Part 38 (1/2)

People always like to think the worst.

I also knew the detectives had spoken with Van Zandt. What did he think of that?

Javier thought only of his work, of which he had too much with both girls gone.

Yes, the other girl was gone too. Had he known Erin Seabright very well?

No, he didn't. He was nothing to those girls because he could not speak English very well.

That makes things hard, I said. People don't respect you. It never occurs to those people that you could

feel the same way about them because they don't speak Spanish.

Young girls think only of themselves and the men they want.

Erin had her eye on Senor Jade, yes?

Yes.

Did Senor Jade have his eye on her?

No answer.

Or maybe Van Zandt was the one?

Javier only did his job. He didn't mind the business of other people.

That was the best way to be, I agreed. Why borrow trouble from others? Look at Jill. She said she knew

something about Stellar's death, and look what happened to her. The dead tell no tales. His gaze flicked past me. I turned to find Trey Hughes coming up behind me. ”By golly, Ellie, you're a woman of many talents,” he said. He seemed subdued, not his usual drunken, jovial self. ”Speaking in tongues.”

I lifted a shoulder. ”A language here, a language there. It's nothing every girl in boarding school doesn'tget.” ”I've got all I can do with English.” ”You're not riding?” I asked, taking in his casual attire. Chinos, polo s.h.i.+rt, deck shoes. ”Paris is taking him today,” he said, reaching past me to touch the gray's nose. ”She can undo all the confusion I wreaked on him in the last go-round Friday.”

He looked at my outfit and lifted a brow. ”You don't exactly look yourself today either.”

I spread my hands. ”My disguise as one of the common folk.”

He smiled a sleepy kind of smile. I wondered if he had taken the mood elevator down with a little

chemical a.s.sistance.

”I heard a little rumor about you, young lady,” he said, watching me out of the corner of his eye as he feda stalk of hay to his horse. ”Really? I hope it was juicy. Am I having a flaming affair with someone? With you?” ”Are you? That's the h.e.l.l of getting old,” he said. ”I'm still having fun, but I can't remember any of it.” ”Then it's always new and fresh.” ”Always look on the bright side.” ”So what did you hear about me?” I asked, more interested in whom he had heard it from. Van Zandt?

Bruce Seabright? Van Zandt would spread the news to turn people against me for his own sake.

Seabright would have told Hughes because he valued his client more than he valued his stepdaughter.

”That you're not who you seem to be,” Hughes said.

”Is anyone?”

”Good point, my dear.” He came out of the stall and we walked to the end of the aisle to stand looking out. The sky had gone gray with the threat of rain. Across the road the water of the lagoon rippled silver under the skimming breeze. ”So, who am I supposed to be-if I'm not who I seem?” I asked. ”A spy,” he said. He didn't seem upset, but strangely calm. Perhaps he was tired of playing the game too. I wondered just how key a player in all this he was, or if he had simply allowed himself to be sweptalong by someone else's current. ”A spy? That's exciting,” I said. ”For a foreign country? For a terrorist cell?”

Hughes gave an elaborate shrug, tipping his head to one side.

”I knew that I knew you,” he said quietly. ”I just couldn't quite place the face. The old brain doesn't fire like it used to.”

”A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

”I'd get a transplant, but I keep forgetting to call.”

It was a terrible thing, I thought as we stood there side by side. Trey Hughes had had it all going for him:

good looks, quick wit, money to do or be anything. And this was what he had chosen to become: an

aging alcoholic wastrel. Funny, I thought, people who had known me along the way might say a similar thing: She had everyadvantage, came from such a good family, and she threw it all back in their faces. For what?Look at her now. What a shame.

We can never know another person's heart, what gives them strength, what breaks them down, how they define courage or rebellion or success.

”How do you think you know me?” I asked. ”I know your father. I've had occasion to call on his services over the years. The name made it click.Estes. Elle. Elena Estes. You had the most glorious mane of hair,” he reminisced. He had a faraway lookas he stared through the haze of his memory. ”A friend tells me you're a private eye now. Imagine that.”

”It's not true. Call the licensing board and ask. They don't know me by any name.”

”Good business to be in,” he said, ignoring my denial. ”Christ knows there's never any shortage ofsecrets around here. People will do anything for a dime.” ”Kill a horse?” I asked. ”Kill a horse. Kill a career. Kill a marriage.” ”Kill a person?” He didn't seem shocked by the suggestion. ”The oldest story in the world: greed.” ”Yes. And it always ends the same way: badly.” ”For someone,” he said. ”The trick is not to be that someone.” ”What character do you play in this story, Trey?” He tried a weary smile. ”The sad clown. All the world loves a sad clown.”