The Sea Horse Trade

by Sasscer Hill

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Do they know that?”

  He was right. What cop wouldn’t question a witness standing over a body? Still, I could never control my tongue. Something about authority figures bugged me.

  And there was one over by barn three. I could make out Bailey’s red hair and black suit, and she appeared to be tapping her foot as she stood outside my shedrow.

  I was hoping she’d left. Seemed like I’d been gone for hours, but a glance at my watch confirmed it had been less than fifteen minutes.

  “Is that redhead the homicide detective?” Will asked.

  “Yep, and the guy who just joined her is her pet gorilla.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. Your attitude, Latrelle. It needs an adjustment.”

  “Diablo doesn’t like him either.” I leaned forward and patted Diablo’s black neck.

  Closer to us, a roan horse held by a groom stood patiently under the spray of a hose, the sweat and water streaming down his legs, pouring onto the pavement.

  “We’re going to be on top of those two in a minute.” Will’s eyes were on the detectives. “When they were at the murder site, did they ask you about anyone connected to Gulfstream?”

  “Gulfstream? Why are you asking?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious. You said it happened only two blocks from here, right?”

  “But why would the murdered girl have anything to do with the racetrack?” I glanced at him, curious.

  “Here she comes,” he said quietly.

  As Bailey strode toward us, I could smell the big morning dig-out of stalls hanging in the humid air around us.

  Bailey’s nose winkled. Then her lip curled. Her suit would probably have to go to the dry cleaners. What a shame.

  As I fought a smile, Orlando emerged from the tack room and jogged past the gorilla and Bailey, stopping a few feet in front of us.

  Will halted both horses, and we dismounted. I pulled the reins over Diablo’s head and handed them to Orlando, and Diablo followed him along the grass growing next to our barn without fussing.

  Probably thinking about that feed pan.

  Reaching us, Bailey flashed her badge at Will. “You work here too?

  “I’m licensed to ride here. Nikki’s a friend.” Will’s expression was unreadable, almost like he had cop eyes.

  “My partner,” she tilted her head toward the gorilla, “Detective Aguierro. We’d like to talk to Ms. Latrelle. Alone.”

  I glanced at Will. Silent understanding sparked between us.

  “I’d like him to stay.”

  She shrugged, but Aguierro got into Will’s face. “Shouldn’t you put your horse somewhere?”

  “This guy?” Will’s long fingers stroked the gray’s neck. “He’s already cooled off. He can graze on the grass here.”

  Will wasn’t easy to get rid of. I knew.

  A flash of irritation flickered in Bailey’s eyes, but she put on her game face and turned to me.

  Only I was wound tight, and the big question blurted out. “Who was the dead girl?” There went my tongue again.

  Bailey, cool as a frozen daiquiri. “Why don’t you tell me, Ms. Latrelle?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. But…she might the daughter of a friend of mine. Carla Ruben.”

  Bailey’s eyes narrowed. “Who is Carla Ruben?”

  “Tell her,” Will said.

  I poured out the whole story, starting with Carla giving up her baby for adoption, ending with her flight into Fort Lauderdale that afternoon.

  “I’m supposed to pick her up.”

  The tension seemed to ease from Bailey’s shoulders. Maybe she believed Carla was my only possible connection to the victim. But she still watched my face closely as she took a half step closer.

  “What does Ms. Ruben’s daughter look like?”

  “Nobody knows. I mean, Carla never had the chance to meet her.”

  I thought I saw sympathy in Bailey’s eyes. “The victim probably isn’t your friend’s daughter. We think her name is Booker, a local girl who went missing a few days ago. We had trouble locating her parents at first, but the description fits, and the Bookers are going to ID the body at noon.”

  I sagged with relief. Will let out air like he’d been holding his breath a long time. The dead girl belonged to strangers. Still, I ached for those people.

  The soft light left Bailey’s eyes. “I’d like you to bring Ms. Ruben directly to my office after you pick her up. We need to talk to her. And you. I’m having a Vice detective join us.”

  A ripple seemed to pass through Will. He nodded as if something had been confirmed.

  Bailey handed me her card again. “You call me if that flight’s delayed. And don’t even think about not showing.”

  Aguierro gave me his hard look, then followed Bailey, who was already walking away.

  “How do you do it, Latrelle?” Will shook his head slowly.

  “Me? I didn’t do anything. But you know something. What is it?”

  A whinny trumpeted from my barn, followed by a loud bang. I heard Orlando yell, “Madre de Dios!”

  “You’d better see to that beast. We’ll talk later.” Will pulled on the gray’s reins and led the horse away.

  I still had to get those two fillies out and was running out of time. Stupid detectives. I jogged to our tack room and grabbed the second bridle, then the saddle with the smaller girth. I’d take Imparable out now, let Orlando ride La Bruja after he finished cooling out Diablo.

  Opening Imparable’s stall gate, I paused to study her again. A sturdy, dark bay with three white socks, she had the classic close-coupled body and short legs of a sprinter. Orlando had done a good job grooming her. She was gleaming and ready for her tack.

  As I adjusted the bridle down to fit her head, I realized Will had never told me what he knew.

  CHAPTER 13

  I waited in the Sand Castle’s lobby to use the motel’s only computer. They’d built it into the wall next to the receptionist’s desk, and its printer—accessible only to the desk clerk—was hidden somewhere behind it. This is the kind of place I stay in—everything that could be taken by a guest is nailed down.

  After printing out and examining a map to the airport, I discovered if I took the scenic route to pick up Carla, Klaire’s place would be on my way. Carla’s plane didn’t land for a few hours, so there was plenty of time to meet this Klaire person first. The map showed her address on a side street that ran straight to the Atlantic Ocean off of a coastal road called South Ocean Drive. My luck was changing; Carla’s hotel was on South Ocean, too.

  I left the lobby, fired up my Toyota’s engine and drove east on Hallandale, toward the sea, soon rolling onto an overpass. The Intracoastal waterway flowed beneath, and I almost ran into the back of an old Caddy when I was too busy watching a powerboat slice through the blue-green water below.

  From the overpass, a flat blue horizon seemed to stretch out forever—the Atlantic. I hadn’t realized the Sand Castle was this close to the ocean.

  A delivery van honked behind me, the driver gunning past me with a rude hand gesture. I stopped rubbernecking and drove down the ramp, at the last minute crossing over South Ocean Drive instead of turning left toward Klaire’s place and the airport.

  Directly ahead stood the Hallandale Beach water tower, a giant red-and-blue onion on a turquoise stalk. The tower rose before a two-story fire and rescue station. The beach and the sea lay just behind it. I pulled to the curb outside the station, letting the car idle.

  Why had Mello’s cousin asked about a sea horse? Could she know about the tattoo? I didn’t believe she was psychic. Probably just listened to police radio.

  Sighing, I stared out to where the water touched the sky. Massive ocean liners and container ships cruised silently. Closer, a yacht powered through whitecaps, its prow dipping and surging.

  Jim’s horses would arrive tomorrow. Free time would evaporate, physical demands would increase. I twis
ted the horseshoe ring on my right hand back and forth. How could I help Carla without shortchanging Jim? I owed them both so much.

  I closed my eyes and drank in the salty air, so like the breeze that had whipped up Hallandale early yesterday morning. It brought the memory a sea horse tattooed on the arm of a gunshot victim. Don’t go there. I snapped my eyes open, shifted into drive, and headed north.

  * * * *

  With my foot heavy on the pedal, I sang along to “We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank.” The tune blasted out of the Toyota’s speakers, and I almost felt high as I sped up the coastal highway.

  Ahead on my right, an impressive building clad in gleaming shades of silver, white, and pale turquoise rose toward the sky. A sign read “Westin Diplomat.” Carla’s hotel. I’d like to stay in a place like that.

  I started checking side streets. In a mile or so, I found Klaire’s street, Blue Water Lane. Rolling the car slowly, I spotted her number on the left about three houses from the beach. I pulled to the side, shut off the engine and stared. What had Mello gotten me into this time?

  The house sagged away from the ocean as if tired of being beaten by the wind. It was covered in asphalt shingles, some of which lay in the yard, scattered between pots of plastic flowers. Gold and silver tinsel hung from the edge of the one-story roof, and the neon-lit figure of a turbaned woman sputtered above the door. I gaped at the accompanying electric sign. “Klaire Voyante, Psychic Reader.”

  “Forget this,” I muttered, ready to fire the engine and leave.

  Just then, the front door swung inward and a woman stepped into the yard, her hand making a “come here” motion. Medium height and full bodied, she wore a palm print top with a long skirt.

  I’d come this far, and truth be told, as much as I’d resisted Mello’s psychic stuff, I was still curious. I climbed from the Toyota and walked toward her, noticing she’d worked amber and gold strings of beads into her dark, wiry hair. Her skirt, decorated with a gold foil pattern, glittered in the breeze riding in from the ocean.

  She spoke in that same breathy voice I’d heard on the phone, “Nikki, I’m glad you’ve come.”

  “Klaire?” I asked.

  “Yes, let’s go inside.” She looked around nervously, as if she sensed some danger lurked close by. She urged me through the front door, then quickly shut it behind me.

  Up close, she looked much older than I’d expected. A hard life was written on her face, but the amber beads in her hair complemented large dark eyes and the tiny spots of color in her irises. With her dusky milk-chocolate skin and generous curves, I suspected she’d once been drop dead gorgeous.

  We stood in the foyer. Doors opened on either side, revealing rooms with dim and murky lighting. Ahead, a tiled hallway led to a kitchen at the back of the house.

  After motioning me to follow her into the room on the right, she turned on a floor lamp—a carved female statue holding a flickering electric torch. The lamp cast moving shadows onto the tiled floor and three armchairs. Carved sphinx heads watched me from the ends of the chair-arms. A long, low, backless couch completed the furnishings. The whole room had an Egyptian feel, and smelled like incense.

  The room seemed surprisingly chic compared to the tacky exterior of the building. Odds were, Klaire also held numerous facades and layers.

  “So why did you want to see me?” I asked.

  She smiled and gestured at the closest chair. “Please, sit. All will be learned.”

  I glanced at my watch. “I have to pick someone up soon.”

  A frown deepened the creases around her eyes. “I know that.”

  “Of course you do,” I muttered.

  “Do you care about the girl in the sea, or not?”

  I grew still. “What girl in the sea?”

  “I do not know,” she said quietly. “I only know she is connected to you, to the friend who will visit you.”

  Did she mean Jade was in the ocean? I sank into the nearby chair, my hands gripping the sphinx heads.

  Klaire sat in the closest chair, and seemed to be staring at something I couldn’t see. “The girl came to me in a dream. You know dreaming is a gateway to another world? I saw you and my cousin Mello, too. I felt a very strong connection to you.”

  I glanced around the room and peered deeper into the shadows. The walls were draped in fabric, and a large crystal ball glowed from a table on the far side.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” I said. “This is so hokey.”

  Klaire’s eyes narrowed “Don’t be so quick to judge! Have you forgotten what Mello can do? Did he help you?”

  I exhaled slowly. “Yeah, he did.”

  “And he knew things he couldn’t possibly know?”

  I nodded, remembering Mello’s ability to “see” details of an eight-year old murder in Virginia. My fingers curled around the wood sphinx heads so tightly it hurt. I loosened my grip and rubbed my hands on my jeans.

  Klaire stood up suddenly, the beads in her hair swinging and twinkling in the light from the torch. “You must get the sea horse box. I know where it is waiting. I have seen it.”

  “So, you saw this box in a dream, or you were actually in a shop?”

  “You have so little respect,” she said. “Yet you are connected to the other world.”

  “No,” I said, standing up. “I’m not.”

  “You will learn,” she said, and pulled a piece of paper from a pocket in her skirt.

  She wore a number of strangely carved rings on her fingers. The designs looked like astrological figures.

  “This is the address. If you care about the girl who died, you will find this box. Look for the sea horse. I cannot tell you more.”

  Of course she couldn’t. She probably didn’t know anything. I took the paper and left. The whole thing sounded like nonsense, but as I walked to my car, I couldn’t shake the image of a tattoo needled onto a dead girl’s arm.

  * * * *

  Though Klaire was probably a charlatan, I had time to check out the shop, and too much curiosity not to follow Klaire’s instructions.

  I drove to Route 1, and watched for the street number of the shop Klaire had told me to find. An endless lineup of “designer” furniture stores, real estate agents, car repair shops, and grocery stores crowded against the sidewalks on either side.

  Driving with good tunes still blasting on my radio kept my foot on the pedal, and the side street sign I searched for whisked quickly into view. I slowed, saw the billboard for the strip mall I wanted, and pulled into its parking lot.

  Sandwiched between a podiatrist’s office and a laundromat, a dozen or so pink flamingos with electrified eyes stared from the storefront window of the shop Klaire had insisted I visit. The birds encircled a plastic palm tree decorated with Christmas lights. Maybe Klaire had decorated this place, too.

  Under different circumstances, I would have looked for a gag gift for Carla.

  A bell rang in the back when I entered the store, and a tiny Asian woman with a lot of eye-liner appeared from the rear. She passed a display of refrigerator magnets—palm trees, bikini-clad Barbie dolls, and alligators. Closer, a table seemed to sway beneath the refracted light of a hundred paperweights, mostly fish and miniature sea vessels sealed into turquoise glass.

  The place smelled like carpet cleaner and dust, with a faint overlay of cat box. The woman paused before me, rubbing her palms together.

  “I help you?”

  Should I mention the sea horse right off? Snoop around first?

  “Just looking,” I said, noticing a corner section marked “Pawn Shop” set off by a barrier of plastic palmettos.

  Above the plants, two electric guitars hung from the ceiling. One was hot pink. A pearlescent beauty next to it had a sign claiming the guitar had belonged to Eric Clapton when he lived on Ocean Boulevard. My mom had owned the “461 Ocean Boulevard” album. Clapton’s “I Shot the Sheriff” started playing in my head. No doubt it would continue until overtaken by a radio tune.

  From b
eneath her kohl-lined lids, the woman studied me. “Come, I have for you.”

  She grasped my wrist and tugged me toward the pawn shop.

  I let her lead me past cameras, jewelry, and a fine looking set of silver candelabra to a wooden cabinet in the far corner.

  “Look.” She pointed at the cabinet.

  I stepped closer and stared. A small carved box lay on the second shelf. From the lid, the green eye of a sea horse glimmered. The design of the sea creature was so like the tattoo on the dead girl, a small gasp escaped me.

  Gingerly, I picked up the box and examined it.

  Maybe three by five inches, carved and polished in red-brown wood, it was inlaid with starfish and shells on the sides. When I tried to open it, I realized there were no hinges, only tight seams along the edges, which refused to budge. It must be a puzzle box.

  “Take with you.” The woman nodded, pushing the sale.

  I stared at her. She barely reached my shoulder, and a little bald stripe marked the top of her head. “Did Klaire call you?”

  Her puzzled expression seemed genuine. “Who is Klaire?”

  “Never mind. This box looks expensive. It’s…beautiful.”

  “Yes, and it go with you!”

  I glanced at the woman.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “For fine polonia carving? Hundred dollar.”

  How did I get suckered into this? I couldn’t spend a hundred on some soothsayer’s gibberish.

  “I don’t have a hundred dollars.” But I pulled my wallet from my tote and opened it. “This is what I have.”

  The woman studied the two twenties, the five and assorted ones. Her long nails plucked them from my wallet.

  I hurried from the store with the sea horse box, trying to shrug off an unpleasant tingling between my shoulder blades. I know when I’m being watched.

  I yanked open the door to my car. Once inside, I locked the doors, cranked up the engine, and got out of there. At the next red light, I told myself I was being ridiculous.

  From the lid of the box, the sea horse stared at me. I leaned over and shoved the box into the glove compartment. I didn’t need Carla asking questions about it.