Elena Estes - Dark Horse Part 52

Last I'd known, Trey had a house in the Polo Club, a gated community near the show grounds that caters to horse people with money. I headed in that direction, taking the back streets that would swing me past Fairfields on the way.

The gate stood open at Lucky Dog Farm. I could make out the shape of a car near the construction boss 's trailer. I turned in and my headlights washed over the back of Trey's cla.s.sic Porsche. I killed the engine and got out, the Glock in my left hand.

The only light I could see was the big security light on the pole, but somewhere nearby Jimmy Buffett was

singing a song about the joys of irresponsibility.

I followed the sound, walking the length of the huge, dark stables, and around the end. A second-story balcony ran the length of the building, overlooking the jumping field. Candles and lanterns illuminated the scene. I could see Trey dancing, the end of his omnipresent cigarette a glowing orange dot in the dark.

"Come on up, honey!" he called. "I thought you'd never get here! I started the party without you." I climbed the stairs, keeping my eyes on him. He was high. On what, I couldn't know. Cocaine had been his thing in the eighties. It was making a comeback when I'd checked out of the Narcotics division.

Nostalgia among the tragically hip.

"What are we celebrating, Trey?" I asked as I stepped onto the balcony.

"My ill.u.s.trious and stellar life," he said, still dancing. He held a bottle of tequila in one hand. His aloha

shirt hung open over a pair of khaki pants. He was barefoot. "Stellar," he said, and started to laugh. "What a bad joke! Shocking!" The song ended and he fell back against the railing and took a long pull on the bottle. "Were you expecting me?" I asked. "No, actually I was expecting someone else. But you know, it doesn't really matter, does it?" "I don't know, Trey. I think it might-depending on your reasons. You were expecting Paris?" He rubbed his face, tiny embers of cigarette ash floating around his head like fireflies. "That's right. You'

re the private eye, now. The gumshoe. The private d.i.c.k-or is that politically incorrect? It really shouldbe private p.u.s.s.y, shouldn't it?" "I don't think Paris will be here tonight, Trey. She's been unavoidably detained." "Yeah? What's she up to?" "Running from the law," I said. "She and Chad Seabright tried to kill me today."

He squinted at me, waiting for the punch line. "Honey, what have you been smoking?"

"Come on, Trey. You've been to her place a hundred times. I know about your affair. Don't try to tellme you don't know anything about the trailer, about Erin." "Erin? Somebody kidnapped her. The whole f.u.c.king world's going to h.e.l.l on a sled." I shook my head. "It was all a play. Didn't you know? A play for you." I could see his face in the candlelight. He was trying to find his way through the fog in his brain. Either he didn't know what I was talking about, or he wanted to convince himself he didn't know.

"A three-act play," I said. "Deceit, double-crosses, s.e.x, murder. Shakespeare would have been proud. I

don't know the whole script yet, but it begins with a quest for the holy land-Lucky Dog Farm-and itsking-you." The last of his puzzled smile faded away. "Here's what I know so far: The story opens with a girl named Paris who wants very much to be queen.

So much so that she plots to ruin the one person standing between her and the fulfillment of her dreams:

Don Jade. "It shouldn't be that hard to do, she thinks, because he's already got a bad reputation. People are readyto believe the worst about him. They'll believe he would kill a jumper who wouldn't bring top dollar.Insurance fraud? He's done it before and gotten away with it.

"His groom disappears. He's the last person to see her. Turns out she's been kidnapped. And when she

gets away, who does she name as one of her abductors? Don Jade.

"Surely, Paris thinks, now Trey will dump him. Jade will be in prison soon, at any rate. And she'l become queen of Lucky Dog Farm."

"That's not a very funny story," Trey said. He put his cigarette out on the cast stone railing and flicked theb.u.t.t out into the night. "No. It isn't. And it's not going to have a happy ending either," I said. "Did you think that it would?"

"You know me, Ellie. I try not to think. I'm just a Dixie cup on the sea of life."

He sniffed and rubbed his face again. A round patio table squatted like a mushroom in front of an open set of French doors that led into a dark room. A dozen candles burning on the table spilled their light over a gla.s.s tray of cocaine that had been cut into lines. Near the tray lay a .32 caliber Beretta pistol.

"What's the gun for, Trey?" I asked, rea.s.sured by the weight of my own weapon-even if it was in the

wrong hand.

"Rats," he said, digging another cigarette out of his pocket. He flicked a lighter and took a drag, exhaling into the night sky. "Maybe a little Russian roulette later."

"That'll be a very short game," I said. "That's an automatic weapon." He smiled and shrugged. "The story of my life: stuck in a rigged game." "Yeah, you've got it hard. How much did you inherit when Sallie died? Eighty million? A hundred?"

"With a string attached to every one," he said.

"They don't seem to be holding you back from spending."

"No."

He turned and looked out at the property, nothing to see but a patchwork in varying shades of black.

"Why did you bail Jade out, Trey? Why did you get him Shapiro?" I asked, moving to stand down the

railing from him. He flashed a smile. "Because your father was unavailable." "You've never been more loyal than a tomcat your whole life. Why stick by Don Jade?" "He made me what I am today," he said with another crooked smile. "He killed Sallie, didn't he?" I said. "You were with Michael Berne's wife, f.u.c.king your alibi, and Jade was at the house, hiding in the shadows. . . . And now you can't walk away."

"Why would I walk away from all this?" he asked, spreading his arms wide. The cigarette bounced on hislip. "I'm king of the world!" "No, Trey," I said. "You were right the first time. You're the sad clown. You had it all. And you're going to end up with nothing." "You know a little something about that, don't you, Ellie?" he said. "I know all about it. But I'm climbing out of that hole, Trey, and you're going to end up buried in it." I pulled my phone off the pocket of my jeans and tried to dial Landry's number, my right hand awkward, still half-numb and under the numbness a hot, throbbing pain waiting to come fully to life. Landry neededto know Trey had been expecting Paris. She had probably thought to come to him for a car the copswouldn't be on the lookout for. Perhaps she thought to come to him for money to live on in Europe. Orperhaps she would try to convince Trey to go with her. Wealthy fugitives on the lam in Europe's glamourcapitals.

I took a couple of steps back from Trey, switching hands with phone and gun, my eyes on him, the

pathetic playboy, Peter Pan corrupted utterly by time and self-indulgence.

Landry's line was ringing as Paris Montgomery came out of the darkness beyond the open French doors.

Without hesitation, she scooped the Beretta off the patio table and pointed it right at my face.

We manage a lot of properties, Detective," Bruce Seabright said. "I have nothing to do with most ofthem."

"I only care about what you have to do with this one," Landry said. They stood in Seabright's home office. Seabright turned around in a circle and heaved a sigh up at theceiling. "I don't have anything to do with it!"

"We both know that's not true."

"I don't know where that videotape came from," he said. "Someone planted it." "Yeah, right. You stick with that story. I'm asking you about the property in Loxahatchee." "I have an attorney," Seabright said. "Talk to him." "This is an unrelated line of questioning." "And I told you, I don't have anything to do with the rental property." "You expect me to believe that someone involved in Erin's kidnapping just happened to rent that property from your company? The same way these people you sent Erin to for a job just happened to

turn out to be killers and rapists and Christ knows what all." "I don't care what you believe," Seabright said, reaching for his phone. "I had nothing to do with any ofthis, nor did my son. Now get out of my office or I'm filing hara.s.sment charges."

"File it up your a.s.s, Seabright," Landry said. "You and your rotten kid are both going to jail. I'll see to it

personally."

Landry left the office, thinking he just wanted to drive the lot of these people out to Lion Country Safari and dump them inside the pen with the big cats.

Krystal Seabright was standing in the hall a few feet from the office door. For once, she didn't look stoned, but stricken. She held a hand out to stop him from pa.s.sing her, her mouth opening to form words that didn't come out.

"Can I help you, Mrs. Seabright?"

"I did it," she said.

"I'm sorry?"

"That woman came to me, to my office. I rented her that property. I remember her name. Paris. I've

always wanted to visit Paris."

She didn't know quite how she should be reacting to the news, Landry thought. With guilt? With shock?

With outrage?

"How did she happen to come to you?" he asked.

"She told me a friend sent her." Tears shone in her eyes. She shook her head and looked toward her

husband's office. "Was it him? Do you think it was him?" "I don't know, Mrs. Seabright," Landry confessed. "I guess you have to ask him." "I guess I do," she murmured, staring at the office door. "I have to do something." Landry left her there in the hall, glad he was just a cop. He could walk away from this mess when it was over. Krystal Seabright wouldn't be so lucky.

I stared at the barrel of the gun in Paris Montgomery's hands. Jimmy Buffett was still singing in the background.

"Put down the phone and the gun," Paris said to me.

I now held the Glock in my weak and damaged right hand. I could have tried to raise it up and call her

bluff, but I couldn't have done it convincingly. I couldn't have pulled the trigger if I needed to. I weighedmy options as Landry's voicemail message came on the line. Paris came toward me. She was angry and she was afraid. Her neat little scheme was fraying at the edges like a cheap rag.

"It seemed a simple plan, didn't it, Paris?" I said. "You got Erin to help you frame Jade. She and Chad

got to ruin Bruce Seabright in the process. It would have worked like a charm if Molly Seabright hadn'tcome to me for help." "Put down the phone and the gun," she ordered again. I clipped the phone onto my jeans and glanced at Trey, who stood flat-footed and expressionless. "Why did you let Van Zandt in on it?" I asked. "Or did he force his way in?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "Then why are you pointing a gun in my face, Paris?" She glanced at Trey. "This is all Don's doing," she said. "He killed Stellar. He kidnapped Erin. He killed Jill. It's all Don, Trey. You have to believe me." "Why?" he asked. "Because it's part of your plan?" "Because I love you!" she said emphatically, though her eyes were on me, sighting down the barrel of a gun. "Erin saw Don kill Stellar. Don did horrible things to her, to punish her. And he killed Jill."

"No, he didn't, honey," Trey said wearily. "I know he didn't."

"What are you saying?"

"You had night check the night Jill was killed. You left my bed to go do it. Just like you did the night

before, when Berne's horses were turned loose." "You're confused, Trey," Paris said, an edge in her voice. "Generally, yes. Life's easier that way. But not about this." She took another step toward me, her patience wearing thin. "Put the f.u.c.king gun down!" I heaved a sigh and slowly crouched down as if to set the gun on the floor, then ducked and rolled sideways.

Paris fired twice, one of the bullets. .h.i.tting the floor near me and spitting up shards of travertine marble.

I switched my gun to my left hand, trying to steady it with my right, came to my feet, and rushed her

before she could adjust her position to fire at me a third time.

"Drop it, Paris! Drop it! Drop it!"