Part 16 (1/2)
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?”