly’s stomach tensed. “What’s happened?”

  “Chief Marley arrested at six-twenty this morning. The team worked on him for nearly half an hour, and I came in, too, but we weren’t able to revive him. Official time of death was six forty-five. I’m very sorry.”

  “Oh, God,” Holly said. “Did he ever regain consciousness at all?”

  “I’m afraid not. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, Doctor. Thank you for calling me immediately. I’ll make the announcement through the department, and someone will be in touch with the hospital about the arrangements.” She hung up. Jackson and Ham were standing there, looking at her.

  “Is is Chet?” Ham asked.

  Holly nodded. “He died at six forty-five this morning.”

  “Shit and goddamnit!” Ham spat, stomping his foot. “He deserved better than that.”

  “He sure did,” Holly said. The two men sat down, silent. Nobody spoke for a couple of minutes. “I’d better call the station,” Holly said. She called in, dictated a short press release and told the operator to post it on the bulletin board and fax it to the local media. “And post a notice that we’ll have a departmental meeting tomorrow morning, at the change of shift. I want everybody there.” She called Hurd Wallace and Jane Grey and gave them the news. Jane burst into tears; it took Holly several minutes to calm her down. Wallace said almost nothing.

  Jackson took the phone. “I’ll make the arrangements,” he said. “I’m his executor.”

  “What are we going to do about burial?” Holly asked. “He didn’t have anybody.”

  “He had us,” Jackson said. “He left instructions that he wanted his body cremated as quickly and cheaply as possible, and that he didn’t want a service.” He got the phone book and called a funeral director.

  “You want some more coffee, Ham?”

  “I’m going to take a walk on the beach,” Ham replied. “Come on, Daisy.” The dog got up and followed him outside.

  An hour later they were all back at the table.

  “I’ve got some things to tell you,” Jackson said. “The funeral parlor is picking up Chet’s body today. He’ll be cremated tomorrow. Chet wanted his ashes scattered on the river behind his house, and we can do that whenever you like.”

  “Is that it?” Ham asked.

  “No, there’s more,” Jackson said. “Now that Chet is gone, I can tell you about the terms of his will. It’s pretty simple, really: he had a fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy, which increased to a hundred thousand in the event of being killed in the line of duty, which he was. He instructed that his debts be paid and that the remaining cash in his accounts, along with the insurance, should be divided between Hank Doherty and Jane Grey. He left his house and his personal possessions to Hank. Hank, of course, predeceased him, and in that event, Ham, Hank’s share of the estate goes to you.”

  “To me?” Ham asked incredulously.

  “He didn’t have anybody else, just you and Hank. It’s what he wanted.”

  “I think that’s wonderful,” Holly said. “That will make your retirement more comfortable.” She turned to Jackson. “What did he have in the way of debt?”

  “He had mortgage insurance, which pays off that balance, so the house is free and clear, except for a home improvement loan of about ten thousand dollars. Apart from that, there’s a few thousand in credit card debt and his monthly bills to close out, and that’s it. On the asset side, he had some money in mutual funds—thirty or forty thousand, I think.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Ham said.

  “Well,” Holly replied, “your housing problem is solved.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t move into the house today, Ham,” Jackson said. “It’s very nicely furnished. All you’ll need is some groceries. There’s a small boat, too, tied up at Chet’s dock. And if you decide you don’t want to live in the house, there’s a ready buyer waiting in the wings.”

  “It’s a nice place, Ham,” Holly said. “You’ll like it.”

  “I expect I will,” Ham said sadly.

  CHAPTER

  29

  H olly and Jackson led the way, followed by Ham and Daisy in Ham’s truck. She thought the place very pretty in the afternoon light; the property was nicely planted, something she hadn’t noticed in the dark. Everybody got out and walked around the house with Ham. The boat was there, tied to the little dock. It was a seventeen-foot Boston Whaler with a forty-horsepower outboard engine, ideal for skimming up and down the quiet waters of the Indian River. Jackson unlocked the house and they went inside.

  “Hey, this is nice,” Ham said. “Chet made himself real comfortable.” He walked over and looked at the guns and the fishing rods in their racks. “Nice gear, too.”

  “There’s only one bedroom,” Holly said. “Over there.” She pointed.

  Ham walked through the place. “It’s just wonderful,” he said, and his voice cracked.

  “Jackson,” Holly said, “why don’t you and I start getting Ham’s stuff off his truck?” They went outside, leaving
Ham alone. “I’m so glad Chet did this,” she said. “Ham’s in there crying right now, and I haven’t seen him do that since Mom died.”

  “Let’s unload all this stuff from the truck,” Jackson said, “and give him a minute.” He got up onto the pickup, folded back the tarp and started handing Holly boxes. A few minutes later, Ham came out, seemingly recovered, and helped them carry things in. They began emptying boxes.

  Holly went to the chest of drawers in the bedroom and started packing Chet’s things into some of the empty boxes. That done, she began helping with the other things. When she came to Ham’s shotgun, she unzipped the sheepskin case and set the weapon in an empty slot in Chet’s gun rack. While doing that, something caught her eye. There were three pistols in the rack: an army .45 automatic, a .38 police special and a smaller revolver. It was the smaller gun that got her attention: there was a trace of talcum powder clinging to it.

  She went into the kitchen and came back with a pair of dishwashing gloves and a zippered plastic bag. She put on the gloves and gingerly lifted the revolver off the rack by its trigger guard. It was a Colt .32.

  “What have you got there?” Jackson asked.

  “Jackson, do you remember this pistol being here last night when we were searching the place?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention to the guns,” he said.

  “Neither did I, and I searched the rack for a piece of paper tucked away.”

  “Why does the pistol interest you?”

  “Because I think it belongs to your client, Sammy.”

  Jackson looked closely at the weapon. “So when they searched the house, they not only took something, they left something.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “What a weird thing to do.”

  “They hid it in plain sight,” she said. “I guess they figured nobody but Chet would ever know the difference, and that he wasn’t coming home. I only noticed it because it had some talcum powder on it.”

  “Maybe it’ll have some fingerprints on it,” Jackson said.