Orchid Beach (2 page)
“I know about your record from your old man,” Marley said, “and I’ve asked around some, too, because I wouldn’t take his word for anything.” He grinned and cast a sideways glance at Ham Barker. “You’re already running more MPs than I’ve got cops. I’ve heard about your unit citations and the level of training and performance you demand from your people, and I like what I hear.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Of course, we’re not the army, and things have to be handled a little different in civilian life, but I think you could get used to that.”
“I’m sure I could,” Holly said.
“It’s a nice town, Orchid Beach. It sits on a barrier island halfway down the east coast of Florida, has a population of around twenty thousand, a lot of them retirees.”
“Lots of tourists?”
“No, not really tourists. We get the same folks back, year after year, most of them to family beach houses—folks from Atlanta and Charlotte and Birmingham, and a lot of northeasterners. We’ve got no high-rise hotels, no casinos and only a few motels. There’s a small black community and a stable blue-collar group, mostly construction
workers, plumbers, electricians, and a few retired military folk. We’ve got a low crime rate and not much of a drug problem, until recently.”
“How much of a drug problem?”
“Less than in a lot of small towns, but it’s there, and it has to be dealt with. We don’t have the violent crime that comes with a bad drug problem.”
“That’s good.”
“You interested?”
She certainly was. “Yes.”
“I can pay you what you’re making as a major,” he said. “There’s no PX, but we’ve got health insurance and a pension plan.”
“What’s the housing situation like?”
“Not great. Prices are going up, and cheap houses are getting knocked down and replaced with more expensive stuff.”
“I live in a trailer here,” Holly said.
“Bring it with you. I’ve got a friend runs a real nice park south of town, on the river side of the island.”
“This all sounds very good,” Holly said, her gloom beginning to lift. “Ham’s retiring one of these days, too, and I guess he wouldn’t mind moving south.”
“Got any golf down there?” her father asked.
“You bet. Got a great public course and six or eight good private ones—one or two a retired master sergeant could afford to join.”
Ham turned to Holly. “Chet’s not a bad guy to work for,” he said. “I worked for him for three years, and I didn’t have to kill him.”
“When can you start?” Marley asked.
“Hang on, this is all kind of quick,” Holly said.
“I like decisiveness in a…an officer.”
Holly stuck out her hand. “You’re on,” she said, “as soon as I can get my resignation in and turn over my command in an orderly fashion.”
Ham ordered another round of drinks. “My daughter, the cop,” he said, raising his glass.
“Your daughter, the cop, has hardly ever been anything else,” Holly said, laughing.
They drank deeply and sat in silence for a moment. Marley seemed to want to say something, but he was having trouble.
“Was there something else, Chief?” Holly asked.
“I don’t want to get into this too deep right now,” he said, “but I’ve got a problem you need to know about up front.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Somebody on my force is working for somebody besides me,” he said. “I don’t know who it is, and I don’t know who he’s working for, but I’ve got some suspicions about that.”
“Drugs?”
“Could be. Could be more than that. Thing is, I don’t have anything like an internal-affairs department, so in addition to all your other duties, you’re going to have to be it. You’ll come to the job without any slant on personalities or on who’s doing what, and I think you can be a lot more objective than I can.”
“I see.”
“Does this trouble you?”
“On the contrary. It intrigues me.”
Marley grinned. “Good. Like I say, I don’t want to go into all this right here and now, but I promise, your first day
on the job I’ll brief you on everything I know. And by that time, I should know a lot more.”
“Fair enough.”
Marley sighed deeply. “I’m glad I got that off my chest. I was worried it might make some kind of difference to you.”
“Not to worry,” Holly said. She lifted her glass. “To Orchid Beach.”
They all drank again.
H
olly drove across the bridge over the sound at the north end of the island and headed down Highway A1A onto the barrier island that contained Orchid Beach. She had already passed Melbourne and Sebastian; Vero Beach lay farther south, on the next island. It was early evening, and she had been driving all day and the day before that, with one uncomfortable night in a cheap motel in between. She was tired.
At first there was little to see on either side of the road; then she began passing impressive sets of gates with the names of communities inscribed on them. At each there was a guard booth and a security officer to screen visitors. Usually, she couldn’t see much of what lay beyond the gates, but she caught an occasional glimpse of large, expensive houses peeking through the live oaks and palms. She rolled down her window and from the east she could hear the roll of the surf, a pleasant sound. The soft, warm subtropical air was a
nice change from the cold weather she had left behind.
She came to the business district of the town, with rows of neat small businesses on either side of the road and the occasional motel, usually with a
NO VACANCY
sign out front. Business looked good. She passed restaurants and dry cleaning establishments and a great many real estate offices; then she was back in residential territory, with small subdivisions that, while less ritzy than those on the north side of town, looked prosperous and comfortable. These usually had gates, but no guards, and the houses were more visible from the road.
Then the terrain became less crowded and after another minute or two she saw a sign for Riverview Park on her right. She turned into the gates, swinging wide to allow the silver trailer behind her to pass in without uprooting a gatepost, and stopped in front of a small structure with a sign outside reading
OWNER & MANAGER
. She pulled over, switched off the engine, got out of her dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee and went into the building. A plump man in his sixties looked up from behind a desk and smiled.
“Bet I know who you are,” he said, rising and extending his hand. “I’m Johnny Malone, I own the place.”
“I’m Holly Barker,” she said, shaking the hand.
“Sure you are. Chet Marley told me to expect you, and I got your check and the contract in the mail. Come on, follow me; I’ve got a real nice spot picked out for you.” He walked out of the building, hopped into a golf cart and beckoned her to follow.
Holly drove slowly behind the cart, checking out her new neighbors. The trailers and double-wides were all well kept and were often surrounded by flowers and shrubs. Riverside Park looked like a happy place. They drove
through a patch of woods, leaving the other tenants behind, and emerged onto a flat piece of ground at the edge of the Indian River, which Holly had learned was what that part of the Inland Waterway was called. Following Malone’s hand signals, she backed the Airstream trailer into its space, then got out and unhitched it from her car. In a few minutes Malone had made the water, sewer, telephone and electrical connections for her, and she had the trailer leveled and braced.
“We got cable TV, if you want it,” Malone said.
“I’ve got one of those little dishes,” Holly said.
“More and more folks do,” he replied. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Not right now,” she replied. “I’m sure I’ll have some questions tomorrow.”
Malone handed her his card. “Here’s my number, and Chet Marley’s home number is on the back. He said you should call him as soon as you get in.”
“I’ll do that,” Holly replied.
Malone drove away in his golf cart, and Holly went into her trailer, switched on some lights and began tidying the things that had shifted during the drive. She was hungry, but she wanted to talk to Marley before dinner. They had talked a number of times during the five weeks it had taken her to retire from the military. She dialed his number.
“Hello?” He sounded rushed.
“Chet? It’s Holly. I just got in.”
“Oh, good. Everything all right for you at Riverview?”
“Sure is. I’ve even got a river view.”
“Boy, am I glad you’re here. I wanted to buy you dinner tonight, Holly, but something’s come up, and I have to meet with somebody.”
“That’s all right. I’m kind of tired, anyway.”
“It’s about that internal problem I told you about.”
“Anything new on that?”
“A whole lot. I’m getting close, now, and after my meeting tonight, I’m going to be ready to start knocking some heads together. Looks like there’s not going to be as much for you to do as I thought.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve got a handle on it,” she replied. “I know you’ve been worried.”
“I sure have. Listen, you show up at the station at nine tomorrow morning, and I’ll bring you up to date and get you started. I’ve got a boxful of uniforms for you, and we’ll get you a badge and ID and a weapon issued. There’s going to be a lot to do, even without the internal problem, because we’re going to be a little shorthanded after I’m finished.”
“That’s fine,” she said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
They hung up. Holly went to the kitchen and found a steak and a bottle of cabernet, then she got out the stainless steel grill, set it up outside and hooked up the gas bottle, which, she noticed, seemed almost empty. She started the grill, then unstrapped her lawn furniture from the rack on the trailer, poured herself a glass of wine, put the steak on the fire and sat down to watch the sun set over the river. The water had turned purple and gold, and the sun made a big red ball as it sank through the haze. She turned the steak, sipped the wine and took it all in. Her new home was on a small inlet leading from the main river, surrounded by acres of marsh, with a little dock a few feet away. Maybe she’d buy a boat. She’d taken the money she’d saved, plus her part of the insurance money from her mother, who had died three years before, paid off the loan on the trailer, traded in her car and put the rest into treasury bills and a mutual fund. She drank her wine and took stock.
She was thirty-eight years old, with exactly twenty years in the military behind her. She’d enlisted at seventeen, been assigned to the MPs at nineteen, gotten her bachelor’s degree through the University of Maryland program that operated on military bases all over the world, gone to Officer Candidate School at twenty-two and worked her way up to major and command of a company of MPs. That was when Colonel Bruno had taken a liking to her, and nothing had been the same since. What had started as a simple pass, rebuffed, had turned into a yearlong campaign of would-be seduction that had ended in a nearly successful attempt to rape her. That was when she could take it no longer and had pressed charges.
Holly had known that prosecuting him would be an uphill battle, but when the young lieutenant had walked into her office and told her own story of Bruno’s abuse, she had thought the corroboration of another officer would put the man in prison, or at least get him out of the military. It still stung to know how wrong she had been.
She fixed herself a salad and ate the steak absently, reflecting on the life that had brought her to Orchid Beach. What had she done wrong? Why had this happened to her? She had made a real career for herself in the army, with consistently outstanding evaluations by her superiors. She’d have made lieutenant colonel in another six months and retired after thirty years as a full colonel. As it was, she’d have only the twenty-year pension as a major, which, while it wasn’t bad, wasn’t what she had planned on. With a little luck, she might even have made it to brigadier general, which would have made Ham proud enough to pop—her mother, too, if she could look down from where she surely was.
She sat until well past dark, trying to limit herself to half the bottle of wine and failing, then she picked up her dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. She put a rubber cork into what was left of the bottle and pumped the air out, keeping it fresh for another time.
She took one more look out the door at the river. The moon had risen and the resulting streak of light across the water came nearly to her feet. An army brat her whole life, right now she was a civilian for the first time. Tomorrow she’d be a cop. She’d get in a run early, to work off the effects of the wine; then she’d be at her new job on the dot.
She undressed and got into bed, naked, and began to drift off. The crickets in the swamp lulled her to sleep. Chet Marley had made a good decision, she thought. She’d do him proud.
H
olly found the municipal building half a block off the beach, parked her car in the public lot, went into the building and consulted the directory. Everything seemed neatly packaged in one four-story structure—city manager’s office, council offices, tax office, city attorney, water authority and the other municipal departments, all on the upper floors. Directly ahead on the ground floor, behind a set of glass doors, was the Orchid Beach Police Department. She walked in.
A uniformed officer in what appeared to be his early twenties sat behind a broad desk, a high stool bringing him to her eye level. “Good morning,” she said, “my name is Barker; I have an appointment with Chief Marley.”
He blinked at her, but didn’t move for a moment. “Just a minute,” he said finally, then got up and walked down a row of small offices and disappeared into one. A moment later he returned, followed by an older uniformed officer.
“Morning,” the officer said. He was a little over six feet, of slim build, with glossy black hair cut short. “Can I help you?”
