Sean lifted a shoulder with lazy indifference and handed the magazine back to me. "What else have you got to do with your time?"

Irina emerged from the barn, leading Oliver-tall, elegant, and beautiful, the equine version of Sean. Sean dismissed me and went to his teak mounting block.

Molly Seabright was sitting on the park bench with her hands folded in her lap. I turned and walked to the barn, hoping she would just go away. D'Artagnon's bridle hung from the ceiling on a four-pronged hook near an antique mahogany cabinet full of leather-cleaning supplies. I chose a small damp sponge from the work table, rubbed it over a bar of glycerine soap, and began to clean the bridle, trying to narrow the focus of my mind on the small motor skills involved in the task.

"You're very rude."

I could see her from the corner of my eye: standing as tall as she could-five-feet-nothing-her mouth a tight little knot.

"Yes, I am. That's part of the joy of being me: I don't care."

"You're not going to help me."

"I can't. I'm not what you need. If your sister is missing, your parents should go to the cops."

"I went to the Sheriff's Office. They wouldn't help me either."

"You went? What about your parents? They don't care your sister is missing?"

For the first time Molly Seabright seemed to hesitate. "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about it? She's either missing or she's not."

"Erin doesn't live with us."

"How old is she?"

"Eighteen. She doesn't get along with our parents."

"There's something new."

"It's not like she's bad or anything," Molly said defensively. "She doesn't do drugs or anything like that. It's just that she has her own opinions, that's all. And her opinions aren't Bruce's opinions…"

"Who's Bruce?"

"Our stepfather. Mom always sides with him, no matter how asinine he is. It makes Erin angry, so she moved out."

"So Erin is technically an adult, living on her own, free to do whatever she wants," I said. "Does she have a boyfriend?"

Molly shook her head, but avoided my eyes. She wasn't so sure of that answer, or she thought a lie might better serve her cause.

"What makes you think she's missing?"

"She was supposed to pick me up Monday morning. That's her day off. She's a groom at the show grounds for Don Jade. He trains jumpers. I didn't have school. We were going to go to the beach, but she never came or called me. I called her and left a message on her cell phone, and she never called me back."

"She's probably busy," I said, stroking the sponge down a length of rein. "Grooms work hard."

Even as I said it I could see Irina sitting on the mounting block, face turned to the sun as she blew a lazy stream of cigarette smoke at the sky. Most grooms.

"She would have called me," Molly insisted. "I went to the show grounds myself the next day-yesterday. A man at Don Jade's barn told me Erin doesn't work there anymore."

Grooms quit. Grooms get fired. Grooms decide one day to become florists and decide the next day they'd rather be brain surgeons. On the flip side, there are trainers with reputations as slave masters, temperamental prima donnas who go through grooms like disposable razors. I've known trainers who demanded a groom sleep every night in a stall with a psychotic stallion, valuing the horse far more than the person. I've known trainers who fired five grooms in a week.

Erin Seabright was, by the sound of it, headstrong and argumentative, maybe with an eye for the guys. She was eighteen and tasting independence for the first time… And why I was even thinking this through was beyond me. Habit, maybe. Once a cop… But I hadn't been a cop for two years, and I would never be a cop again.

"Sounds to me like Erin has a life of her own. Maybe she just doesn't have time for a kid sister right now."

Molly Seabright's expression darkened. "I told you Erin's not like that. She wouldn't just leave."

"She left home."

"But she didn't leave me. She wouldn't."

Finally she sounded like a child instead of a forty-nine-year-old CPA. An uncertain, frightened little girl. Looking to me for help.

"People change. People grow up," I said bluntly, taking the bridle down from the hook. "Maybe it's your turn."

The words hit their mark like bullets. Tears rose behind the Harry Potter glasses. I didn't allow myself to feel guilt or pity. I didn't want a job or a client. I didn't want people coming into my life with expectations.

"I thought you would be different," she said.

"Why would you think that?"

She glanced over at the magazine lying on the shelf with the cleaning supplies, D'Artagnon and I floating across the page like something from a dream. But she said nothing. If she had an explanation for her belief, she thought better of sharing it with me.

"I'm nobody's hero, Molly. I'm sorry you got that impression. I'm sure if your parents aren't worried about your sister, and the cops aren't worried about your sister, then there's nothing to be worried about. You don't need me, and believe me, you'd be sorry if you did."

She didn't look at me. She stood there for a moment, composing herself, then pulled a small red wallet from the carrying pouch strapped around her waist. She took out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the magazine.

"Thank you for your time," she said politely, then turned and walked away.

I didn't chase after her. I didn't try to give her her ten dollars back. I watched her walk away and thought she was more of an adult than I was.

Irina appeared in my peripheral vision, propping herself against the archway as if she hadn't the strength to stand on her own. "You want I should saddle Feliki?"

Erin Seabright had probably quit her job. She was probably in the Keys right now enjoying her newfound independence with some cute good-for-nothing. Molly didn't want to believe that because it would mean a sea change in her relationship with the big sister she idolized. Life is full of disappointments. Molly would learn that the same way as everyone: by being let down by someone she loved and trusted.

Irina gave a dramatic sigh.

"Yes," I said. "Saddle Feliki."

She started toward the mare's stall, then I asked a question for which I would have been far better off not having an answer.

"Irina, do you know anything about a jumper trainer named Don Jade?"

"Yes," she said casually, not even looking back at me. "He is a murderer."

The horse world is populated by two kinds of people: those who love horses, and those who exploit horses and the people who love them. Yin and yang. For every good thing in the world, there is something bad to counterbalance. Myself, I've always felt the bad far outweighs the good, that there is just enough good to buoy us and keep us from drowning in a sea of despair. But that's just me.

Some of the finest people I've known have been involved in the horse business. Caring people who would sacrifice themselves and their own comfort for the animals who relied on them. People who kept their word. People with integrity. And some of the most loathsome, hateful, twisted individuals I've ever known have been involved in the horse business. People who would lie, cheat, steal, and sell their own mother for a nickel if they thought it would get them ahead. People who would smile to your face, pat you on the back with one hand, and stab you in the back with the other.

From what Irina told me, Don Jade fit into that second category.

Sunday morning-the day before Erin Seabright didn't show to pick up her little sister to go to the beach-a jumper in training with Don Jade had been found dead in his stall, the victim of an allegedly accidental electrocution. Only, according to gossip, there was no such thing as an accident where Don Jade was involved.