Free Orchid Blues by Stuart Woods Page B

man.”
    “Then how come I knew about the young lieutenant?”
    “Okay, how’d you know about him?”
    “It was easy.”
    “How?”
    “Well, you know when you came back from that weekend in the mountains when you lost your virtue?”
    Holly turned pink. “You thought that, did you?”
    “I didn’t think; I knew.”
    “How, Ham?”
    “I just walked up to him in the orderly room on Monday morning and stood about six inches from his nose; I looked him in the eye and said, ‘Good morning, Lieutenant. Have a nice weekend?’ And he turned purple.”
    Holly put a hand to her brow. “Oh, God.”
    “The same color you are right now.”
    “I am not purple.”
    “Close.”
    “Not anywhere near close. A little red, maybe. Who wouldn’t be?”
    “You didn’t see me turn purple when we were talking about my threesome,” Ham said.
    “My God, Ham, the lieutenant and I didn’t have a threesome.”
    “Who said you did?”
    “You implied it, just now.”
    “You inferred it, maybe.”
    “You are impossible. We’re not talking about sex lives anymore, is that clear?”
    “Not even about my sex life?”
    “Yours is the most off-limits—right after mine.”
    “Well, if you want to hide stuff from your old man.”
    “I’m not hiding anything.”
    “You’re not talking about it.”
    “That’s not the same thing as hiding it.”
    “Sure, it is. If you’re not talking, you’re hiding.”
    “Ham, what exactly is it you want to know?”
    “Me? I don’t want to know anything. We’re only talking about this because you brought it up.”
    “I didn’t bring it up; you did.”
    “Whatever you say,” Ham said smugly.
    “You did! I didn’t!”
    “I’m not going to argue with you about this, Holly.”
    Holly turned to where Daisy lay. “Daisy, bite Ham.”
    Daisy got up, went over to where Ham sat at the table and took his ankle in her mouth.
    “Harder,” Holly said.
    “Ow!” Ham yelled.
    “Now, Daisy, tear off his leg and hit him over the head with it.”
    “No, no, Daisy!” Ham cried, prying her jaws from his ankle. “Don’t hurt your grandfather!”
    “Is that how you think of yourself? As Daisy’s grandfather?”
    “Well, she’s the closest thing to a grandchild I’ve had so far.”
    “Daisy,” Holly said, “if he starts asking about your sex life, kill him.”
    Somewhere in the house a small chime rang.
    “What’s that?” Ham asked.
    “It’s a car coming down the road,” Holly said. She looked at the umbrella stand by the door and confirmed that the barrel of Jackson’s shotgun still protruded from it.
    “You worried?” Ham asked.
    “I guess what we saw this morning spooked me a little,” she said. She got up. “I’ll see who it is.”
    She walked toward the front door with some trepidation.

Seventeen
    HOLLY CHECKED THE PEEPHOLE FIRST, BUT ALL she could see was the rear end of a black car parked outside. She couldn’t see anybody at the door. She hooked the beefy chain on and cracked the door.
    “Expecting enemies?” a man’s voice asked.
    “Harry?”
    “One and the same.”
    Holly opened the door and flung her arms around the man. “Come on in the house. Ham’s here.”
    She led Harry into the living room. “Ham, it’s Harry Crisp, remember?”
    Ham stood up. “Sure, you’re the Fed who worked with Holly on that Palmetto Gardens thing.”
    “One and the same,” Harry replied, shaking Ham’s hand.
    “Harry has risen in the world since then,” Holly said. “He’s now the agent in charge of the Miami FBI office.”
    “Mostly thanks to you and Holly, Ham,” Harry said, dragging up a chair.
    “Can I get you something to drink?”
    “How about a pitcher of martinis? Just kidding. A Diet Coke will do, if you’ve got it.”
    Holly turned to Daisy. “Daisy, bring Harry a Diet Coke.”
    Daisy trotted to the refrigerator and, taking in her teeth a towel that had been tied to the handle, opened the door and gingerly fished out a Diet Coke, swung a hip against