Tami Hoag - Dark Horse

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 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."

"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 he came 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 about his 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 my head 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'm calling 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 Bruce Seabright wasn't.

My God, 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 fashion 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-shirt 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 shirt. Darling, you're really so transparent."