Elena Estes - Dark Horse Part 16

happened, other than the hearsay that Michael and I don't get along-and I know that you don't-I don

't intend to speak to you again." He led the horse out of the stall and down the aisle. Landry pressed back against a wall, holding hisbreath-a good idea regardless, in this place. The smell of manure and horses and Christ-knew-whathung in the air like smog. When the horse was out of range to kick him, he followed.

"What about you, Ms. Montgomery?"

The blonde caught a look from her boss, then turned to Landry. "Ditto. What he said. With a friend."

They went out into the suns.h.i.+ne and Jade mounted the horse. "Paris, bring my coat and hat."

"Will do."

Jade didn't wait for her, but turned the horse and started down the road.

"With each other?" Landry asked, walking back into the tent with Montgomery.

"No. G.o.d no!" she said. "I take orders from him all day. I'm not interested in taking them all night too." "He's got an att.i.tude." "He's earned it. People don't cut him a lot of breaks." "Maybe that's because he doesn't deserve any." He followed her into a stall draped in green with an oriental carpet on the floor and framed art on the walls. She opened an antique wardrobe and pulled out an olive green jacket and a brown velvet-covered helmet.

"You don't know him," she said.

"And you do. Who do you think he was with last night?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I'm not privy to Don's private life. This is the first I heard he's seeing anyone."

Then it seemed unlikely he was, Landry thought. From what he'd gathered, these horse people practically lived in each other's pockets. And proximity aside, they were all rich, or pretended to be rich; and the only thing rich people liked better than f.u.c.king each other over was gossiping.

"He's very discreet," Montgomery said.

"I guess that's what's kept him out of prison: discretion. Your boss has toed the wrong side of the line acouple of times." "And has never been convicted of anything. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get up to the schooling ring or he'll kill me." She flashed the bright smile. "Then you'll have a job to do."

Landry followed her out of the tent. She climbed behind the wheel of a green golf cart with the Jade logo

on the nose, folded the coat, and put it on the seat beside her. The helmet went into a basket behind the seat.

"What about you, Ms. Montgomery? Does your mystery pal have a name?"

"Yes, he does," she said, batting her eyes coyly. "But I don't kiss and tell either, Detective. A girl could

get a reputation that way."

She started the golf cart and drove away, calling and waving to people as she went past the tents. Ms.

Popularity.

Landry stood with his hands on his hips for a moment, aware there was a girl watching him from inside

the tent. He could see her from the corner of his eye: chubby, unkempt, tight T-s.h.i.+rt showing off curves

and rolls better left to the imagination. Landry wanted to get back in the car and leave. Estes was right: he didn't give a s.h.i.+t what these people did to each other. But he'd had to account for what had gone on in the office in the middle of the night with Estes demanding to see only him, and no paperwork being filed, and what a f.u.c.king nightmare. His lieutenant wouldn't take that Estes wasn't filing charges and leave it at that. He had to follow up.

He sighed and turned, drawing a bead on the girl. "You work here?"

Her small eyes widened. She looked like she didn't know whether to s.h.i.+t her pants or have an o.r.g.a.s.m.She nodded. Landry went back inside, pulling his notebook out of his hip pocket. "Name?" "Jill Morone. M-O-R-O-N-E. I'm Mr. Jade's head groom." "Uh-huh. And where were you last night around two?" "In bed," she said, smug with a secret she was dying to spill. "With Mr. Jade."

The offices of Gryphon Development were located in a stylish stucco wanna-be-Spanish building on Greenview Sh.o.r.es across the street from the Polo Club's west entrance. I parked in a visitor's slot next to Bruce Seabright's Jaguar.

A poster-sized ad for Fairfields filled the front window of the office, Bruce Seabright's photo in the lower right-hand corner. He had the kind of smile that said: I'm a big p.r.i.c.k, let me sell you something overpriced. Apparently that worked for some people.

The offices were professionally done to look expensive and inviting. Leather couches, mahogany tables. There were photographs of four men and three women on the wall, each with professional accolades etched in bra.s.s on the picture frames. Krystal Seabright was not among them.

The receptionist looked a lot like Krystal Seabright. Too much gold jewelry and hair spray. I wondered if this was how Krystal and Bruce had met. The boss and the secretary. Trite but true too much of the time.

"Elena Estes to see Mr. Seabright," I said. "I have some questions about Fairfields."

"Wonderful location," she said, giving me a saleswoman-in-training smile. "There are some spectacularbarns going up in the development." "Yes, I know. I've been past." "The Hughes property," she supplied with a look of near euphoria. "Is that to die for?" "I'm afraid so." She buzzed Seabright. A moment later, the door on the far side of the reception area opened and Bruce Seabright stepped out, hanging on to the doork.n.o.b. He wore a crisp tan linen suit with a regimental striped tie. Very formal for south Florida, land of loud aloha s.h.i.+rts and deck shoes.

"Ms. Estes?"

"Yes. Thank you for seeing me."

I walked past him into his office and took a position on the opposite side of the room, my back to a mahogany credenza.

"Have a seat," he offered, going behind his desk. "Can we get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, thank you. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment. I'm sure you're a very busy man."

"I'm glad to say I am." He smiled the same smile from the photo on the Fairfields poster. "Business isbooming. Our little jewel of Wellington is being discovered. Property here is as hot as any in southFlorida. And the land you're asking about is a prime example."

"Actually, I'm not here to buy property, Mr. Seabright."

The smile faded to mild confusion. His features were small and sharp, like a ferret's. "I don't understand.You said you had questions about Fairfields." "I do. I'm an investigator, Mr. Seabright. I'm looking into an incident at the equestrian center that involves a client of yours: Trey Hughes."

Seabright sat back in his chair, unhappy with this turn of events. "Of course I know Trey Hughes. It's no

secret he bought in Fairfields. But I certainly don't go around talking about clients, Ms. Estes. I have myethics." "I'm not after personal information. I'm more curious about the development. When the land came up for sale. When Mr. Hughes bought his parcel." "That's a matter of public record," Seabright said. "You could go to the county offices and look it up." "I could, but I'm asking you." Suspicion had overtaken confusion. "What's this about? What 'incident' are you investigating?" "Mr. Hughes recently lost a very expensive horse. We have to cross all the t's and dot all the i's. You know."

"What does the property have to do with this horse?"

"Routine background information. Was the owner in financial straits, et cetera. The property Mr. Hughes

is developing was expensive, and the development of the property itself-"

"Trey Hughes doesn't need money," Seabright said, offended by the suggestion. "Anyone will tell you hecame into a large inheritance last year." "Before or after he bought the Fairfields property?" "What difference does that make?" he asked irritably. "He'd been interested in the property for some time. He purchased last spring."

"After the death of his mother?"

"I don't like what you're implying, Ms. Estes. And I'm not comfortable having this conversation." He

rose from his chair, a heartbeat from throwing me out. "Are you aware your stepdaughter has been working for Mr. Hughes' trainer?" I asked. "Erin? What's Erin got to do with this?" "I'd like an answer to that myself. But she seems to be missing." Seabright's level of agitation went up a notch. "What are you- Who exactly do you work for?" "That's confidential information, Mr. Seabright. I have my ethics too," I said. "Did you have anything to do with Erin getting that job?" "I don't see how that's any of your business." "Are you aware no one has had any contact with Erin in nearly a week?" "Erin isn't close to the family." "Really? I was told she was quite close to your son." Bruce Seabright turned burgundy and jabbed a forefinger at me. "I want your license number." I raised the one eyebrow I could and crossed my arms over my chest, sitting back against the credenza.

"Why are you so upset with me, Mr. Seabright? I would think a father would be more concerned abouthis daughter than his client." "I'm not-" He caught himself and closed his mouth. "Her father?" I supplied. "You're not her father, therefore you don't have to be concerned about her?" "I'm not concerned about Erin because Erin is responsible for herself. She's an adult." "She's eighteen."

"And no longer lives under my roof. She does as she pleases." "That's been a problem, hasn't it? What pleases Erin doesn't please you. Teenage girls . . ." I shook myhead as if in commiseration. "Life is easier without her around, isn't it?"

I thought I could see his body vibrate with the anger he was trying to contain. He stared at me, burning

my image into his brain so he could visualize and hate me when I'd gone. "Get out of my office," he said, his voice tight and low. "And if I see you on this property again, I'mcalling the police."

I moved away from the credenza, taking my time. "And tell them what, Mr. Seabright? That I should be arrested for caring more about what's become of your stepdaughter than you do? I'm sure they'll find that to be very curious."

Seabright yanked the door open and called out loudly to the receptionist: "Doris, call the Sheriff's Office."

Doris stared, bug-eyed.

"Ask for Detective Landry in Robbery/Homicide," I suggested. "Give him my name. He'll be happy to make an appearance."

Seabright narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if I was bluffing. I left the Gryphon offices at my own pace, got in Sean's car, and drove away-just in case BruceSeabright wasn't.

My G.o.d, El, you look like one of Robert Palmer's all-girl eighties' bands."

I had put the top down for the drive home, hoping the air would clear my head. Instead, the sun had baked my brain, and the wind had swept my hair up into a 'do from a fas.h.i.+on shoot for the tragically hip. I wanted a drink and a nap in the sun by the pool, but knew I would allow myself neither.

Sean leaned down and kissed my cheek, then scolded me peevishly. "You stole my car."

"It matched my outfit."

I got out of the Mercedes and handed him the keys. He was in breeches and boots, and a tight black

T-s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves rolled up to show off biceps the size of grapefruits. "Robert must be coming to teach you," I said. "Why do you say that?" he asked, irritated. "The muscle s.h.i.+rt. Darling, you're really so transparent." "Well, meow, meow. Aren't we catty today?" "A good beating will do that to me." "I'm sure you deserved it. Invite me next time. I'd love to watch." We walked together across the stable yard toward the guest house. Sean looked at me out of the corner of his eye and frowned.

"Are you all right?"

I gave the question undue weight and consideration, instead of tossing off the usual meaningless answer.

What an odd moment to be struck by insight, I thought. But I stopped and acknowledged it within myself.

"Yes," I said. "I am."

As tangled and trying as this case was becoming, as unwilling a partic.i.p.ant as I'd been, it felt good to use the old skills. It felt good to be necessary to something.

"Good," he said. "Now go powder your nose and transform yourself again, Cinderella. Your alter ego has company coming."

"Who?"

"Van Zandt." He spat the name out as if it were a bitter thing with a pit in it. "Don't say I never sacrificed for you."