Death in the Orchid Garden Read Free Page B

horticulture.
    Leaning into the mirror, she had taken three fingers and shoved the down line upward in hopes of banishing it forever. Then she’d remembered she was talking on the phone with her producer.
    â€œMarty, sorry,” she’d said. “I got distracted.”
    â€œHey,” Marty had said in an injured tone, “wassamatta wid you?” Marty was born and raised in Philadelphia and hadn’t bothered to change his way of talking just because he’d moved to Washington, D.C. “I was gonna hang up on ya. Where ya been anyway?”
    â€œI’m right here, thinking. I thought you said John Batchelder wasn’t coming. Why does shooting two shows on Kauai require his presence?”
    â€œWe don’t use him that much and I thought it only fair to give him a perk. God knows, as a part-time employee, he gets few enough perks. And he’s newly engaged to some dame named Linda. That makes him anxious to get ahead.”
    Suddenly, Louise had known the truth. “He threatened to quit on you, didn’t he?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, he did,” said Marty, “and I didn’t find it handy for him to do that right now. But Lou, dear, don’t get your nose out of joint because he’s honed in on this trip. We’re gonna have fun. We can even take a little side trip to the Big Island—I hear there’s lots of lava action developing over there. And the programs are all about your favorite kind of people, plant explorers.”
    â€œYeah,” she muttered. “The last time I met one, he was murdered immediately afterward.”
    Marty had given forth a big, uncertain laugh. “That can’t happen this time, can it?”
    â€œHow do you know that? We’re featuring three prima donna botanists.”
    â€œTough,” said Marty. “Bouting, Flynn, and Reuter will just have to learn how to get along. The ones I’m worried about are you and John.”
    She had given a last glance at her face in the mirror and turned determinedly away. “Don’t worry. I’ll get along fine with John. Heaven knows I try to like him. It’s just that he sets up this phony competition with me. I wish he’d get over it.”
    â€œHe will in time,” Marty had assured her. “He needs to grow.”
    â€œThe other thing about him is—well, never mind.” The other thing that rankled Louise about John Batchelder, something she needn’t share with her producer . . . his extreme good looks. Sometimes she wondered if it didn’t unbalance the show. Here she was, a mature, only nominally pretty woman—and with a down line that some day would help form a jowl! And there was John, ten years younger and too darned beautiful for words.
    The only hope for her was that she’d heard Hawaii, with its moist island air, was beneficent on the skin. That would remain to be seen. But for insurance, she’d brought with her on this trip a little jar of cream in a mauve-colored glass jar with gold lid. She’d purchased the anti-aging cream a couple of years ago for an outrageous price. It had languished, unused, in her and Bill’s medicine cabinet, but its time was now at hand.
    Hawaiian music, courtesy of three ukulele players, started in the background. Louise blinked and quit woolgathering. She looked over at John, sitting across from her at the table. Bits of golden light from the bold torches flickered on his wavy brown hair. His dark-lashed eyes flashed with sincerity. Although the light was dim, Louise was sure that John had no lines in his face.
    John was leaning into Marty Corbin’s space, selling him an idea, while for some reason slanting the occasional stealthy glance her way. Had Louise been in her normal stamping ground, the competitive atmosphere of greater Washington, D.C., she would have been wary of her younger cohost’s overt attempts to impress and co-opt her producer. But something