Death in the Orchid Garden by Ann Ripley Page B

were lit on the hotel terrace. The hula dancers were not especially beautiful except for their long brown hair and dazzling smiles, yet their rhythmic movements mesmerized the crowd. Their hips seemed to have a locomotive power totally separate from the rest of their bodies. They were big women, even bigger than Steffi, who was sitting there in her new muumuu from Hilo Hattie, another shop she and Louise had visited this afternoon. Louise had bought a muumuu too, but hadn’t felt comfortable enough to wear it. The dancers, like Steffi, had plenty of bust volume but little uplift. At Hilo Hattie, when Steffi bemoaned the difficulty of finding a proper bra to wear with her dress, the saleswoman had said, “This is Hawaii, hon; you just let ’em hang.”
    Marty, Steffi, and John were all drinking mai tais. So that she wouldn’t feel left out of things, Louise had whispered to the waiter and he obligingly placed an umbrella atop her tonic water. As they drank and waited for their dinners to arrive, a lithe Hawaiian man in feathery headdress, G-string, and little else, came out on the terrace and appeared to swallow a fiery stick, bringing applause from the audience for both his feat and his remarkable brown body.
    As soon as the women stopped doing the hula, Louise’s table was invaded. First to appear was Bruce Bouting, dapper as ever in a sports jacket and linen trousers. On either side of him were Anne Lansing and Christopher Bailey. Anne looked luminous in a green linen dress that matched her extraordinary eyes. Louise was familiar with this trick, since she had a lot of green in her own eyes. A green outfit brought the color out to its best advantage. Bouting was whispering in Anne’s ear. Christopher Bailey had dressed up a bit, but still fit the image of an intellectual nerd with faulty vision.
    â€œLouise, Marty, John!” cried the white-haired scientist.
    Uh oh , thought Louise, what does he want now ?
    Bouting spied Steffi Corbin, whom he apparently hadn’t met. He stepped close to her, bowed down and took her hand in his, and pressed it gently to his lips. “And I believe I can guess who this lovely lady is.”
    As Marty introduced his wife, Louise could see her producer’s facial expression soften. Steffi positively melted as the scientist continued to hold onto her hand. Bouting certainly knew how to charm people, she thought.
    The horticulturalist said, “I just stopped for a moment to say mahalo to you, Marty, for accommodating me.”
    Marty waved a casual hand, his gaze flicking over to the beautiful Anne. “Don’t mention it.”
    â€œWell, then,” said the scientist, as he bowed again and relinquished Steffi’s hand, “it’s been so good to meet you, dear lady. Now, we’d better be off to get our dinner. We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow at the Botanical Garden.”
    After they’d left, Steffi cocked her head back, as if pretending to swoon. “What a charmer he is!” She looked at her hand. “I’ve never had my hand kissed before.”
    Her husband laughed. “Tell her the real story, Lou—about how that thin layer of refinement covers an egocentric SOB who’s makin’ my job into a nightmare .”
    â€œHe is a bit difficult,” said Louise. “But as I said, it’s that millionaire mentality. Bruce Bouting doesn’t think like most people—”
    â€œNo,” interrupted Marty, “he thinks like an oversized baby.”

8
    N ot long after Bouting and his aides left to find seats in the dining room, two men strolled onto the terrace. One was Dr. Matthew Flynn. The other intrigued Louise. With their complexions like finely tanned leather and their campy shorts and boots, they looked like they had just stepped out of a jungle. Singly, each was handsome. Together, they made a striking pair that attracted every eye. Dr. Matthew Flynn’s white smile