Orchid Beach

“You’d be wise not to replace it,” Holly said.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I heard your testimony in the courtroom. Did you leave anything out?”

“No, ma’am. I answered all the questions they asked me.”

“What about the questions they didn’t ask you?”

He looked at her narrowly. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Sam—you were all over this area that night. You had a flat where the chief was later shot, you were camped here, you drove up and down A1A all the time. What did you see that nobody asked you about?”

“I didn’t, ah, see anything,” he replied.

“All right, then what did you hear?”

He looked at the grass under his feet.

“Come on, Sam, this is off the record, just between you and me.”

“I reckon we got back here five minutes before it happened,” he said.

“Go on.”

“I heard them talking. They sounded angry.”

“How many?”

“Two, maybe three. I couldn’t see nothing. You see how dense that brush is,” he said, pointing toward the road.

He was right about that, Holly thought. The brush between where they stood and the road, some fifty feet away, was virtually a wall. “What were they saying?”

“I couldn’t make any of it out, but it was angry. Both sides of the conversation was real mad. Then I heard the shot.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do nothing. I wasn’t about to stick my nose in something where there was shooting going on.”

“Then what happened?”

“I heard something hitting the brush and then fall to the ground. I don’t know why, but my first thought was a hand grenade. I kept waiting for something to explode.”

“That was the Beretta?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t find it until the next day. Whoever threw it really let go. He’d have to clear that brush. If it had landed in the brush, you’d have needed a chain saw to get at it.”

“After you found it, did you check the clip? Had it been fired?”

“No, ma’am. I mean I checked the clip, and it was full. There wasn’t one in the chamber.”

“How many shots did you hear?”

“Just the one.”

“You know enough about guns to guess what it was?”

“Not really. Anyway, you don’t have to guess. It had to be that Smith and Wesson thirty-two.”

He was right about that. “Did you hear a car drive away?”

“Yeah, I heard the doors slam…”

“How many doors?”

“Two. I guess that means there was two of them.”

“I guess so. What did the car sound like?”

“Like a car—not a truck. Like a regular car. Kind of sporty, maybe. You know how some of them sporty cars sound?”

“Like a Ferrari or something?”

“Nah, I’d know that sound. Like something that wanted to be a Ferrari, you know? Something cheaper.”

“Which way did it go?”

“I reckon it made a U-turn and went north.”

“What are your plans, Sam?”

“Plans? I ain’t got no plans. I’m just hangin’.”

Holly shook her head. “No. I want you out of here.”

“Out of the campsite?”

“Not just that. Out of Orchid, out of the county.”

“How come?”

“You want to be busted on the cocaine charge? Nobody planted that.”

“I, uh, see your point,” he said.

“I want you gone before dark,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you for not busting me on the drugs. They was just recreational, only for my own use, you know; I wasn’t dealing nothing.”

“Fine, just pack it up and go,” she said.

“Can I check back with you to see if you find my Colt thirty-two?”

“Sam, you’re pressing your luck.”

He held up his hands in front of him. “Yes, ma’am, I get the picture. We’ll be on our way just as soon as we can get our stuff in the van.”

“That’s the idea,” Holly said. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Holly walked back to the car, where Daisy was looking anxiously out the window. “I’m back,” she said to the dog. “No need to worry. We’ll go home and get you some dinner.”

The mention of dinner got a favorable reaction.

When Holly got back to her trailer, there was a car in her parking spot. Daisy made a low noise in her throat. Holly drew her gun.

CHAPTER

17

The car was a Toyota Camry, late eighties, before the new design came along. She was impressed by its condition—no dents or rust, clean, polished. Daisy was still making the noise; she preceded Holly around the corner of the trailer.

“Easy there,” Jackson Oxenhandler was saying, holding out his hands toward the dog, as if to fend her off.

“Daisy, stop,” Holly said. Daisy stopped, but she continued to growl.

“I’m not a burglar,” the lawyer said to the dog. “Look,” he said, holding up a large paper bag, “I brought dinner.”

“Daisy, he’s all right. Good dog,” Holly said. Daisy stopped growling, walked over to Oxenhandler and sniffed the bag.

“Good dog,” Oxenhandler said. He offered her the back of his hand to sniff. “Doesn’t smell as good as the bag, does it?”

“Who invited you to dinner?” Holly asked.

“Nobody. I’m inviting you.” He held up the bag again. “You like barbecue?”

Holly’s stomach woke up and growled, as if on cue. “I like good barbecue,” she said.

“This is the best,” Oxenhandler said, pointing at the bag. “Pit-roasted, hand-basted, from an extremely attractive pig.”

“How come you’re so anxious to go out with me?” she asked.