Hothouse Orchid

by Stuart Woods

  “Hey, Ham,” Holly said sleepily. “Hey, Ginny.”

  Ham pressed the call button beside her bed. “How you feeling, baby?”

  “Headache,” Holly said, groping for the bed control that would sit her up.

  A nurse came into the room. “Will you tell Dr. Harmon she’s awake?” Ham asked. “He wanted to know.”

  “I’ll call him,” the nurse said, then left.

  “What happened?” Ham asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Holly said.

  “You have any idea who did this?”

  “No, none at all.”

  Ham held up her lizard boots. “These were in your car,” he said. “I thought you might need them when you walk out of here. There are socks inside.”

  The doctor walked into the room. “You’re alive!” he said, in mock amazement. “Do you remember me?”

  “The ham-handed stitcher-upper,” Holly said. “How could I forget?”

  “We X-rayed you after you drifted off; you’ll be glad to know you don’t have a fractured skull, just a mild concussion. We’ve sent a blood sample out to see if there was anything odd in your bloodstream.”

  “Just bourbon and red wine,” Holly said, “but not enough to be illegal.”

  “That’s not our department; I was just concerned with the apparent needle mark on your neck and your propensity for becoming unconscious.”

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “Josh Harmon,” he said, offering her his hand. “At your service.”

  Holly shook his hand. “I hope I didn’t cause you to overstay your shift.”

  “Nah, you’re my last call, then I’m out of here.”

  “When am I out of here?” she asked.

  “Let’s get you some breakfast and decaf. If, after that, you’re not suffering the aftereffects of some drug, we’ll give you the boot.”

  “Please do; I’m feeling pretty good, except for the headache.”

  “I’ll prescribe a painkiller.”

  “Aspirin will do.”

  “I’d like you to take it easy for a couple of days,” he said. “No running, no exercise. Just lie around the house and watch TV.”

  “I can do that,” Holly said. “Where’s Daisy?” she asked Ham.

  “In the car.”

  A nurse came in with a breakfast tray and set it before her.

  Holly sipped the coffee. “This is awful,” she said.

  “We make it that way especially, because we don’t want you to like it here too much,” Dr. Harmon explained.

  “It’s working,” Holly said, wolfing down some eggs. She finished her breakfast in record time.

  “Before I go, I just want to do a little exam,” Dr. Harmon said. He held a finger before her eyes. “Follow this,” he said, moving it slowly back and forth. He finished the neurological exam. “Why are you taking up a bed?” he asked. “Get out of here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Holly said, throwing off the covers and exposing more of herself than she had intended.

  “I’d better get out of here while I can,” Harmon said. “I’ll call you later today and see how you’re doing.”

  “You have my number?”

  “Your dad was kind enough.” He gave her a little wave and was gone.

  Ginny put her clothes on the bed. “I’ll bet that call isn’t going to be entirely medically oriented,” she said.

  “I’ll go shoot him,” Ham said.

  Later in the day, Holly woke from a nap and tried to remember what she had been dreaming. Something about being stopped by a cop. Her headache was gone, but her hair looked awful. They had apparently washed the blood out at the hospital, but they hadn’t exactly styled it when they were done. She got into a shower, then dried her hair properly. She put some antibiotic cream on her scalp wound and covered it with her hair. It looked perfectly normal.

  She was hungry, so she dressed and went downstairs for a sandwich. She had just finished it when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Josh Harmon, your friendly ham-handed stitcher-upper. How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, actually,” she replied, “and I want to thank you for not taking any more hair than you did.”

  “A nurse would have taken a big chunk, but I knew that would annoy you, so I did it myself. How’s the headache?”

  “Gone. I mean, I can feel the wound, and it hurts a little, but not the whole head, like before.”

  “Aspirin is a miracle drug,” he said. “By the way, just so I can have a medical excuse for this call, your rape kit was negative-no bruising or tearing, no semen or seminal fluid. I didn’t want to mention it in front of your father.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  “Are you a free woman?”

  Holly laughed. “I am.”

  “No doubt about that, is there? I wouldn’t want to ask a lady to dinner who was otherwise committed.”

  “No doubt,” she laughed. “When?”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “You talked me into it. I’ll make you dinner. Say seven o’clock?”

  “That works for me.”

  She gave him the address. “There’s a rather formidable gate, but press the buzzer on your left, and I’ll let you in.”

  “I’ll bring the wine-red or white?”

  “Both. See you tomorrow evening.”

  “See ya.”

  He hung up, and so did she. She put her dish in the dishwasher and looked around. The place was pretty neat, but she tidied it up a bit anyway.

  She opened the sliding glass door to the beach with some effort and went for a little walk with Daisy, thinking about her dream. When she got back into the house, the doorbell was ringing. She opened it to find Jimmy Weathers there.

  “Hey, Holly. Your gate was open.”

  “Hi, Jimmy. Come on in.” He did. “Thanks for being there last night.”

  “My pleasure, Chief,” he said. “That’s my neck of the woods when I’m working. I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

  She showed him to a seat. “Jimmy, I think I was stopped by a police car last night.”

  “On Indian River Trail?”

  “I guess. I don’t remember anything else, just a flashing blue light and a bright flashlight.”

  “Well, that’s really interesting, Holly.”

  “How so?”

  “That would make the third incident like this in about six weeks.”

  “Women stopped by a police car?”

  “And raped by a police officer,” he said. “The doctor said you weren’t raped.”

  “I know.”

  “I think you got lucky.”

  “Do you have any leads at all?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Not a one. I don’t think it was a police officer, though; I was able to account for all our guys at the time of the rapes. Maybe somebody from another jurisdiction, but more like somebody posing as a cop to get women to stop their cars. Both of the women reported a single blue flashing light behind them. Have you been able to remember anything else?”

  Holly shook her head. “Just the blue light and the flashlight.”

  “Maybe some more will come back to you. Will you let me know?”

  “Sure, I will.”

  Jimmy stood up. “I’d better go,” he said. “We’ve got a staff meeting to meet the new chief.”

  “You don’t want to miss that,” Holly said, walking him to the door.

  Jimmy stopped at the door. “I hear you’ve had some dealings with him in the past.”

  “You heard right,” Holly said. “Keep an eye on the female officers; he’s a predator.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said, and walked out to his car.

  Holly watched him drive away, then got out the security system instructions and used the keypad to close the gate. She spent the rest of the afternoon reading the instructions for operating everything new in the house.

  7

  Holly slept a lot
for the rest of the day, and the following morning she went to her favorite grocery and got the makings for dinner. She went home and prepared osso bucco, which she had first had at Elaine’s with Stone Barrington. She left it to cook for four hours, then set the table and laid out the pans and ingredients for the rest of dinner. By noon, she was done. Holly liked to be prepared.

  She had a sandwich for lunch, and shortly afterward Hurd Wallace called. “Jimmy Weathers took me aside at the station yesterday and told me what happened to you,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure, Hurd. I’m feeling very well. I’ve got a cut on my head that has to heal but nothing else. Thanks for asking.”

  “I knew about the two earlier cases, of course, but we’ve been unable to come up with anything, not even a description from the victims. I had to leave that in the hands of Jimmy and Jim Bruno.”

  “Has he started work?”

  “Yes. I introduced him to the department yesterday, and he gave them the sort of pep talk you said he would.”

  “I’ve heard some version of it many times,” she said.

  “I briefed him on our open cases, including the two rapes, but he didn’t seem much interested.”

  “He’s interested in other people doing his job for him-God knows, I did his work for two years. He likes golf and tennis more than work. The good news is, he won’t get in the way much.”

  “I’m going to keep in touch with half a dozen officers and get their readings as time passes.”

  “Good. Have you started your new job yet?”

  “I’m sitting at my desk now,” Hurd said. “I’ve got some unpacking and settling in to do, and then my people are going to start looking into these rapes. Problem is, we need a request from Bruno to get involved.”

  “Call him and ask him; he’d love to have you involved. But if you clear the case, he’ll manage to take the credit.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Hurd said. He gave her his new office and cell numbers. “Call me if you remember anything about the other night. Or if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Hurd, I’ll do that.” She said goodbye and hung up.

  Shortly after seven, the phone rang, and Holly picked it up. “Hello?”

  “It’s Josh Harmon; I’m at your very formidable gate.”

  “Hang on,” she said. She tapped the code into the phone and hung up.

  Shortly, Josh appeared at the front door, holding two bottles of wine. Daisy took an immediate but polite interest in him.

  “You have a formidable dog as well as a gate,” he said, handing her the wines. He turned his attention to Daisy. After a little introductory affection, she brought him a tennis ball.

  “That means you’re friends now,” Holly said.

  “I can’t believe he’s a watchdog, too.”

  “She. And she’s a very well-trained watchdog. But, if you behave yourself, I won’t have to give her the kill command.”

  “That’s a relief,” Josh said.

  “Drink?”

  “Scotch?”

  “You ever drink bourbon?”

  “Only under duress.”

  She poured him a Knob Creek. “You have to drink one of these; after that, you can have anything you like.”

  “Oh, all right,” he said, taking a sip. “Not bad.”

  “Faint praise,” she said.

  “Give me time. What smells good?”

  “Osso buco; it’s been in the oven all afternoon. I’ll make risotto before dinner.” She poured herself a drink. “Let’s sit outside for a while.”

  Josh walked to the sliding door to the beach and opened it with difficulty. “Wow,” he said, “that’s one heavy door.” He looked closely at the glass. “Now, that is what I’d call major hurricane protection. It must be an inch thick.”

  “An inch and a half,” Holly said.

  “May I ask why?”

  “Courtesy of my employer. They like for their people to be well protected.”

  They sat down in deck chairs. “And who might your employer be? I’ve no idea what you do.”

  “Hardly anybody does,” Holly said.

  “Does that mean I’m not supposed to ask?”

  “Probably.”

  “All right. I’ll respect your privacy and keep my nose out of your employment.”

  They sat and watched the evening light on the sea for about a minute.

  “All right,” he said. “What do you do, and who do you do it for?”

  Holly had to make a decision; usually she told people she was an official at the Department of Agriculture, which pretty much prevented any further conversation, but she liked him, and it wasn’t strictly against the rules to tell someone where she worked. “I work at the CIA,” she said. “I’m an assistant deputy director of Operations.”

  He looked at her sideways. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “I kid you not.”

  “What does an assistant… whatever that title is… do?”

  “At the top is the director of Central Intelligence,” she said. “Under her are the two principal deputy directors: one for Intelligence, one for Operations. The Directorate of Intelligence deals with analysis-many, many analysts working on information from all over the world. The Directorate of Operations runs spies all over the world.”

  “Are you supposed to be telling me this stuff? Because, if you’re not… Oh the hell with it, keep talking.”

  “I haven’t told you anything that the brochure for the Agency won’t tell you.”

  “So, you’re a spy?”

  “I’m trained to be, but essentially I’m an administrator.”

  “That’s not what your title says. It says you’re the assistant head spy.”

  “One of a few assistant deputy directors. I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you how many.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know. You did say you were trained to be a spy?”

  “There’s a place, Fort Peary, in Virginia, commonly called the Farm, where prospective officers are sent for a considerable period of time and punished in all sorts of ways, not to mention trained in all sorts of ways.”

  “May one ask about the punishment and the training?”

  “One is punished with long runs over difficult terrain and physical training of all kinds, especially self-defense.”

  “Killing with a single blow? Like that?”

  “Like that.”

  “And the other training?”

  “One may not know about that.” She took his empty glass. “Can I get you a Scotch?”

  “I think I’ll have another bourbon.”

  “It’s the patriotic thing to do,” she said.

  8

  Holly started the risotto, then handed Josh the wooden spoon. “Now you work,” she said. “Just keep pouring in the stock, a little at a time, and constantly stir until the rice absorbs it all, then add more stock, et cetera, et cetera, until it’s all gone.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to set the table, then watch you, to see if you have any stamina at all. I guess risotto must be the most physically demanding of all cooking chores.”

  “I have stamina,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me; show me.” She set the table and got out her good Baccarat wineglasses, then returned to the kitchen. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing just great,” he said, “but I’m getting a blister between my thumb and forefinger.”

  “Chef’s hazard; switch hands.”

  He did so. “This better be delicious when it’s done,” he said.

  “It will be delicious after I add the final ingredients,” she said, going to the refrigerator to fetch them.

  “You used to be chief of police in Orchid Beach, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Were you always a cop?”

  “I was a military cop from the age of eighteen for twenty years, and don’t start doing the arithmetic for my age.” />
  “Oh, I think I can figure that out without arithmetic,” he said, continuing to add stock and stir.

  “You’d better not,” she said. “Remember, I can kill with a single blow, and Daisy is trained to attack genitals.”

  Josh winced. “I’m fifty,” he said. “Let’s forget your age.”

  “What a good idea,” she said. “All right, I have to add the final ingredients, now,” she said.

  “And what are they?”

  “Crème fraîche and grated Parmesan cheese-Parmigiano-Reggiano, the real thing.”

  “I thought Parmesan cheese came from Wisconsin.”

  “Wash your mouth out with soap, then taste this.” She held up a pinch of the grated cheese for him to taste.

  “Mmmm, tangy!”

  “Exactly. Now will you set the iron skillet on the dining table, on the trivet, please, not on the nice wood.”

  He did as he was told, then came back. “Anything else?”

  “There’s a corkscrew over there,” she said, pointing to a drawer. “You can open the red wine.” She got a potholder and carried the copper risotto pot to the table and set it down. “I think we’re ready,” she said.

  He held her chair for her. “I’m certainly ready; I never got around to eating lunch today.” He sat down, poured a little wine and tasted it. “I think we’ll drink it,” he said, pouring them both a glass.

  “Okay,” she said. “Your turn. Full bio, please.”

  “Okay. Born Delano, Georgia, fifty years ago, to a small-town general practitioner and his nurse. Educated local schools, then at the University of Georgia, Emory Medical School in Atlanta. Interned at Georgia Baptist Hospital, then did a residency in surgery at Emory Hospital. Practiced general surgery for fifteen years, then did a two-week stretch in the trauma center at Piedmont Hospital, subbing for a friend. Loved the ER, got a job there, and I’ve been doing emergency medicine ever since.”

  “Why do you like it?”

  “Variety, intensity, a constant challenge to diagnose and treat quickly, and you don’t have time to form a bond with your patients, so when they die it isn’t the kind of personal loss it is if you’ve been treating them for weeks or months.”

  “My, but you’re a sensitive soul.”

  “Watching people die while trying to prevent them from doing so is not fun, but it’s less painful if you’re not acquainted with them.”