Dark Horse

31

I started to shake as I watched Van Zandt drive away. He might have killed me. I might have killed him.

Until later…

"What the hell was that about?" Sean demanded. "Your little friend came running, telling me to call nine-one-one."

"I told her to. I didn't think you were home. Did you make the call?"

"No. I beat it out here to save you! For God's sake, I'm not waiting in the house for the fucking deputies to get here while some maniac is dismembering you."

I put my arms around him and hugged him. "My hero."

"Explanation, please," he said firmly.

Moving away from him, I glanced out to make sure the devil hadn't changed his mind and come back.

"I have pretty good reason to believe Van Zandt murdered that girl at the show grounds."

"Jesus, Elle! Why isn't he in jail? What was he doing here?"

"He's not in jail because he ditched the evidence. I know that because I saw it and called the cops. But when Landry got there it was gone. I think Van Zandt knows I know."

Sean stared at me, shocked, trying to process it all. Poor boy. He really hadn't known what he was in for when he'd taken me in.

"I'm going to take advantage of this moment of silence to remind you: you got me into this," I said.

He looked at the ceiling, looked down the aisle, looked at D'Artagnon, who stood waiting patiently in the cross-ties.

"This is supposed to be a genteel sport," Sean said. "Lovely animals, lovely people, polite competition…"

"Every business has an underside. You've seen it."

He shook his head, sober, sad. "Yes, I've seen people cheated, I know people who've gotten conned in a horse deal, I know people who've gotten away with some questionable practices. But my God, Elle. Murder? Kidnapping? You're talking about a world I don't know anything about."

"And I'm up to my chin in it." I reached up and gently patted his handsome cheek. "You wanted me to be something interesting."

"If I'd had any idea… I'm sorry, honey."

"No. I'm sorry," I said, not knowing quite how one apologized for visiting a murderer upon one's friends. "I could have said no. Or I could have bailed when the Sheriff's Office took the case. I didn't. My choice. But I shouldn't have dragged you into it."

We stood there, both of us shell-shocked, feeling drained. Sean put his arms around me and hugged me, and kissed the top of my head.

"Please be careful, El," he murmured. "I didn't save you so you could get yourself killed."

I could hardly remember the last time anyone had held me. I'd forgotten how good it felt to be enveloped by another person's warmth. I'd forgotten how precious and fragile was the genuine concern of a real friend. I felt very lucky-another first time in too long a time.

The corner of my mouth turned up as I looked up at him. "No good deed goes unpunished," I said.

From the corner of my eye I saw Molly peek around the corner of the barn, eyes wide.

"He's gone, Molly," I said. "It's okay."

She composed herself as she came down the aisle, shaking off the traces of the frightened child who had run for help.

"Who was that?" she asked. "Is he one of the kidnappers?"

"I can't say yet. He might be. He's a bad guy. I know that for certain. I was lucky you showed up when you did, Molly. Thank you."

She glanced at Sean, said, "Excuse me," then looked up at me with her Junior Businesswoman expression. "I need to speak with you in private, Elena."

Sean raised his brows. "I'll see to D'Ar," he offered. "I need to do something to calm my nerves. It's too early in the day to drink."

I thanked him and took Molly into the lounge. The scent of the coffee Irina had made filled the room. I wondered absently why she had come down from her apartment to make it. She had a small kitchen of her own. It didn't matter. Grateful for what was left in the pot, I poured myself a cup, took it to the bar, and dropped a healthy shot of whiskey into it.

Too early my ass.

"Would you like something?" I asked Molly. "Water? Soda? Double-malt scotch?"

"No, thank you," she said politely. "You're fired."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, but I have to terminate our arrangement," she said.

I gave her a long, hard look, trying to see where this was coming from. Landry's news came back to me, cutting through the smog of Van Zandt's veiled threats.

"I know about the latest call, Molly. Landry told me."

Her earnest little face was white with fear. Tears rose up in her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. "They're going to hurt Erin, because of me. Because I hired you and you brought in the sheriff's detectives."

I had never seen anyone look so forlorn. Molly Seabright stood in the middle of the room in red pants and a navy blue T-shirt, her small hands clasped in front of her as she tried valiantly not to cry. I wondered if I had looked half that despondent when I had said basically those same words to Landry earlier.

Coming around from behind the bar, I motioned her to one of the leather chairs and took another for myself.

"Molly, don't blame yourself for what was said in that call. You did the right thing getting help. Where would Erin be if you hadn't come to me? What would Bruce have done to get her back?"

The tears were falling now. "B-but they s-said no police. Maybe if-if it was only you-"

I took hold of her hands and squeezed them. They were as cold as ice. "This isn't a job for one person poking around, Molly. We need every resource available to us to try to get Erin back and to catch the people who took her. The Sheriff's Office has access to phone records, criminal records; they can tap phones, analyze evidence. It would have been a mistake not to call them in. You didn't do anything wrong, Molly. Neither did I. The only ones doing wrong here are the people who have your sister."

"B-but the voice kept saying over and over sh-she's going to pay the price because we b-broke the rules."

She pulled her hands away from me to dig in the fanny pack she had strapped around her waist, coming out with a microcassette recorder.

She held it out to me. "You have to listen."

"You recorded the call?"

She nodded and dug around in the fanny pack for a scrap of paper, which she handed to me. "And I wrote down the number from the caller ID."

I took the recorder and the slip of paper from her and punched the play button on the machine. The metallic, machine-altered voice came out of the tiny speaker: You broke the rules. The girl will pay the price. Over and over, separated by Bruce Seabright's terse comments. Then: Bring the money to the place. Sunday. Six P.M. No police. No detective. Only you. You broke the rules. The girl will pay the price. You broke the rules. The girl will pay the price. You broke the rules. The girl will pay the price.

Molly pressed a hand over her mouth. Tears rolled down her face.

I wanted to rewind the tape and play it again, but I wouldn't do it in front of her. She was going to be hearing that voice in her nightmares as it was.

I thought about the things that had been said, the way they had been said.

No police. No detective.

Did they mean Landry? Did they mean me? How had they known either way? No marked cars, no uniforms had been sent to the Seabright home. There had been no direct contact with the kidnappers. If they were watching the house from a distance, they would have seen a few different men in and out of the house Saturday.

No police. No detective.

Landry and Weiss had spoken with most of Jade's crowd, asking about Jill Morone and about Erin. All of those people would know the Sheriff's Office was involved in investigating the murder. But I was willing to bet no mention had been made of the kidnapping, only that Erin was missing and had anyone seen or heard from her.

No police. No detective.

Why differentiate if the detective-singular-was Landry? Who knew we were both involved?

"What time did this call come?" I asked.

"Three-twelve A.M."

After my fiasco at Van Zandt's town house.

Aside from Van Zandt, who knew about my involvement? The Seabrights themselves, Michael Berne, and Landry. Eliminate Molly. Eliminate Krystal. Bruce had taken the call, therefore couldn't have made it. That didn't absolve him of involvement, since we knew there was more than one kidnapper, and knew that Bruce had lied about his whereabouts at the time of the kidnapping.

It seemed doubtful Van Zandt would have made the call from the town house, knowing the cops were already looking at him for the murder and asking questions about Erin. He might have gone out of the house to make the call. Or I supposed he could have made the call from the comfort of his bedroom, using a cell phone while watching one of his porn videos. Lorinda Carlton in the next room with her horrible little dog.

"I wanted to call the number back, but I was afraid," Molly said. "I knew the sheriff's detectives would be listening. I thought I would get in trouble."

I got up and went to the phone on the bar, dialed the number, and listened to it ring unanswered on the other end. I looked at Molly's note, her careful, girlish printing. What a kid-taping the call, getting the number. Twelve years old and she was more responsible than anyone else in her family.

I wondered what Krystal was doing as Molly was here saving my life and trying to save her sister's.

"Come with me," I said.

We went to the guest house and I pulled the list of numbers from Bruce Seabright's phone out of my notes for comparison. The number matched the two calls that came in to Bruce's phone. The Royal Palm Beach prefix.

I had given Landry the list of numbers. He had names to go with all of them by now-if there were names to be had for all of them.

Do you think Don Jade could be Van Zandt's partner in this? In the kidnapping?

Had Landry traced this number to Jade? Was that the thing he had decided to keep to himself?

It didn't make sense to me that Jade would be so careless as to use a traceable phone number to make ransom demands. Any fool would know enough to make that kind of call from a pay phone or from a disposable cell phone.

If the call had come from a disposable phone, like the one I had purchased the day before, and the SO had been able to trace the number to a phone sold at a particular store, they might have been able to get an ID on Jade from a salesperson.

"What happens now?" Molly asked.

"First, I'm giving you this," I said, handing her the phone I'd bought for her, along with a slip of paper with my numbers on it. "This is for you to contact me. It's prepaid for one hour of time, then it quits working. These are my numbers. You see or hear anything regarding Erin, call me right away."

She looked at the cheap phone like I'd handed her a gold brick.

"Do your folks know you're out of the house?"

"I told Mom I was going for a ride on my bike."

"Was she conscious at the time?"

"Mostly."

"I'll drive you home," I said. "We don't need the deputies out looking for you too."

We both started for the door, then Molly turned and looked up at me.

"Will you go to the place for the ransom?" she asked.

"I won't be allowed, but I have other leads to follow. Do I still work for you?"

She looked unsure. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," I said. "I do. And even if you fired me, I would stay in this to the end. When I start something, I finish it. I want to see Erin back safe."

Phone still clutched in her hand, Molly came and put her arms around my waist and hugged me tight.

"Thank you, Elena," she said, more serious than any twelve-year-old should ever be.

"Thank you, Molly," I returned, more serious than she knew. I hoped I would prove worthy of her trust and her gratitude.

"You're a very special person," I said as she stepped back. "It's a privilege to know you."

She didn't know what to say to that, this special child I knew went unnoticed by the people who should have treasured her most. In a way, I supposed it was just as well. Molly had done a far better job raising herself than her mother could have done.

"I wish I didn't have to be special," she confessed softly. "I wish I could just be normal and have a normal family and live a normal life."

Her words hit home with me. I had been twelve once, wishing I had a normal family, wishing I wasn't the sore thumb, the outsider. Unwanted by the man who was supposed to be my father. A burden to the woman who was supposed to be my mother. At twelve I had long since lost my value as an accessory to her life.

I said the only thing I could: "You're not alone, Molly. Us special chicks stick together."