Paris raised her eyebrows. "Don and Susannah?" she said, amusement turning one corner of her mouth. "I learn something new every day."
"I would think it'd be hard to keep a secret in such a small world."
"Oh, you'd be surprised, Detective Landry," she said, standing too close to him, her hand just below his on the edge of the open door. "There are two things the horse world is full of: secrets and lies. The trick is telling which is which."
24
People can do the goddamnedest things.
Words of insight from Monte Hughes III. Perhaps there was a scrap of substance beneath the self-absorbed, alcohol-soaked narcissist after all. Certainly there was something lurking beneath his well-worn surface, something that had penetrated the fog enough to trouble him.
"… that would be because of the murder."
"But that was days ago."
I had to think he'd been referring to Stellar, and in that, admitting the horse had been killed. But at the same time, I couldn't get the image of Jill Morone's corpse out of my mind. The connection between Jill and Erin made me anxious. If one could be murdered, why not the other?
I hated that all of this was happening in the world that had been my refuge. But people are people. The setting doesn't change basic human emotions-jealousy, greed, lust, rage, envy. The players in this drama could have been plucked from this particular stage and placed on any other. The story would have been the same.
I left Trey Hughes and went in search of the one person no one had questioned who I thought might have something relevant to contribute. The one person in Jade's barn who was ever-present, but practically invisible. Javier.
His inability to speak English did not render him blind or deaf or stupid, but it did give him a cloak of anonymity. Who knew what he might have witnessed among the staff and clients of Jade's operation. No one paid any attention to him except to order him around.
But Javier had vanished that morning when Landry had come down the barn aisle, and I had no luck finding him. The Hispanic workers in the neighboring barns had nothing to say to a well-dressed woman asking questions, even if I did speak their language.
I felt at loose ends. For the first time that day I admitted to myself that I wished I still had a badge and could have been sitting in an interview room, pushing the buttons and pulling the strings of the people who had known and disliked Jill Morone, the people who had known Erin Seabright and may have held the key to her whereabouts. I knew those people and understood them in a way the detectives interviewing them never would.
At the very least I wanted to be there putting questions in Landry's ear. But I knew I would never openly be allowed that near an active investigation. And, despite my threats to Bruce Seabright, I would now be held completely outside the kidnapping investigation. I couldn't bully my way into that house with half the Palm Beach County detective division involved. I couldn't even call Molly on the phone because the calls would be traced and recorded.
I had been relegated to the role of informant, and I didn't like it-even though I had been the one dragging Landry into it in the first place.
I who had wanted no part of this case.
Grinding my teeth on my frustration, I left the show grounds and drove to a strip mall, to a cell phone store, where I purchased a prepaid, disposable phone. I would get it to Molly somehow so we could stay in contact without the Sheriff's Office listening in.
I thought about the caller who had rung Bruce Seabright twice in that long list of numbers from his home office phone, and wondered if the kidnappers had been smart enough to do what I was doing. Did they have a phone they could ditch? Had they bought it with cash, given a phony ID?
I had given the list of phone numbers to Landry, who would be able to get a line on all of them through the phone company. I doubted we would be lucky enough to have one of the numbers come back listed to Tomas Van Zandt or Don Jade or Michael Berne. Landry would know by the end of the day. I wondered if he would tell me. Now that he was in this mess up to his neck, I wondered if he would include me at all. A small hollow ball of fear had taken up residence in my stomach at the thought that he might not.
Sean waved me to the barn as I drove into the yard. The afternoon was slipping away in the west. The sky was orange with a drift of black smoke billowing along the horizon. Farmers burning off the stubble of their sugarcane fields. Irina was feeding the horses their dinner. I breathed in the scent of animals and molasses and grass hay. Better than a Valium to me. D'Artagnon stuck his head out over the door of his stall and nickered to me. I went to him and stroked his face and rested my cheek against his and told him that I missed him.
"Just in time for cocktails, darling. Come along," Sean said, leading the way to the lounge. He was still in breeches and boots.
"Sorry I haven't been any help the last few days," I said. "Are you going to fire me and throw me out into the street?"
"Don't be silly. You've embroiled me in international intrigue. I'll dine out on this for years to come." He went to the bar and poured himself a glass of merlot. "Want some? Blood red. That should appeal to you."
"No, thanks. I'll be giddy."
"That will be the day."
"Tonic and lime sounds nice."
He fixed the drink and I crawled onto a bar stool, tired and body sore.
"I spoke today with friends in Holland," he said. "They had already heard Van Zandt had been in my barn."
"That's some grapevine."
"Apparently, Van Zandt didn't waste any time putting the word out that I might be buying and selling horses with him."
"I'm sure he didn't. You're a plum catch, my peach. Great taste and lots of money. I'm sure he wanted that news to get to your longtime agent as soon as possible."
"Yes. Thank Christ I had called Toine ahead of time and warned him I was sacrificing myself for a noble cause. He would have been on the first plane over from Amsterdam to rescue me from Van Zandt's evil clutches."
"And what did your other friends have to say about the evil Z.?"
"That he's a pariah. He's been banished from the best farms in Holland. They simply won't do business with him."
"But plenty of other people will."
He shrugged. "Dealers always manage to find clients, and people with horses to sell need clients to sell them to. If no one did business with shady characters like Van Zandt, not much business would get done."
"I'll tell him you said so over dinner tonight."
He made a face. "You're having dinner with him? You'll want to buy a case of liquid Lysol."
"To drink?"
"To bathe in afterward. Seriously, Elle," he said, frowning at me, "be careful with that creep. Irina told me what he did to her friend. And now there's been a murder at the show grounds. Is he involved in that? That's where you were all day, isn't it?"
"I don't know if he was involved. Other people may have had reason to want the girl dead."
"Jesus, Elle."
"I know what I'm doing. And the cops are involved now."
"Is that who was here this morning?" he asked, a sly look coming into his eyes. "Mr. Very Good Looking in the silver car?"
"Detective," I corrected. "Is he good-looking? I hadn't noticed."
"Honey, you need an optometrist if you haven't noticed that."
"His personality leaves something to be desired."
"So does yours," he said, trying not to grin. "Could be a perfect fit."
"Could be you need your head examined," I complained. "This mess I'm involved in-thanks to you, by the way-involves a lot of ugly stuff. Romance is not on the agenda even if I was interested-which I'm not."