Tami Hoag - Dark Horse

"He was getting older. Older horses need maintenance-joint injections, supplements, things like that. But he was tough. He had a big heart and he always did his job."

"No one was hinting anything hinky was going on in Jade's barn?" I asked.

"There are always rumors about Jade. He's done this before, you know."

"I'm familiar with Mr. Jade's background. What kind of rumors lately?"

"The usual. What drugs his horses are on. Whose clients he's after. How he's got Trey Hughes by the balls-pardon my language."

"Why would anyone say that?"

"Come on," he said, defensive again. "He must have something. How else is he getting that barn Hughes is building?"

"Through merit? Good deeds? Friendship?"

None of my suggestions appealed.

"You worked for Trey Hughes," I said. "What could Jade have on him?"

"Take your pick: his drug du jour, whose wife he's been sleeping with-"

"How he came to inherit so suddenly?" I suggested.

Berne tried to sit back and study me for a moment, his expression not unlike Jill Morone's when she'd been trying to decide how to play me. "You think he killed his mother?"

"I don't think anything. I'm just asking questions."

He considered something and laughed. "Trey would never have the nerve. He stuttered whenever he talked about Sallie. She scared the crap out of him."

I didn't point out that Trey only needed nerve enough to hire someone else for the job. Delegating was something I was sure came quite easily to a man who had spent his entire life shirking any kind of responsibility.

"You haven't heard any rumors up that alley?" I asked.

"People make jokes behind his back. No one really thinks it. Trey has all he can do getting himself through the day. He couldn't organize his wallet, let alone plan a murder and get away with it. Anyway, he was with someone the night he got the call about his mother."

"Really? Who?"

He looked away. "What difference does that make?"

"It makes a difference if that person is in fact an accessory to murder."

"It's nothing like that."

"I'll get the answer one way or another, Mr. Berne. Do you want me asking all around the show grounds, opening up old wounds, stirring up old gossip?"

Berne stared out the window.

"Should I start guessing?" I asked. "Maybe it was you. That would put a fresh spin on an old story, wouldn't it?"

"I'm no fruit!"

"It's hardly a stigma in the equestrian community, is it?" I said on the verge of boredom. "From what I've seen, maybe every third guy is straight. Think of all the new friends you'll have if you come out of the closet. Or maybe you already have. I could look for an old boyfriend-"

"It was my wife."

Who he gave up in a heartbeat rather than have a perfect stranger think his switch clicked the other way.

"Your wife was with Trey Hughes the night his mother died? With him in the biblical sense?"

"Yes."

"With or without your consent?" I asked.

Berne turned purple. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"If you thought you were on the verge of losing a client, maybe you and the missus cooked up a little incentive plan for him to stay."

"That's sick!"

"The world's a twisted place, Mr. Berne. No offense to you, but I don't know much about you as a person. For instance: I don't know if you're trustworthy. I need my name and my job description kept out of the public forum. I find people to be more closemouthed if they themselves have a secret they'd like kept. Are you getting my drift here, Mr. Berne? Or do I need to be more direct?"

He looked incredulous. "Are you threatening me?"

"I prefer to think we're reaching a mutual understanding on the importance of confidentiality. I'll keep your secret if you keep mine."

"You don't work for General Fidelity," he mused. "Phil would have said something."

"Phil?"

"Phil Wilshire. The claims adjuster. I know him. He would have said something about you."

"He's talked to you about this case?"

"I want Jade caught once and for all," he said, screwing up some self-righteous indignation. "He should be run out of the business. If there's anything I can do, I will."

"Anything?" I asked pointedly. "I'd be careful with my mouth if I were you, Mr. Berne," I cautioned. "A case could easily be made that you so hated Don Jade, you killed Stellar and you're trying to hang it on Jade in order to ruin him. There goes his career. There goes his position with Trey Hughes. You patch things up with Hughes, maybe you slip right back into the picture."

Berne exploded. "You asked me to come here so you could accuse me?! What are you? Crazy?"

"My, what a temper you have, Mr. Berne," I said calmly. "You should try anger management counseling. Rage is bad for your health."

He wanted to scream at me. I could see him almost choke on it.

"To answer your earlier question: No. I'm not crazy," I said. "I'm blunt. I have to cover all the bases, and I don't have time to screw around. I don't make friends doing it, but I get the answers I need.

"Maybe you're not guilty of a thing, Mr. Berne. Like I said, I don't know you. But in my experience, most crime is underpinned by three motives: money, sex, and/or jealousy. You score in all categories. So let's clear you right now, and I can concentrate on Jade. Where were you when Stellar died?"

"Home. In bed. With my wife."

I took a last long drag on the cigarette and exhaled through half a smile. "She's going to have to change her name to Alibi."

Berne held up his hands. "That's it. I'm through here. I came out of the goodness of my heart to help-"

"Put the violin away, Berne. We both know why you came here. You want Jade ruined. That's fine with me. I have my own agenda."

"Which is what?"

"My client's interest. Maybe we can both end up with what we want. How long after Sallie Hughes died did Trey take his horses to Jade?" I asked.

"Two weeks."

"And when did you hear Hughes had bought the property in Fairfields?"

"A month later."

My head felt like it had been put in a vise. I didn't want to know the sordid details of Trey Hughes' life or Michael Berne's life or Don Jade's life. I wanted to find Erin Seabright. My luck she lived in Pandora's box.

I pulled her photograph out of the inside pocket of my jacket and handed it to Berne. "Have you ever seen this girl?"

"No."

"She worked for Jade up until last Sunday. She was a groom."

Berne made a face. "Grooms come and go. I have all I can do to keep track of my own."

"This one vanished. Look again, please. You never saw her with Jade?"

"Jade always has women around him. I don't see the attraction, myself."

"Jade has a reputation in that area, doesn't he? Sleeps with the help?"

"The help, the clients, other people's clients. There's nothing he won't stoop to."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Mr. Berne," I said. I handed him a plain white card with a number printed on it. "If you have anything useful to tell, please call this number and leave a message. Someone will contact you. Thank you for your time."

L andry parked his car among the giant four-by-four trucks, BMWs, and Jaguars, and got out, already scanning the ground so he wouldn't step in anything. He'd grown up in a city. All he knew about horses was that they were huge and smelled bad.

The day was bright and warm. He squinted even through the lenses of his aviator shades as he surveyed the scene. It looked like a goddam refugee camp-tents and animals everywhere. People on bicycles and motor scooters. Dust billowed in clouds as trucks rumbled past.

He saw Jade's sign, went into the tent, and asked the first person he saw where Mr. Jade was. An Hispanic man with a pitchfork of shit in hand nodded to the side of the tent and said, "Outside."