Read Online Death in the Orchid Garden by Ann Ripley - Free Book Online

flashed a greeting as he strode toward their table. With him was a younger man, in his midthirties, Louise guessed, with hair bleached blond either from the sun or peroxide. He was as tall, well over six feet, and as fit looking as Flynn himself. A battered leather carry-all hung jauntily from his shoulder.
    Flynn beamed down at Louise and her companions. “Since none of you have made any of the conference sessions yet,” he said, “you’ve not had the pleasure of meeting George Wyant, my assistant in the jungles. The one I bragged about this afternoon.”
    Keeping his sun-bleached head low in an almost deferential way, Wyant shoved the carry-all out of the way and shook hands all around. At first, Louise could not understand why he looked a bit otherworldly. Then she realized it was because the pupils of his eyes were so large. He said, “I also help Matt, uh, Dr. Flynn, send herbarium sheets to various institutes for analysis. When we think we have something, I help pitch the products to worthy pharmaceutical outlets.” He gazed warily at first one, then another, at the table. Probably he was more comfortable in an Indian village in the Amazon than a luxury hotel.
    â€œHow versatile you are,” said Louise. “Have the two of you worked together for long?”
    â€œIt’s been five years now that I’ve accompanied Matt down to the Amazon basin—thanks mainly to National Scientific Foundation funding. On a few occasions I’ve come with him to the islands here to work with Tom Schoonover and Tim Raddant and Henry Hilaeo and the historian, Sam Folsom. You know, contributing chapters to books they’re writing. I’ve been with Dr. Flynn ever since I entered the doctoral program at Eastern.” He finally smiled and it took years off his golden face, which would probably still look youthful when he was fifty.
    â€œMy dissertation’s all about a great plant from the Amazon, one from the uncaria genus, a subspecies of Uncaria quianensis .” He glanced nervously at Matthew Flynn, as if for approval. Flynn quietly nodded. The older scientist was slouched back on his heels with his hands resting on his hips, like a runner at the conclusion of a race. He was as relaxed as his companion was nervous.
    Having been given the go-ahead, Wyant continued, “The plant has dynamite possibilities, for instance, as an anti-inflammatory. But this subspecies seems especially promising in restoring cells after chemotherapy. That, of course, would be a fantastic breakthrough. I’ve written a little preview of its wonders for Science Magazine.”
    â€œGreat,” said Louise. “ Uncaria quianensis. I better write that one down; I don’t think I’ve heard of it.” She took the pad and pen from her purse and jotted the name down as Wyant hovered over her shoulder to help her with the spelling.
    Matthew Flynn laid a light hand on George Wyant’s bare forearm. “Now to change the subject.” He slid his other hand onto Marty Corbin’s shoulder, massaged the spot a little as if to take the knots out, and looked down at him sympathetically. Louise noted how freely this man liked to touch people. “I wanted to tell you, my man,” he said to her startled producer, who wasn’t used to being manipulated this way by another man, “that you handled all that second-guessing about the location shoot very graciously.”
    â€œI hope so,” grumbled Marty.
    Flynn laughed and said, “I had a wild idea I was gonna throw into the hopper, just as a joke.”
    â€œWhat was that?” asked the producer.
    â€œThat we move all of us, the whole shoot, to the top of Tom Schoonover’s favorite cliff there.”
    Louise said, “The one with all the native species? Actually, tomorrow, Henry Hilaeo—”
    Flynn rushed on with his flippant idea. “There’s a little landing flat spot on top of it. We could all