"I'm not here about the horses either," Landry said. "A woman was assaulted in the attempt to stop whoever set them loose."
Paris Montgomery's brown eyes widened in shock. "What woman? Stella? Michael's wife? Was she hurt?"
"I understand there was a scene yesterday between you and Mr. Berne, Mr. Jade," Landry said. "Would you care to tell me where you were around two A.M.?"
"No, I would not," Jade said curtly, going to stand beside the horse that was tied in an open stall. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Detective, I have a horse to ride."
"Maybe you'd rather discuss it at length at the Sheriff's Office," Landry suggested. He didn't like being dismissed like a servant.
Jade gave him a look. Haughty-even through the shades. "Maybe you'd rather take it up with my attorney."
"Save your money and my time, Mr. Jade. All you have to do is tell me where you were. It's only a trick question if you were here."
"I was with a friend. We were not here."
"Does this friend have a name?"
"Not as far as you're concerned."
He tightened a strap on the saddle. The horse pinned its ears.
Landry looked for a place to jump in case the beast went nuts or something. It looked mean, like it would bite.
Jade unsnapped the ties that held the animal in the stall.
"Our conversation is over," Jade announced. "Unless you have something that connects me to what 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 his breath-a good idea regardless, in this place. The smell of manure and horses and Christ-knew-what hung 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 sunshine 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. God no!" she said. "I take orders from him all day. I'm not interested in taking them all night too."
"He's got an attitude."
"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 fucking 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 a couple 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-shirt 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 shit 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 fucking 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 shit her pants or have an orgasm. 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."
12
The offices of Gryphon Development were located in a stylish stucco wanna-be-Spanish building on Greenview Shores 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 prick, 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 brass 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 spectacular barns 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 doorknob. He wore a crisp tan linen suit with a regimental striped tie. Very formal for south Florida, land of loud aloha shirts 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 is booming. Our little jewel of Wellington is being discovered. Property here is as hot as any in south Florida. 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 my ethics."