Dark Horse

6

The address Molly had given me as Erin's was a three-car garage some entrepreneurial sort had converted into rental property. Geographically, it was only a few miles from the Seabright home in Binks Forest. In every other respect it was in another world.

Rural Loxahatchee, where the side roads are dirt and the ditches never drain; where no one had ever met a building code they wouldn't ignore. A strange mix of run-down places, new middle-class homes, and small horse properties. A place where people nailed signs to tree trunks along the road advertising everything from "Make $$$ in Your Own Home" to "Puppies for Sale" to "Dirt Cheap Stump Grinding."

The property where Erin had lived was overgrown with tall pines and scrubby, stunted palm trees. The main house was a pseudo-Spanish ranch style, circa mid-seventies. The white stucco had gone gray with mildew. The yard consisted of dirty sand fill and anemic, sun-starved grass. An older maroon Honda sat off to one side on the driveway, filthy and dotted with hardened gobs of pine sap. It looked like it hadn't gone anywhere in a long while.

I went to the front door and rang the bell, hoping no one would be at home in the middle of the day. I would have been much happier letting myself into the garage-cum-guest house. I'd had enough human interaction to last me the day. I swatted a mosquito on my forearm and waited, then rang the bell a second time.

A voice like a rusty hinge called out: "I'm around the back!"

Small brown geckos darted out of my path and into the overgrown landscaping as I walked around the side of the garage. Around the back of the house was the obligatory pool. The screened cage that had been erected to keep bugs out of the patio area was shredded in sections as if by a giant paw. The door was flung wide on broken hinges.

The woman who stood in the doorway was long past the age and shape anyone would care to see her in a two-piece swimming suit, but that was what she was wearing. Flab and sagging skin hung on her bent frame like a collection of half-deflated leather balloons.

"What can I do for you, honey?" she asked. A New York transplant in giant Jackie-O sunglasses. She must have been pushing seventy, and appeared to have spent sixty-eight of those years sunbathing. Her skin was as brown and mottled as the skin of the lizards that lived in her yard. She was smoking a cigarette and had two hugely fat ginger cats on leashes. I was momentarily stunned to silence by the sight of her.

"I'm looking for my niece," I said at last. "Erin Seabright. She lives here, right?"

She nodded, dropped her cigarette butt, and ground it out with the toe of her aqua neoprene scuba diver's boot. "Erin. The pretty one. Haven't seen her for a couple of days, darling."

"No? Neither has her family. We're getting kind of worried."

The woman pursed her lips and waved my concern away. "Bah! She's probably off with the boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? We didn't know she had a boyfriend."

"What a surprise," she said sarcastically. "A teenage girl who doesn't tell her family anything. I thought they were on the outs, though. I heard them fighting out in the yard one night."

"When was that?"

"Last week. I don't know. Thursday or Friday maybe." She shrugged. "I'm retired. What do I know from days? One's the same as the next. I know I came out to walk my babies the next morning and someone had run a key down the side of Erin's car and ruined the paint. I have a gate to keep the riffraff out, if my lazy son would come and fix it. He could care if I'm raped and killed. He thinks he inherits."

She chuckled and looked down at the ginger cats, sharing a joke telepathically. One of the cats lay on its back in the dirt with its hind legs stretched out. The other pounced at her foot, ears flat.

"Bah! Cecil! Don't bite Mommy's toe!" she scolded. "I got an infection the last time. I thought I would die of it!"

She swatted at the cat and the cat swatted back, then scuttled to the end of its leash and growled. It had to weigh twenty-five pounds.

"Could I possibly take a look in her apartment?" I asked politely. "Maybe I can get an idea where she's gone. Her mother's worried sick."

She shrugged. "Sure. Why not? You're a relative."

The kind of landlady we all want. Fourth Amendment? What Fourth Amendment?

She tied the cat leashes to the handle of the broken screen door and dug in the fanny pack slung around her waist, coming out with a set of keys, a cigarette, and a hot pink Bic lighter. She fired up as we went around to the front of the garage, where two doors flanked windows that had been set into the plywood wall where the original garage doors had once been.

"When I did the guest house I had them put in two apartments," the woman confided. "One bath. You can get more rent that way. Semiprivate. Seven-fifty a month per."

Seven hundred and fifty dollars a month to live in a garage and share a bathroom with a stranger.

"I'm Eva by the way," she said, sliding her sunglasses on top of her head. "Eva Rosen."

"Ellen Stuart."

"You don't look like family," Eva said, squinting at me as we went into the apartment.

"By marriage."

The apartment was a single room with dingy vinyl flooring and an assortment of hideous thrift store furniture. An efficiency kitchen setup was tucked into one corner: a small sink full of dirty dishes crawling with ants, two burners, a microwave, and a mini-fridge. The bed was at the back, unmade.

There was no other sign anyone lived there. There were no clothes, no shoes, no personal effects of any kind.

"It looks like she's moved out," I said. "You didn't see her packing stuff in her car?"

Eva turned around in the middle of the room, mouth agape, cigarette stuck to her lower lip and bobbing precariously. "No! No one said anything to me about moving out. And left me dirty dishes, no less! You give people a nice place and this is how they treat you!"

"Have you seen anyone else coming in and out in the past few days?"

"No. Just that other one. The chubby one."

"Jill Morone?"

"She's a mean one. Those beady little eyes. I'd never leave my babies with that one."

"She lives in the other half?"

"Someone is going to have to answer to me," Eva muttered. "They rented for the season. They have to pay."

"Who pays the rent?"

"The checks are from Jade Farms. That nice girl, Paris, always brings the check herself. She's so nice. I can't believe she would let this happen."

Puffing angrily on the cigarette, she went to the sink and turned the water on. The pipes kicked and spat. When the water finally ran, it looked brown. "People can't just move out in the middle of the night and think they don't have to pay. My no-good son is good for one thing: he's a bail bondsman. He knows people."

I followed as Eva opened a door and went through the shared bath to Jill Morone's side of the garage. The floor was piled with wet towels, the walls of the shower stall orange and black with rust and mildew.

"This one's still here," Eva muttered. "The little pig. Look at this mess."

The place looked like it had been tossed, but I suspected that was simply the girl's mode of housekeeping. Clothes and magazines were strewn everywhere. An ashtray heaped with butts sat on the coffee table. I spotted the issue of Sidelines with my photo in it lying on the floor, and surreptitiously toed it under the sofa.

"I wouldn't let dogs live like this," Eva Rosen muttered, freely pawing through Jill Morone's things. "Where does she get all this? Clothes from Bloomingdale's. The tags still on. I bet she steals. She's the type."

I didn't argue. I browsed through the tangled mess of jewelry on the girl's dresser, wondering if any of it might have walked over from next door. An even trade for a stack of dirty dishes.

"Were you around here Sunday, Mrs. Rosen?"

"It's Miz. I was here all day."

"What about Sunday night?"

"Sunday nights I go with my friend Sid to A-1 Thai. I had the chicken curry. So spicy! I had a heartburn for days."

"What time did you get home?"

"That would be none of your business."

"Please, Ms. Rosen, it could be very important. Erin is missing."

She pretended to be stubborn for a moment, then tipped her head on one side and shrugged. "Sid is a special friend, if you know what I mean. I didn't get home until Monday. Noon, maybe."

Ample time for Erin to have packed up her own stuff, or for someone to have done it for her.

"She's run off with a boy, that's what," Eva said, finishing off her smoke and adding it to the heap in the ashtray. "No offense to your family, but she had that look with the tight shirts and the bare belly button."

This from a seventy-year-old in a bikini.

"What can you tell me about her boyfriend?" I asked. "Do you know what kind of car he drives?"

"Sixty-seven years I lived in Queens. I should know from cars?"

I tried to breathe slowly. Another of my shortcomings as a cop: lack of diplomacy with the general public. "Color? Size? Anything I could give to the police?"

"Black, maybe. Or dark blue. I only saw it the one time, and it was night."

"What about the boy? What does he look like?"

"What's with the third degree?" she asked, pretending indignation. "I'm on Law and Order now? You're Miss District Attorney or something? Is Sam Waterston going to come out of the closet now?"

"I'm just concerned about my niece, Ms. Rosen. I'm afraid something might have happened to her. She didn't tell anyone she was moving. Her family doesn't know anything about this boyfriend. How can we be sure she went with him willingly?"

Eva thought about that, her eyes brightening for a second at the possibility of intrigue, then she waved a hand, pretending indifference. "I didn't get a good look. I heard arguing, I looked through the blinds, I saw the back of a head."

"Could you tell if he was tall or short? Younger or older?"

She shrugged. "He was average. His back was to me."

"Have you ever met the man Erin worked for?" I asked.

"What man? I thought she worked for Paris."

"Don Jade. Middle-aged, on the slight side, very good-looking."

"Don't know him. I only know Paris. She's such a nice person. Always takes the time to ask after my babies. I have to think she doesn't know Erin ran off, or she would have spoken to me about it."

"I'm sure that's true," I said. "Did you notice anything at all about the boyfriend, Ms. Rosen? Anything."

Eva Rosen shook her head. "I'm sorry, darling. I would help if I could. I'm a mother too, you know. Do you have children of your own?" she asked, looking suspiciously at my haircut.

"No, I don't."

"They drive you crazy with worry. And then there's the disappointment. It's a trial."

"Did you ever hear Erin call the boyfriend by name?" I asked.

She searched her memory. "Maybe. I might have heard her mention a name that night. Yes. It was something like it was from a soap opera. Brad? Tad?"

"Chad?"

"That's it."

Chad Seabright.

Forbidden love. I wondered if that Shakespearean story line had contributed to Erin's defection from the Seabright home. I couldn't imagine Bruce Seabright would have approved of his son and his stepdaughter dating, regardless of the fact they weren't blood relatives. And if Bruce didn't like it, Krystal wouldn't like it.

I wondered why Molly hadn't told me about Erin and Chad, why she hadn't told me about Chad at all. Maybe she believed I would disapprove too. If that was the case, she overestimated me. I didn't care enough to have an opinion on her sister's morality. My only interest in Erin's love life was as motive in her disappearance.

I drove back to the Seabright home. Chad the Invalid was in the driveway, washing his black Toyota pickup. The all-American boy in khakis and a white T-shirt. He glanced up at me through a pair of mirrored Oakley shades as he rinsed the soap off his wheel rims.

"Nice ride," I said as I walked up the driveway. "Eva Rosen told me about it."

"Who's Eva Rosen?"

"Erin's landlady. She doesn't miss a trick, old Eva."

Chad stood up, the hose and the wheels forgotten. "I'm sorry," he said politely. "I didn't get your name."

"Elena Estes. I'm looking for your stepsister."

"Like I told you this morning, Ms. Estes: I haven't seen her."

"That's funny, because Eva tells me you were in her yard just the other night. She seems to know some pretty interesting things about you," I said. "About you and Erin."

He shrugged and shook his head, then added a boyish grin to complete the whole Matt Damon look. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Chad," I cajoled. "I've been around the block a few times. It doesn't matter to me if you and Erin are involved. A boy fucking his stepsister isn't going to make me turn a hair."

He frowned at the accusation.

"That's why Erin left the house, isn't it?" I said. "Your father wouldn't put up with the two of you doing it under his nose."

"We're not involved," he insisted.

"Eva tells me the two of you had a fight the other night in her driveway. What happened, Chad? Did Erin dump you? Let me guess: you weren't nearly so interesting as a boyfriend once her Mommy and Stepdaddy weren't watching anymore."

He looked away from me, trying to decide how to play this. Respond with the truth, with outrage, stick with denial, stay calm? He had chosen the latter tack to start, but my bluntness was beginning to irritate him.

"I'm not sure who you are, ma'am," he said, still trying to hang on to the false good humor, "but you're crazy."

I found a dry patch along the front fender of the pickup, leaned back against it, and crossed my arms. "Who'd she dump you for, Chad? An older man? Her boss, maybe?"

"I don't know who Erin is seeing," he said curtly. "And I don't care."

He dumped the wash water on the driveway and carried the bucket into the garage. I followed.

"Okay. Maybe I'm way off base. Maybe the fight was about something else altogether," I offered. "If that hangover you had this morning is anything to go by, you're a guy who likes to party. From what I've heard, Erin might like a wild time. And there she is at the equestrian center, a whole new world of drug dealers and users. Maybe that's what you fought about in Eva Rosen's driveway: drugs."

Chad slammed the bucket onto a shelf where car care products were arranged like a display at Pep Boys. "You're way out of line, lady."

"She try to cut you out of a deal, Chad? Is that why you came back later and keyed her car?"

"What's with you?" he demanded. "Why are you here? Do you have a warrant or something?"

I was standing too close to him. He wanted to back away. "I don't need a warrant, Chad," I said quietly, my eyes steady on his. "I'm not that kind of a cop."

He didn't know quite what that meant, but it made him nervous. He put his hands on his hips, shuffled his feet, crossed his arms over his chest, looked out at the street.

"Where's Erin?" I asked.

"I told you, I don't know. I haven't seen her."

"Since when? Since Friday? The night you fought with her? The night you keyed her car?"

"I don't know anything about that. Talk to that fat cow she works with," he said. "Jill Moron. She's nuts. Ask her where Erin is. She probably killed her and ate her."

"How do you know Jill Morone?" I asked. "How would you know anything about the people Erin works with if you haven't been in touch with Erin?"

He went still and looked out the door.

Gotcha. It was nice to know I still had the touch.

"What did you fight about Friday night, Chad?" I asked again, then waited patiently while he struggled to decide on an answer.

"I dumped her," he said, turning toward the shelves again. He selected a white cotton towel from a stack of white cotton towels, all neatly folded. "I don't need the trouble."

"Uh-huh. Bullshit. You don't dump a girl, then come back and key her car. There's no point if you're not the dumpee."

"I didn't key her car!"

"I don't believe you."

"Well, that's your problem, not mine."

"I don't see you dumping her, Chad. Erin might have been off the hook with Krystal and Bruce because she moved out, but you could still pull your old man's chain by staying involved with her."

"You don't know anything about my family."

"Don't I?" I looked around the garage with its place for everything and everything in its place. "Your old man is a tight-ass control freak. His way is the only way. His opinion is the only opinion. Everyone else in the house is there to serve his needs and validate his superiority. How am I doing so far?"

Chad went to his truck in a huff and started trying to towel off the water spots that had already dried on the finish.

"He'll ride you if you don't get those spots out, won't he, Chad?" I said, following him around the truck. "Can't have spots on the cars. What would the neighbors think? And imagine if they found out about you and Erin. What a disgrace, doing it with your stepsister. It's practically incest. You really found Dad's hot button, didn't you?"

"Lady, you're pissing me off."

I didn't tell him that was the idea. I followed him around the hood to the other side of the truck. "Tell me what I want to know and I'll leave."

"There's nothing to tell. I don't know where Erin is, and I don't give a shit."

"I bet you'll give a shit when you've got a cop tailing you. Because maybe there's a drug angle to Erin's disappearance. I can tell you from experience, there are few things a narc likes better than getting his hooks into a kid with money and connections. And how about when your father gets questioned about your involvement? I guess you might enjoy that-"

He turned on me, hands up, as if I was holding him at gunpoint. "All right! All right. Jesus, you're something, lady," he said, shaking his head.

I waited.

"All right," he said again, letting out a sigh. "Erin and I used to be together. I thought it meant something, but it didn't mean anything to her. She dumped me. That's it. That's the whole story. There's nothing to do with drugs or deals or anything else. That's it. She dumped me."

He shrugged and his arms fell back to his sides, limp, the admission taking all the starch out of him. The male ego is a fragile thing at seventeen or seventy.

"Did she give you a reason?" I asked quietly. "I wouldn't ask," I added as his tension level came back up. "But something has happened where Erin was working, and now she's nowhere to be found."

"Is she in trouble?"

"I don't know."

He thought about that for a minute. "She said there was someone else. 'A man,' she said. Like I'm twelve or something." He shook his head in disgust.

"Did she say who?"

"I didn't ask. I mean, why should I care? I know she had a thing for her boss, but he's like fifty or something…"

"Did she tell you she was going anywhere? Did she say anything about changing jobs or moving?"

He shook his head.

"She never said anything about going to Ocala?"

"Ocala? Why would she go there?"

"Her boss says she quit her job and moved to Ocala to take another."

"That's news to me," he said. "No. She wouldn't do that. It doesn't make any sense."

"Thanks for the info." I pulled a card from my pocket, my phone number scribbled on it. "If you hear from her, would you call this number and leave a message?"

Chad took the card and stared at it.

I went back to my car and sat at the end of the Seabright driveway for a moment. I looked around the neighborhood. Quiet, lovely, expensive; golfers lining up a tee shot beyond the backyard. The American dream.

I thought about the Seabrights. Well-off, successful; neurotic, contentious, seething with secret resentments. The American dream in a fun house mirror.

I parked on the street in front of the school, the soccer moms and me. I would have felt less out of place in a chorus line. Kids began to pour out the doors and head for the buses or the car-pool line.

There was no sign of Krystal Seabright, not that I had expected to see her. It seemed quite clear to me that Molly was just a small person who happened to live in the same house as Krystal. Molly had turned out the way she had turned out by luck or self-preservation or watching A amp;E. She had probably watched all the drama and rebellion and parental conflict of Erin's life, and consciously turned in the other direction in order to win approval.

Funny, I thought, Molly Seabright was probably exactly who my little sister would have been, had I had a little sister. My parents had adopted me and called it quits. I was more than enough to handle. Too bad for them. The child learning from my mistakes might have been exactly the daughter they had wanted in the first place.

I got out of the car as I saw Molly come out of the school. She didn't spot me right away. She walked with her head down, pulling her little black case behind her. Though she was surrounded by other children, she seemed alone, deep in thought. I called out to her as she turned and started down the sidewalk. When she saw me, her face brightened with a carefully tempered expectation.

"Did you find her already?" she asked.

"No, not yet. I've spent the day asking a lot of questions. She may be in Ocala," I said.

Molly shook her head. "She wouldn't have moved without telling me, without calling me."

"Erin tells you everything?" I asked, opening the car door for her. I glanced around to see if anyone had me pegged as a child molester. No one was paying any attention at all.

"Yes."

I went around to the driver's side, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. "Did she tell you she and Chad were involved with each other?"

Her gaze glanced off of mine and she seemed to shrink a little in the seat.

"Why didn't you tell me about Chad?"

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I would rather not acknowledge Chad's existence."

Or that Erin had shifted from sister to sexual being, I thought as I drove back toward the cul-de-sac where Molly lived. Erin had been her idol and protector. If Erin abandoned her, then Molly was all alone in the land of dysfunctional Seabrights.

"Chad was at Erin's apartment Friday night," I said. "They had an argument. Do you know anything about that?"

Molly shrugged. "Maybe they broke up."

"Why would you think that? Was Erin interested in someone else?"

"She had a crush on her boss, but he's too old for her."

That was a matter of opinion. From what I had learned about Erin so far, I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out she had her sights set on a man old enough to be her father. And if past history was anything to go by, Jade wouldn't draw that line for her.

"Anyone else?"

"I don't know," Molly said irritably. "Erin liked flirting with guys. I didn't pay attention. I didn't want to hear about it."

"Molly, this is very important," I said as I pulled to the curb at the end of her street. "When I ask you questions about Erin, or about anything, anyone, you have to tell me the absolute truth as you know it. No glossing over details you don't like. Got it?"

She frowned, but nodded.

"You have to trust me," I said, and a bolt of white-cold fear ran through me.

Molly looked at me in that steady, too-wise way and said, "I already told you I do."

This time I didn't ask her why.