Death in the Orchid Garden by Ann Ripley Page A

minutes before meeting the Corbins and John, Louise found a small rock outcropping and sat on it. She stared aimlessly out to sea and watched the light fade. Her gaze was drawn upward to the top of Shipwreck Rock. If she had binoculars, she might have been able to figure out why the path was closed.
    Her interest piqued, she walked closer to the base of the rock. Erosion had cut into the bottom portion, but the base shelf still extended out a short distance beyond the top of the rock. This meant that the young swimmers who used the precipice like a high diving board must have to leap out in an arc to avoid this shelf and land safely in deep sea water. Dangerous, she thought.
    Following the curve of the beach, Louise walked toward the rock face, not bothered when an occasional wave washed over her feet, but vigilant lest a bigger wave come in and knock her down. Distracted in this way, she didn’t realize how close she was to the big rock until she looked up and there it was, immediately in front of her.
    Through the dimness, she could see what looked like a form on the stone shelf at the base of the cliff. Her heartbeat sped up until she realized that she must have come upon another monk seal. Sighing with relief, she realized she’d have to report its presence to hotel security so they could set up a privacy area for the animal while it took its nap.
    But something wasn’t quite as it seemed. A few steps more and she realized her mistake. This was not a monk seal, for the silhouette was irregular, not smooth and hump-like. Though her heart was speeding again, she tried to stay calm as she plodded onward across the sand. Soon she could see that it was a person crumpled on the shelf.
    She pulled in a terrified gasp as she recognized Matthew Flynn’s distinctive new explorer’s hat lying a few feet from the prostrate form. Her mind began to race. All she could think of was that Flynn had tumbled off the top of the cliff and needed CPR. She made a shortcut through the shallow water and nearly fell down in the strong surf. Regaining her balance, she determinedly slogged through the waves until she reached the shelf and clambered up it.
    She ran to where the scientist lay faceup on the protruding rim of the stone ledge, his eyes open. Some blood appeared to be trickling from the back of his head. Kneeling down, she gently pressed his wrist and felt no pulse. Hurriedly, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed 911.
    â€œHurry,” she muttered, until seconds later a voice came on the line and she reported the incident. “I’m going to try to help him,” she told the operator.
    â€œDo you know CPR?”
    â€œI know the basics. I’ll do what I can.”
    Louise looked down and realized how close he lay to the edge of the rock. Beyond the edge was deep ocean water. A sense of vertigo overcame her, but she steeled herself. There was no time for panic: she had work to do.
    Grabbing at Flynn’s shirt and arm, she pulled him a little farther from the dangerous edge, then straddled him. His blank eyes stared up at her. The man is gone , said a voice in her head. Stifling this thought, she began her work, using a method she’d recently heard about that called for pressing the center of the chest one hundred times per minute. “Help me,” she whispered, as she rocked back and forth and counted. It didn’t take long for fatigue to overcome her; there was nothing she would have liked to do better than to lie down beside the prostrate man and rest. But she could hear people in the distance. They would have machinery to bring back a pulse. She didn’t dare stop.
    â€œ. . . fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen . . .” She avoided looking at Flynn or the roiling ocean below her and concentrated on her counting, hoping her timing was correct so that she could save the man’s life.
    So intent was she on her task that when the rock dropped from above,