I stood in my bedroom holding two cups of coffee. I took a sip from one and set the other on the table beside the man sleeping in my bed. With a groan he turned over.
“How ya feeling?” I smiled a big, shit-eating smile. It felt fine.
The front door slammed, and the house shook. Although the noise didn’t seem that loud to me, Alex obviously thought otherwise. He grabbed his head and held on as if he expected his brain to explode into a million pieces.
Antoine walked up beside me and encircled my waist with his arm. “Need any help this morning?”
“Nope. Just getting my guest out of bed for his morning exercise.”
Alex pulled the covers up over his head. “I don’t want any exercise.”
“Well, you sure wanted it last night, spinning that dolly all over the Biscuit’s dance floor.”
“What happened to her?”
“I rescued you. I didn’t think you two were a good match.”
Antoine looked at me with dismay.
“Oh, all right then. Tell him.” Could my smile get any bigger without causing my lips to cramp?
“When we took you to my truck, we found her draped over the front fender of your car, sleeping. I put her in Eve’s car, and Eve dropped her off at her house.”
“Well, I dropped her at somebody’s house. I think it was her husband’s.”
“Husband?” Alex’s voice came out as both a squeak and a growl, like a mouse with bronchitis.
I grinned. I was having fun. At Alex’s expense. The house I’d driven her to was her husband’s house, but she had acquired it as part of their divorce agreement. I knew that because she had told me, after she had sobered up some on the drive.
“I don’t think hubby was home.” I was loath to give up needling Alex.
“You’re a cruel woman.” Antoine left the bedroom.
“What’s he doing here?” Alex said.
“Not your business.”
“Was he here all night?”
“You mean like you were?”
“I was? Here? In your bed?”
“Yep. Well, since you’re up, you’ll probably want your clothes.”
“Clothes?” He lifted the sheet and peered underneath. “I’m naked. Who took off my clothes?”
I smiled and reached over to snatch his briefs off the bureau. I dangled them from my index finger, swinging them back and forth in front of his face. He tried to swipe them from my hand but missed. Either he was still too drunk to be coordinated or too hung-over to focus his eyes. Or both.
The phone beside the bed rang.
“Oh, God, please make the sound go away. Make this woman go away.” He clapped his hands over his ears.
I picked up the offending instrument and ended his torture.
“You ready?” It was Rob calling from his cellphone. “I’m out front waiting.”
“Yep.” I put the receiver back in the cradle and glanced down at Alex. He looked bad, real bad, but even in this condition, he looked good, real good.
“The keys to your car are on the bureau. Car’s out front. Orange juice is in the fridge. Shower’s that direction.” I pointed at the door leading to my bathroom. “When you leave, lock the door behind you. Please leave. I don’t want to see you here when I get back. I’ve got work to do.”
“Work. Your shop?”
“Yeah.”
“One more thing before you go.”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“You’re still drunk.” I slammed the door on my way out and heard a stifled groan from the bedroom.
Rob was dressed in black from his cowboy hat down to his boots. It was exactly the image I had in mind—a cowboy dude from an old Western, updated into GQ’s version of bad. He reeked of understated wealth and influence. Antoine, seated in the passenger’s seat, was clothed in a similar manner. He, too, exuded a kind of western charm and certainty of manner.
Earlier in the morning I had visited the shop and picked out an appropriate costume. I needed one, since I was the one pretending to be someone else—the tired-of–rural-life, pampered wife of a wealthy rancher. She had been born in rural Florida, I decided, but she didn’t want to dress country, not today, not in this place. So I chose a straw hat with a huge, floppy brim and tied a coral scarf around it for a hatband. My dress was one we’d recently acquired from someone on the coast. It was sleeveless with a full skirt, brown with white polka dots, like the one worn by Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. If it was fashionable enough for Julia’s character to wear to the polo matches, it should work for a trip to Eduardo’s stables. I also grabbed a long, brown wig to cover my blonde punk hair.
Rob got out of his Escalade and opened the back door for me. “Madam looks terrific. If I didn’t know you were hung up on that detective, I might make a serious run at making you my second wife.”
I ground my teeth at the mention of Alex. “What detective?”
Antoine turned in his seat and gave me a skeptical look. He was about to say something, but the expression on my face must have put him off. He shrugged and turned back around.
We drove down Route 441 into Port Mayaca and crossed the bridge over the feeder canal to the lake. The water showed not a ripple in the morning light, but it retained its murky color, looking like a giant cup of strong black tea. Not a lake to swim in. I wondered if the long dark objects on the bank were logs. One moved and slid into the murky water. Not a log. I shivered.
“Too cold? I can turn down the AC.” Rob reached for the control, but I told him no.
After the bridge we turned left on the first Palm Beach county road. The pavement changed from asphalt to gravel then to dirt. This wasn’t the classy section of the county, but what the location lacked in status and sophistication it made up for in cheap land. Eduardo was smart. Why waste money on landscaped roads and a respectable address when you could put your money into something with a better return? Besides, he was only several miles from the International Polo Club, close enough to draw buyers away from their Sunday games, tournaments, and gourmet dining and toward his paddocks filled with fine horses.
The entrance to his stables radiated simple elegance: a royal palm tree on either side of the drive and a wrought-iron gate with the name “Argentinean Pride” overhead in bronze. Very nice. Rob punched the button on a stone kiosk and gave his name. The arched gate opened. They were expecting us.
When I called earlier this morning to set up the appointment, I was told that Eduardo was on a business trip, but the stable manager could show us around. Still, I wanted to keep a low profile in case Eduardo unexpectedly showed up. Or in case any other member of the family happened to stop by. I pulled the brim of my hat lower over my face.
We drove a quarter of a mile down the road, pastures filled with sleek, graceful animals on either side of us. The stables came into view. There were at least three buildings, two that housed horses. The other looked like a ranch house with a porch running across the front. As our car stopped, a man who had been standing on the steps approached us.
“Leonard Spelling.” He held out his hand and shook Rob’s. “You’re Rob Cassidy. Your secretary called to say you wanted to see some ponies.”
“I hope the short notice wasn’t a problem. This is my wife, Lydia, and my trainer, Antoine.”
I nodded at Spelling, then turned away as if he wasn’t worth my attention.
“No problem at all.”
“Good. When Lydia gets a bug about something, she needs to do it right away.”
“Oh, so the idea to buy a string of polo ponies was hers?”
“She gets kind of bored sitting on the ranch in Sabal Bay, looking out at nothing but cows and working horses. She attended a match last Sunday and thought she might like to get involved in the polo set, meet some new people.”
I walked toward one of the barns, my back to Spelling. “I want to see some of these so-called ponies up close.” The men followed.
“So, you like horses?” Spelling’s question was addressed to me. “You ride a lot?”
I stopped and turned, my hat brim low over my forehead. “I do not ride. I don’t particularly care for horses. They smell. I liked the people I met at the match, though.”
Before continuing on my way, I saw Spelling look at Rob, who gave him one of those women, who-can-figure-them-out looks.
We entered the first barn. Eduardo had recently finished building the structure. I could smell freshly cut lumber as well as horse manure. The floor was covered with sawdust and dotted with pony droppings.
“Careful you don’t ruin your shoes by stepping in that,” said Spelling.
Shortly after he had warned me against it, I “accidently” placed my foot into one of the larger decorations.
“Is there some place where I can clean this off my shoe?” I held up the foot with the besmirched shoe and wrinkled my nose in disgust.
“Oh, right over there at the other stable. The bathroom in this one isn’t finished yet. I’ll show you.”
“Never mind. I’ll find my way. You go ahead and see the ponies, dear.” I patted Rob’s arm and waved at the men.
While Rob and Antoine took a look at the first barn and pumped Spelling for information on the operation of the place, I intended to do some exploring of my own. I walked to the other building and entered. Stalls lined either side of the structure. Horses turned their heads in my direction. Stable boys did the same. I scraped my foot against one of the boards that made up the wall of the first stall.
Farther down the aisle I could hear voices and a horse nickering. The sound of the animal intensified to an insistent neigh; then came a loud crash.
“Shit,” said a voice from that direction. “She almost got me in the balls. Hold her still, would you?”
A lower voice with a soft Mexican accent said, “Sorry, Señor Doctor. She be still now.”
“Got it.”
I walked to the stall and looked in. The horse there, a mare, had turned her head to keep an eye on a tall man with thinning gray hair who was standing behind her. I don’t speak horse, but I could read anger and distress on her long equine face. The same expression was on the face of the short, dark man who stood holding her bridle.
“If you can’t handle these horses any better than that, you can find a job somewhere else,” said the gray man.
“Hi there,” I said.
Señor Doctor said nothing. He pushed past me with a satchel in his hand and walked out of the barn. The man attending the horse nodded to me.
“Are you lost, Señora?”
“Looking for the bathroom. She’s a beautiful horse.” I gestured at the animal. “She sure didn’t seem to like that guy, whoever he was.”
“The vet. None of the horses like him.”
“Why not?”
He looked like he was about to answer me, when a voice outside caught our attention. “Carlos. You in here?”
I recognized the voice. Constance.
“I need to hide,” I said. “Where?”
The stable man gestured toward a stall filled with hay and feed. I moved into it, pushing myself behind a stack of bales.
I wasn’t alone in my hiding place.