Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) (6 page)

“Jesus Christ,” she thought, “Lobster? And she looked so young... 20... 23?” And she thought more, “You’re robbing the cradle there, Jimbo.” And mentally, she called him, “Sugar Daddy Mogins.” Envy gripped her heart as she stared at them, in a tunneled vision that made her oblivious to her surroundings.

A big man walked up and grabbed Eunice by her arm and showed her a gold badge that he was holding in his other hand, “Will you please come with me, Madam?”

Eunice looked at the badge and then up at the detective, she was stunned, but remained calm and went with him out into the foyer near the fountains, “What’s this about, may I ask?”

“I’m a private detective hired by Mister Morgan.”

“Oh my God! Yes, I guess I was looking at him. I came down here to...hire him. I... I was hoping to catch him alone. I didn’t want to disturb him... I...”

“Ok. Ok. Calm down.”

“I’m Eunice North, the director of...”

“Do you have a pictured ID, Miss North?” He released her arm and she reached her purse.

“Allow me.” He strongly suggested, placing his hand on her purse before she could open it.

“Yes, of course,” and Eunice gave up her handbag. “I don’t carry a gun or anything,” and she helplessly watched him inspect her purse, “Satisfied?”

“Ok.” And he released the bag to her.

Eunice removed her Driver’s license and handed it to him. He studied it a second and then looked at her, “Thank you, Miss North,” and he handed it back to her.

“I’m going to ask Mister Morgan to step out here. Will you wait?”

“Yes, I’ll wait.”

Oscar Bradley, sole proprietor of Bradley’s Investigative Service, walked over to a waiter and asked him to have Morgan come out to the front exit. He briefly flashed his gold shield of authority, and his request was immediately and discretely acted upon, “There’s a detective at the entrance that wishes to speak with you, Mister Morgan.”

Morgan stood and placed a hand on Catherine’s shoulder, “I’ll be right back, Catherine. Someone is asking for me at the entrance. I’m sorry.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. No. I’ll just be a minute.

“I’m ready for a decaf, but I’ll wait for you to return. Hurry back, handsome,” she cooed, with a flirtatious wickedness.

Morgan smiled at her beautiful face and patted her shoulder, “Be right back.”

Morgan saw Eunice standing at the flowing fountain as he neared the entrance. His hired bodyguard addressed him as he entered the foyer and interrupted his redirected walk toward her.

“Mister Morgan?” Oscar put his hand out for a shake of introduction, “I’m your private eye, Oscar Bradley.”

Morgan shook his hand and then looked at Eunice, “Does this have to do with the lady over there?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it does. She was...observing you at a distance, for quite an extended time. I challenged her actions and she says she knows you. Her name is Eunice North and she checks out.”

Yes, she is Eunice North. I’m very surprised to see her here. Did she say what she was doing?”

“She said she was waiting for an opportune moment to step in and say hello.”

“She’s a former employer of mine. I’d better go talk with her. Good work Oscar. Thanks.”

“Eunice. How nice to see you.” Morgan gave her a platonic hug and felt her stiffen in his embrace.

“Yes, nice to have been arrested by your bodyguard.”

Morgan looked back to where he left Oscar, but he had vanished, somewhere... “Sorry Eunice, a lot of strange things have been going on around me lately.”

“Oh, has the blonde’s husband been following you? Or is it her father? Is she old enough to be drinking?”

“Very funny, Eun. What brings you to Chicago?”

“Business, I came here to see you. I was just at your parent’s. Your mother said you were dining here...with a friend.”

“Yes. That’s true. Ah...” Morgan’s mind ran a quarter mile in 10.5 seconds, which is really fast at a drag strip, but awkward when one has a beautiful woman out for a candle lit dinner and his recent old lover shows up.

“Would you like to join us, Eunice? I’m sure Catherine won’t mind. She’s very outgoing.”

“I’m sure she is,” was the frustrated answer to that one.

“Yes, Jim, I would like to join you. I’m starving, and I do need to talk with you.”

“Okay Eun, let’s go. And do me a favor please...be nice to Catherine. I’ve just met her.”

“Oh, it’s Catherine is it? What a pleasant name, Jimbo,” with a heavy emphasis placed on the Jimbo, “I still have a lot of feelings for you, Jim. This may be awkward.”

Morgan breathed in her scent as he followed her toward his table. She smelled like a heated vat of melted vanilla beans being stirred with jasmine flower stems and he knew that it was one of her femme fatal props, one that he was sure she had paid mega-bucks for.

Her work suit announced, expensive, and he couldn’t help but admire the slim lines of her body as her model figure enhanced and ingratiated every seam. Eunice is one of those few women in the world that are way beyond high maintenance, she is snap-her-fingers -- and the world conforms to her presence.

Eunice took control and walked straight up to Catherine’s chair, “Hello Cathy,” she sugarcoated out, “I’m Eunice North, Jim’s former employer. I’m so glad he asked me to meet you.” And the two women shook each other’s hand with feminine warmth and an unfolding knowledge that business was at hand.

Morgan interjected, “Catherine’s a writer. She writes Romance.”

“Oh. How darling. I hope you’re making more money with it than Mister Morgan is?” And she laughed, in an inappropriate loudness, “I’ve published a few books myself, eleven altogether. Who’s your publisher, dear?”

Eunice was in rare form, looking at Morgan she added, “I hope you haven’t sent her to your publisher, James?” Without waiting for anyone to respond, “I must sit down, I’m simply famished, Jim,” and she moved to the chair across from Catherine and next to Morgan where she plopped herself down, very un-Eunice like.

Without Morgan yet settled into his chair, Eunice made a bold summons to a passing waiter.

Catherine looked at Jim and smiled while Eunice ordered a fruit salad and a black coffee. Her look said, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m having fun,” and she was.

Eunice told the waiter, loud enough for the lobby staff to hear, to bring her the check for the whole party. He assured her that it would be taken care of, as she wished, and then left to place her salad order with the salad chef. “I’ll at least treat. I can write it off as a business expense.” She then addressed Catherine, “Do you mind if we talk business a few minutes, Cathy?”

“No, not at all... Oh, did you want me to leave?”

“Oh no. No. It won’t take long, Cathy. I have a job offer for Mister Morgan, but he doesn’t like working,” and she looked at Jim and qualified her statement, “Right Jimbo?”

Morgan summoned the waiter, “I’d like to see the wine list again.” The servant nodded to the wine taster and a leather bound list of the world’s finest wines was in Morgan’s hands within seconds. Without opening the cover, he requested, “I’d like a bottle of Mouton Rothschild, 1957.”

The server blushed, “I believe we have that year, sir. However, I will not be able to assist you – I have not tasted the Rothschild to attest on its conformity.”

Morgan nodded and the connoisseur exited stage left. The table was instantly refreshed and the old wine bucket removed. Four penguins made themselves highly visible. The cost of dinner with a 20 percent gratuity had escalated beyond simple belief.

 Catherine noticed the atmospheric change in their surroundings. Morgan winked at her as she had picked up on his exuberant wine order. Eunice was blabbering on about ESP books and never caught a clue. A bottle of Mouton Rothschild 1957 upped their evening’s bill by a sassy 1,500.00 American.

The wine was poured and Eunice pushed away her half-eaten plate of exotic fruits. Her black coffee was refilled, as she had openly declined her try at the Historic vine. Jim and Catherine clinked glasses and sipped the golden gift -- of Bacchus himself. It was a rare pleasure, in so many more ways than one.

Eunice smiled at Morgan and began, with a calm seriousness, “I’d like you to come back and work for the Institute, Jim.”

“No, Eunice. I’m setting up a consulting company here. I’m happy ... And I don’t have Russian spies trying to shoot me.”

Catherine’s eyes became a lot wider and she began listening with a whole new vigor, Russian spies? ...Shooting?

“Oh Jim, that was a million to one freak occurrence,” she lied, “I have a fun project that you’ll really enjoy.”

“Yeah, probably to the south pole looking for invisible daisies?”

Catherine coughed away an open laugh and composed herself with a deep sip of her Rothschild after hearing Morgan’s reply, “Excuse me,” she offered, “I had a tickle in my throat.”

Eunice sipped her coffee, then pleaded, “Come on Jim, if I know you, you have every bookie in Chicago looking for you for back payments.”

“I’ve quit gambling,” and he poured himself a fresh glass of wine.

Catherine wanted to pull out her pen and tablet and take notes. But she resisted the overwhelming temptation, and then -- feeling a little giddy, jumped into the conversation, “You aren’t a gambler are you, James?” Her dimples came out, as she looked Morgan square in the eyes with a knowing smile.

Morgan looked back at Eunice, “What’s your big project this time, Eunice?”

“Escort three of my people down to Brazil and bring me back a few rare orchids. Two weeks – tops. All expenses paid, first class. Your old salary...plus ten percent.” Eunice called the waiter.

“More coffee please, regular, and get them another bottle of that wine, too.”

 Eunice smiled at Catherine, then asked, “You wouldn’t miss him for two weeks, would you?”

Catherine looked at Morgan while saying, “Oh, I’m not so sure about that one, Eunice,” and gave him a sultry grin that was somewhat backed by her second glass of the Rothschild.

Eunice saw this as an explicit show of wantonness, and although she didn’t like what she was seeing, she decided to use it as a lever – a lever to seduce Morgan down to Brazil, “I’ll tell you what, Jim. Take Catherine here with you. All expenses paid. My treat,” and the second bottle of Mouton Rothschild 1957 arrived, breathing hearty at Morgan’s side.

Morgan refilled Catherine’s lead crystal goblet. As he was doing so, their eyes met for an ever so brief instant and as they did, a magical spark of sexual lust enveloped them both in a psychological collision with the whole expanding universe. And they knew... They both knew that this night was not going to end young.

Chapter Nine

Morgan reached for a Camel and before he could place it between his lips a waiter was there extending his chrome lighter with a half-inch exposed flame, offered subserviently, at the ready to fire up his personal – idiocy.

Eunice frowned, “When are you going to give up those stinky things, Jimbo?”

“Oh, maybe on my way down to Brazil. That is, if Catherine agrees to take you up on your offer.”

Jim and Eunice both looked at Catherine for an answer.

Catherine had her wine glass up to her lips when they focused in on her. She was buzzed, as was Morgan, and she wasn’t quite ready to fly off below the equator with this, suave Adonis, without getting to know him a whole hell of a lot better. She set her glass down and reached Morgan’s arm, and with an on-the-tipsy-side laugh, told Morgan, “Well Jim, I’ll just have to sleep with you on that one...I mean – sleep on that one with you. Ah, I mean – think this over while sleeping.”

And then she looked over at Eunice and saw an angry maternal figure with a set of demonstrative eyes glaring in on her, and she asked, “Can I bring my Teddy Bear?” And she giggled with a, I’ve had a little too much wine tonight giggle, and added, “Oh Boy!” While showing a beautiful, just being me, smile.

Eunice looked back at Morgan; “So James, shall I put you back on my payroll?”

Morgan, having had a glass or two more of the Rothschild than Catherine, was enjoying the way the room was pleasantly spinning and for a minute he felt the sensation that he was afloat on his father’s sailboat. And he recalled an old sailing cliché, about one being three sheets to the wind while drinking massive quantities of rum. The old adages made him smile with a broad grin as he answered pompously to his former lover, “My love, I will go to Brazil with Catherine sleeping with me on it.”

Catherine laughed. Morgan joined her laughter. They reached out and touched each other’s arm. And they were close to being considered as – making a scene.

Eunice stood, perplexed, and asked for the check. She had never seen Jim Morgan get so drunk so quickly as he obviously was. She looked at the bill and signed it off to her room without questioning the horrendous amount it had cost her for a fruit salad and a couple cups of black coffee.

Shaking her head with a show of dismay, she promised, “I’ll talk with you in the morning, Jimbo.” Then, looking at the plastered Catherine, she forced herself to say, “It was a pleasure, Catherine. I hope we meet again, soon.”

Catherine, literally dizzy, tried to be dignified, “And that goes for me, too,” and she looked to Morgan, and said, “I like your friend.” And her upper body wavered as she added, “Let’s go to that beach and go swimming naked.” And then she swung her head around toward Eunice. But, Eunice had already left. She turned back to Morgan and with an inebriated, dead serious look, asked, “Where did she go?”

* * *

She, Eunice, went to her room and threw off her seven hundred dollar business outfit. The nightgown Mureatha packed for her was a black lace piece from Victoria Secret’s fun collection. She turned off the lights and went to the window facing out on the city. Naked, not bothering with the skimpy sleepwear, she drew the curtains, climbed in the bed, reached the phone, and called Senator Alberquist.

“Hello John. I’ve talked to Morgan. He’s being a total ass. He has himself a little blonde alcoholic friend that could keep him off the orchid hunt. I‘ve invited her to go along as his guest.”