The Bee Balm Murders by Cynthia Riggs Page A

into.”
    “Do you need any other information from me?”
    “I’m all set,” said Finney, getting to his feet.
    On the way to the airport, Finney was understandably quiet, and Orion didn’t attempt to converse with him.
    They pulled into a parking place at the airport, went into the waiting room, and Finney checked in at the Cape Air counter. “A hundred and ninety-seven pounds,” he informed the gray-haired woman at the counter before she asked. “Gained two pounds at breakfast this morning.”
    She smiled and noted his weight.
    “I’ll be in touch,” he said to Orion. “Send me the signed contract so I can get to work.” They shook hands. Finney went through the security check, the Cessna taxied up to the gate, and Orion went out the side door of the airport to where he’d parked. He climbed in and sat for a while, waiting until the Cape Air flight left.
    He felt vaguely troubled.
    Finney had been distant, strange, and it seemed to be something other than the half-magnum of champagne he’d consumed a couple of hours earlier. He’d have to discuss Finney with Dorothy, next time he met with her.
    He backed out of the parking space and headed to the office.
    *   *   *
    Finney felt a bit queasy on the short flight to Boston. He leaned his face against the cool glass of the Cessna’s window and shut his eyes. That was a memorable breakfast with Dorothy. What a woman! An experienced woman. A wealthy woman. Finney sighed.
    In Boston he made his way to the departure gate. After he’d boarded, he settled into a window seat where he could again rest his face on the cool glass.
    Finney Solomon was new at the venture capital game. He had a two-year degree in business from a community college and had interned at a couple of places during that time, a bank and a mortgage firm. Years ago his father had introduced him to the great Angelo Vulpone. He’d been just a little kid at the time and was awed by the powerful man. Once he decided on a career like Vulpone’s, he tried unsuccessfully to meet with him, and instead, kept an Angelo Vulpone scrapbook of articles about him. Through the articles, Vulpone became Finney’s mentor, at least according to Finney.
    Finding financing for Universal Fiber Optics would be a piece of cake, according to Angelo, quoted in a recent business column. High-tech communications was a sure thing, didn’t matter what the economy was doing. The only trick to it, Angelo had said, was making sure the right person was managing the project. You needed a man with a combination of brains, expertise, courage, and personality. Plus a degree of cold-bloodedness, a focus on the project so intense that not much else mattered. The columnist had ended by writing that in Orion Nanopoulos, Angelo believed he’d found the right person.
    Finney knew nothing about the technology, nor did he care. Orion knew what he was doing. His plan made sense. He’d convinced Angelo that an optical-fiber network for the Island was not just for better cell phone reception, but so emergencies could be dealt with at the speed of light.
    But now that he’d breakfasted with Dorothy, he sensed her reservation about Orion. She’d assured him she hadn’t meant to say anything negative, and of course, she hadn’t. One of his strengths, Finney believed, was his sensitivity to nuances. He’d check around, see what other Islanders thought. He wasn’t about to make a decision involving fourteen million based only on that whiff of concern of Dorothy’s. The trouble was, he didn’t know any Islanders.
    When he got back to his apartment in Union City, he called Dorothy. He thanked her again for the delightful respite from his heavy schedule, told her again what a great asset she was to the project. He said, “I’m doing a routine check of Nanopoulos. Can you suggest a couple of Island people I might talk to?”
    “Of course, Finney, dear,” said Dorothy. “Hold on a minute while I get my address book.”
    She was back