“We were all part of an entrepreneur’s group.”

  “The Frati?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they called it. The brotherhood. I think Franklin started it, but back then, we were all new and knew nothing about running our businesses. He was getting into shrink-wrapping and really over his head. Brought Dorry on—they knew each other from college—and decided to start a group to empower each other. So he gathered us up and we’d have lunch every other week. We got to be friends. This was—oh, twenty years ago.”

  “And all of you were part of it?”

  “Yeah . . . well, not Matteo. He came on later, when Frankie had already made his first million. But we all got along really well. And we all got more successful than we’d even dreamed. Except Dorry, of course. He was already from money. He bankrolled and invested in a lot of us.”

  “But he’s not an entrepreneur, correct?”

  “Oh, he was. He’s had about a hundred new businesses, but all of them failed.” His lips twisted. “Hey. Maybe he was jealous of Tate’s success. That’s a thought. He travels down to South America all the time, too. Has a house there.”

  Daisy made a note of that. “Hmm, but I heard he was pretty drunk, the entire time.”

  “We all were, I guess,” Mooch said, sipping his coffee. “Come to think of it, I don’t even remember him getting off the plane at Lyon. But I guess it’s easy enough to pretend to be smashed. Just pretend to pass out in the corner. And then, when everyone else is away, he could’ve spiked a drink. Were traces of the residue found in his glass?”

  “The police were still waiting on the toxicology report from it, last I heard. But some white residue was found on Tate’s chin which was the same color as his morning breakfast drink, so it’s assumed it was in there.”

  Mooch narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “Morning breakfast drink. I remember that stuff—green and white. Couldn’t get me to touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

  “You saw it?”

  “First day, yeah. The flight attendant made it for him. I got off the plane after midnight and stayed in Lyon, so I don’t know if he had it the next morning. Guess he did.”

  “Did everyone know he had that stuff each morning?”

  He nodded. “He made a big show of telling people how one a day kept him young.”

  She skimmed her notes. “His housekeeper said it prevented headaches.”

  “Well, sure. Probably would’ve had a headache, considering how much alcohol was being consumed. I know I had a raging hangover.” He shrugged. “How’s his wife doing?”

  “Not well. She’s upset.”

  “I’d imagine she should be. I don’t think she very much liked him going off, leaving her alone like that.”

  “Did you hear anything about a fight they had?”

  He nodded. “But they made up, he said. Just a minor lover’s quarrel. He might have enjoyed being with other women, but he did love Kiki. I mean, those earrings.”

  Daisy’s ears perked up. “What earrings?”

  “Oh, he bought them in the jewelry shop at the casino down the street. I was there with him when he picked them out. They were unique, black diamond teardrops. Cost a pretty penny. I remember telling him she couldn’t stay mad at him for long if he gave her those.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened as she thought back to the police report and everything she’d heard over the past day. She’d scoured the files and asked almost half a dozen people to recount what had happened that night, and yet there’d been no mention of black diamond earrings.

  And one thing was sure—that morning, no earrings had been found on his body.

  So where had they gone? Had he given them to someone else? Or had they been stolen?

  Daisy’s mind cycled through the possibilities. “Did you see what he did with them?”

  “Just put them in the pocket of his blazer.”

  “And then what happened?”

  He shrugged. “It was getting late. It had to have been about two in the morning, and things were winding down. So I told him I was going back to my flat. I shook his hand, and then I went on my way. That was it.”

  “Did you happen to notice a red-haired woman with him at any time?”

  He held up a finger. “Sure did. Her name was Brie. Like the cheese? Or something. He seemed quite comfortable with her. She was pasted by his side. I thought it was odd. I figured he’d probably hook up with her, and I didn’t want to be a part of that. I don’t think that’s right, knowing he has a wife at home. When I left, I think she was in the ladies’ room. He kept looking that way, like he was waiting for her to come out.”

  “Was he nervous or worried about something?”

  He pressed his lips together, thinking. “You know, now that you mention it, I think he was.”

  “Did he say anything about money troubles? Or was there anyone talking to him about money?”

  His face wrinkled. “Money troubles? No. Far as I knew, Tate had all the money in the world. There were money troubles?”

  Daisy hitched a shoulder. “Just one of many avenues I’m pursuing.” She slipped off the stool. “I think that’s everything. Thank you for your time.”

  “My pleasure.” He started to follow her out. “I’m going to have to get in touch with the guys. Any word on a funeral?”

  “I believe he was going to be cremated. I don’t know about the memorial. Goldie probably would know more.”

  “Ah, Goldie.” He shook his head. “How is she taking it? They were the best of friends.”

  “That’s what I heard. She hired me to look into it because she suspected foul play.”

  He nodded. “Good on her. Sounds like she was right. I hope they find out who did it.”

  Daisy bid him goodbye and stepped outside, thinking over what he had said about the earrings. Where were they? And why was Franklin Tate buying extravagant gifts for his wife when he was having money troubles, forcing him to sell off much of his island? Where had he gotten the money for that? Had he cheated someone in Lyon who decided to get revenge? It seemed like all of her questions weren’t bringing answers—just more questions.

  When she reached the sidewalk, she turned to head back to the Pharoah’s casino. She needed to speak to the jeweler and see if he had any information about the missing jewels.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Back at the Pharaoh’s casino, Daisy walked up and down the promenade, looking at the high-end shops. They sold everything from spa products to custom-fit clothing, with price tags Daisy didn’t even bother to look at. She knew she’d never be able to afford any of it, just from the sight of the wealthy clientele there.

  She checked the directory and found one jeweler, across from the side entrance to the casino. According to the map, sure enough, it was also across from the restrooms, as Mooch had said. As she approached, she could just imagine the two friends standing outside, talking as he waited for the woman with red hair to emerge from the restrooms.

  It was the last time Mooch saw his friend alive.

  She stood outside, scanning the area, hoping for some divine intervention or epiphany to dawn on her. But in the still-early morning hours of the day, it probably looked a lot different than it had that fateful night. It may have been two in the morning when Franklin Tate was last here, but the place had likely been swarming with gamblers and shoppers, all out for a night on the town.

  Now, only a few wealthy people strolled about, various shopping bags in hand.

  Daisy stood at the storefront window, looking at the various jewels in their glass cases. She’d never been one to care too much about jewelry, but each piece was different, and more gorgeous than the next. She spotted a case full of black diamond jewelry, and went inside to get a better look.

  A bald, fastidiously dressed man in a suit with a bowtie came up to her at once, and asked her something in French.

  “I’m not looking for me,” she explained, though she already got the feeling he knew that, from the doubtful look on his face. “I’m a private investigator, and I’m interested in a piece that might have been bought here, about four nights ago?”

  “An expensive piece?” he asked in a thick French accent.

  “Yes, I think, very. One of these black diamonds.” She pointed to the case.

  “This is my shop,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. “Anything that is purchased over a certain price has to be signed off by me. Which piece is it?”

  “It was some black diamond earrings. I believe teardrops?”

  “Ah!” He held up a finger and surveyed the case, pulling out a pair from a velvet display. “They were one of a kind, but similar to these. Very precious.”

  “Beautiful,” she said, leaning over to get a better look. “Something like this, it’s expensive?”

  “These are not as costly as the others. I do remember them. They also had fine clear diamonds in them as well,” he said, touching them with a pair of forceps. “These are probably only about twenty-five.”

  “Dollars?” she murmured, not really thinking.

  He shifted. “In Euros. Twenty-five thousand.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. And these were the cheap ones. So apparently Franklin Tate wanted to make a peace offering for his wife, and felt he’d needed to spend thousands of dollars he didn’t have to do it.

  Or . . . had the earrings been meant for his wife? Maybe they’d been for the redhead. Maybe that was why they were gone.

  “You remember the earrings, but do you remember the man who came in to buy them?”

  “I did not personally service him, but . . .” He took out a small shoebox-sized file and paged through it. Pulling one card out, he said, “Yes. Franklin Tate. He bought them and a black diamond necklace, as well.”

  “Is the associate who waited on him here? Can I ask them some questions?”

  He looked up and snapped his fingers at a beautiful Asian woman with long hair and a blood-red sweater. She came over, and spoke softly in French to the jeweler. He nodded and then said to Daisy, “She waited on him. She said he was quite anxious to make the purchase. It seemed he was in a rush.”

  That didn’t quite make sense. It wasn’t as though there was a flight he had to catch. “Did he say why?”

  He asked the woman, who shook her head and said something in French. The jeweler translated. “She said he didn’t want it wrapped. He said the girl it was for was going to wear it soon.”

  “Was there a woman shopping with him?”

  This time, Daisy didn’t need the translator to understand. The clerk touched her hair and said, Rouge.

  Red hair.

  So Franklin Tate had bought an expensive gift for this elusive woman. This Brie, or so Mooch had said.

  “Do you happen to have any security footage I could look at? So I can see what this woman looks like?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be much use to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my associate here said that the woman didn’t come into the store. The earrings and necklace were in the window. She stood outside. She didn’t even try them on.”

  “So . . . there’s a chance they really weren’t for her, then?”

  The man shrugged and put the earrings away. “I suppose. I can’t say for sure.”

  “As far as payment goes . . . it was in order?”

  The man looked over the card and nodded. “Oh, yes, of course. He paid in cash.”

  She blinked. “Cash. That’s a lot of money to be carrying around. Where did he—”

  “It’s not unusual here. The casino is right across the way. When people win big, they often like to buy themselves a memento of the occasion, to celebrate.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. Thank you,” she said, stepping away from the counter.

  “One moment,” the man said, looking up from his file. “I remember that night. And that individual. That night was the night of the commotion.”

  “What commotion?”

  “Well, it was sometime after. This store never closes, but it was early in the morning. I remember a casino manager coming out and there being quite a fight. I believe that Tate man was involved. At least, it was some American.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  He scratched the side of his face, thinking. “From what I heard, the American was suspected of cheating at the blackjack table. Security came. I’ve never seen Etienne so furious, and he is one to keep his cool. But the American laughed in his face. He said that because he was an American, no one would ever touch him. Not publicly, anyway. And he just strolled off.”

  “Cheating . . . so do you think the money he used to pay for the earrings and necklace was won by cheating at cards?”

  “It’s possible.”

  She pointed across the way, toward the casino. “You said his name was Etienne?”

  “Oui, but he’s not the manager of the Pharoah’s casino. It’s a place at the end of the promenade, off the main road. Not many people know about it. Called Sofia’s.” He leaned in and whispered, “I wouldn’t go there, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re dangerous types. Mafia.” The last word came out as only a breath.

  Mafia. So there it was. Goldie had said her ex-husband was a fool, but she hadn’t mentioned how big a fool he’d been. He’d deliberately taunted the wrong people.

  She thanked the jeweler and stepped out onto the promenade. As she stood there, she thought about how Mooch had said that Franklin Tate had been looking toward the restrooms, anxiously waiting for his lady to return.

  But now, she realized he likely hadn’t been looking for a woman at all. He’d been looking past that, toward Sofia’s, the mafia casino at the end of the promenade. He’d been concerned that they’d come after him.

  And yet instead of going on his way, back to the plane, he’d stopped and bought these earrings for this redheaded woman. Why?

  Her phone buzzed with a text, alerting her she had a message from the Venice police. The toxicology reports for his morning drink glass were in. Traces of Batrachotoxin.

  He had been murdered by his morning pick-me-up.

  So someone had gotten on the plane to spike it. Who?

  She walked to the end of the promenade and stepped out of the double doors, noticing a small, glowing red sign that said SOFIA. In the light of day, it didn’t look too threatening, but the door and façade were covered in ivy, as if it wanted to stay relatively hidden.

  Could she go there? She thought about her promise to Zachary to stay safe. Tangling with the mafia definitely wasn’t safe.

  But then again, it was daytime. And if it could finally bring her some answers to the many questions swirling in her head, it would be worth it.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked across the courtyard, toward the casino.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was barely afternoon by the time Daisy reached the front door of Sofia’s casino. The building was not only covered in ivy, but it was a basement establishment, so she had to walk down a few steps to get to the front door. Since it was so early, she expected to find it closed.

  But the door swung open. To her surprise, a cloud of cigar smoke greeted her, making her eyes water as she peered into the cave-like room.

  A voice barked at her from deep within, something in French that she couldn’t make out. Meanwhile, she heard the sounds of chatter and the ticker of a roulette wheel. She also smelled something other than cigar and cigarette smoke . . . it burned her nostrils. Against her better judgement, she stepped through the door and forced her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Four sets of eyes—enormous, scowling men in suits—stared at her. They were standing together, having drinks at the nearby bar, and she’d clearly disturbed whatever conversation they were having.

  “I’m looking for Etienne,” she squeaked.

  The casino in the back was small, but packed, despite the early hour. It was so dark, she wondered if these people even knew that it was daylight, or if they were so busy gambling that they’d lost track of time. Some of them looked stoned. It reminded her of an old-time opium den.

  A man sauntered close to her, toothpick wedged between his yellow teeth. He had a jagged scar that started over his eyebrow and cut a straight line down to his chin, and a devilish look in his eye, like he’d just found his new plaything. “Why are you asking, American girl?”

  “I have business with him,” she said, mustering enough courage so that her voice didn’t crack.

  “You do?” He looked back at the other men, who laughed heartily. Obviously it was some joke, and Daisy didn’t quite understand the punchline. “Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

  “Daisy Fortune.”

  She expected that he’d go off into some back room and fetch his leader, but instead, he just stared at her, gnawing on that toothpick until she began to shift uncomfortably.

  “It’s a bit urgent,” she said.

  He snorted. “Etienne does not come out and talk to just anyone. So unless you’re here to play some cards, you’d better move along.”

  She stood there for a moment, weighing her options. In the smoky casino floor, she saw the gamblers, in the midst of their games. Behind her was escape. She could easily head back the way she’d come.

  But if she did that, she wouldn’t get anywhere.

  And they’d invited her to play cards.

  So, not making any sudden moves, she shrugged and sidestepped her way to the casino. “I guess I’m playing cards,” she said, feeling their eyes glued to her back as she went.

  Daisy felt like she was navigating a minefield. She made it to the first table and slid on to the only empty chair there. The dealer, an older man with a bushy moustache, stared at her expectantly.

  She had never before gambled in her life, not even on a trip she’d taken with her father to Atlantic City. Her brother Charlie had taught her how to play blackjack and poker, about a million years ago, and had always let her win. That was the extent of her knowledge.