She scrambled to find the timestamp. 4:21am

  According to Darla, she’d already made and delivered the drink to Franklin Tate.

  As she was about to scroll through, she noticed something, or rather someone, behind Darla’s form. She could only see an outline, and bit of the person’s arm . . . but the person was standing behind Erin, not five feet away from the blender.

  She could also see a mess of curly hair.

  Matteo Frenzi.

  She couldn’t tell what he was doing, but one thing was clear—he wasn’t where he said he’d been.

  Actually, he hadn’t known where he’d been. Or that was the story. His words cycled through her head:

  The last thing I remember is touching down in Lyon, and one of the guys getting me in a headlock, telling me he was going to get me laid. Next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor of the conference room in a pile of vomit. I think it was my own.

  He hadn’t been passed out, sleeping it off. In this picture, he was clearly upright.

  She scrolled to the next photo, and there was an even better shot of him. Here, she could see his face. He was facing Erin, a charming smile on his face, as if he was trying his luck with her.

  He wasn’t passed out.

  He wasn’t sleeping in a pile of his own vomit.

  Not even close.

  In fact, he was right by the blender. Hadn’t he said he didn’t know where any of that stuff was? That’s what stewardesses are for, he’d said.

  Spoken like a true privileged jerk.

  Her mind started to reel as something came to her. Matteo wasn’t the privileged one, born into money. That was Dorry. No, Matteo had grown up poor. Goldie had bought him a meal, and they’d hired him to teach Franklin Italian. He was used to doing things for himself. So had he said that he never prepared his own drinks because he’d wanted to convince her he’d never been anywhere near the prep area . . . when he clearly had?

  Grabbing her own phone, she typed “Matteo Frenzi” into the search bar.

  Hundreds of articles appeared, with pictures of Matteo and Franklin standing, arm-in-arm. TATE’S WONDER KID, an article from a leading business journal claimed.

  But once she got past the more high-profile articles, she came to one with quite a different tone, from just two weeks earlier:

  New York-based law firm Brandt and Brandt has launched an investigation against crypto mining company Frenzi LTD over claims that its leadership had been involved in securities fraud and activities that negatively affected its stock price.

  In a press release Monday, the firm said it is acting on behalf of the company’s investors concerned that “Certain directors have engaged in securities fraud or other unlawful business practices.”

  “I assure you that these allegations are false,” CEO Matteo Frenzi said.

  Frenzi, LTD, one of the industry's largest crypto miners, today announced that it has filed for bankruptcy.

  Matteo was not only in financial trouble, like his mentor, but he was in legal trouble. And something like that had probably come about because the protégé had taken bad advice.

  She sat up straight in alarm. That was it.

  Arlo’s voice was piped into her ears. “Everything okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, but can you get this plane to go any faster? I have an idea, and I need to check it out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  The sun was sinking in the sky by the time Daisy reached that little boat house where Matteo Frenzi lived.

  He was lying in the exact same position she’d left him—on that lounge chair, overlooking the sea. There were a few more beer bottles littering the ground around him, and his head lolled on his shoulder. Despite the fact that the sun had already disappeared beyond the hills, he was still wearing sunglasses. Slumped on the chair with his heavy stubble, in nothing but a pair of jeans rolled up almost to the knees, he looked like an island castaway.

  She came up close to him and stood at his bare feet. “Why did you lie to me?”

  He stirred, dropping his sunglasses, one eye cocked at her. “Lady detective, again. Hello, beautiful.”

  Maybe he thought he could charm her, like he’d been trying with the flight attendant. It wasn’t going to work. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  He sat up and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “Sure. What question was that?”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “You lied to me. Why?”

  “I didn’t lie. I—”

  “You told me you were passed out after Lyon. But look at this.” She thrust the photograph she’d sent to her own phone, in front of him.

  He tilted his head. “All right. Fine. I thought I’d passed out. But I guess I had some juice left. I don’t remember any of this.” He shoved the phone back to her.

  “You don’t remember where you were? You’re right by the blender used to make the drink that killed Tate.”

  He frowned. “So are the flight attendants. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you were awake when he was killed. What else did you lie about?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. I didn’t lie. I forgot. There is a difference.”

  “Did you forget about how Tate was responsible for making your company go bankrupt?”

  His mouth opened, the shock everywhere on his face. But he didn’t say a word.

  “Tate was used to robbing one person to pay another one. Wasn’t he? He took money from you, and he never gave it back. And your company went under because of it. You’d loaned money to him that wasn’t strictly yours, right? And when you asked him to give it back to you, he told you he couldn’t.”

  Matteo’s eyes narrowed. “All the success I had, it was because of him. I had to loan him that money. I couldn’t say no. But then . . .” He dragged his hands down his face. “I told him I needed the money. He said he couldn’t give it to me. He’d gambled it all away. Millions of dollars. That birthday party? It was a load of crap. It wasn’t a happy birthday to me. It was a, sorry kid, you’re screwed, so you might as well enjoy your last few days as a free man.”

  “This scandal would get you prison time?” Daisy asked.

  “Ten years, at least, says my attorney. And that’s if I’m lucky,” he said, breathing out heavily through his teeth. “I thought I could fight him in court. It was going to be ugly business, but I had to do it, to keep my good name.”

  He seemed to have grown smaller and smaller, right before her eyes. He was no longer that egotistical wonder kid entrepreneur that everyone heaped praise upon. He looked like a frightened little kid. “I’m sorry that that happened to you.”

  He stared at the ground, and his voice was soft. “The thing was, Tate never told me he was sorry. Even when we went on the trip, he kept trying to tell me he was going to get the money back. That he knew some way out of it, and everything would be okay.”

  Daisy stared at him, now feeling sorry for the man. “You didn’t believe that.”

  “No. Frankie was under delusions. He always talks a good game. Promises you the world on a silver platter. And sometimes he delivers. But sometimes . . . no.” He hung his head.

  “So, you decided to do away with him.”

  Matteo’s head snapped up. “No. No, that wasn’t me. Yes, I had a reason to kill him, but I did not do it. I was going to fight him in court. I didn’t want to, but I was going to. By the time that picture was taken, the drink was already made. I came in and saw the dirty blender. I didn’t do it.”

  She raised her eyes to the horizon, where a motorboat was drawing near. Too small to be a ferry, she knew at once what it was, and so did Matteo, from the shocked look on his face.

  “You are kidding me,” he said, rising to his feet for the first time since she’d met him.

  When they’d landed, she’d called the Venice police and presented her findings to them. Apparently, it was enough to make an arrest.

  Matteo tried to move away, but stumbled drunkenly over some of the discarded beer bottles as the boat docked at the pier. A couple of police officers in blue shirts and shorts boarded the island. “Matteo Frenzi?” they demanded.

  He nodded and put his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t do it,” he murmured, but he sounded like he didn’t even believe himself. He simply slumped back down to the chair, as if all the fight had been knocked out of him, and allowed the officers to cuff him.

  As Daisy watched them load Matteo Frenzi in handcuffs onto the boat, Arlo came up behind her. “Very nice work,” he said to her. “And to think, my phone provided the key clue.”

  She followed the police onto the dock. She wasn’t staying on this island overnight, not when she could get a nice meal and a hotel room with her black card somewhere in the beautiful downtown of Venice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  “That’s wonderful, just wonderful.”

  Daisy held the phone to her ear, listening to Goldie chatter on and on about the arrest, hardly able to get a word in. Yes, Goldie kept piling praise on Daisy’s head, which should have felt good. But there was something wooden in Goldie’s tone.

  After a big evening meal, Daisy was on the way to her hotel. She’d thought about taking a gondola ride, but that sounded a bit lonely, since she was solo. “You knew Matteo, back in the day, didn’t you? He gave your ex Italian lessons.”

  “Yes, sweet kid,” she said. “Innocent. I’d have wrung Frankie’s neck if I knew he was doing that to our boy. He was so good. I just . . .”

  As Goldie trailed off, Daisy suddenly understood. “You didn’t think he had it in him?”

  “Exactly!” she announced, so loud it nearly blew out Daisy’s eardrum. “I never would’ve expected it from him. Sure, he was a bit of a party boy, easily led, not so bright. But I remember when he used to teach us Italian on the terrace. If there was a spider—and I hate spiders—he wouldn’t crush it. He’d look around for a paper cup or something to pick it up, and move it someplace where it would be safe. So killing a man? It seems beyond him.”

  “But a spider didn’t cheat him out of money and his good name,” Daisy remarked, though the comment stuck in her head. She always wondered if she’d come to the right conclusion, during even the smallest cases, but this time, it felt especially strong.

  Probably because this time, it’s a man’s life on the line. Most of your other cases didn’t have such high stakes.

  “True, true,” Goldie said. “Well, then. All’s well that ends that way. I’m going to wire the rest of your money in a jiff, and maybe when you get back to town, I’ll treat you to lunch at my country club. How’s that?”

  “Fine, fine,” Daisy said. “Thanks so much.”

  “No, thank you. Safe travels.”

  She ended the call before Daisy could say anything else. Pocketing her phone, Daisy went into the modest hotel overlooking the canal, got her key, and went up to her room. She opened the door and looked out over the city. The moonlight glimmered over the glass-calm canals, and the smell of delicious foods filled the air.

  Tomorrow, she would fly home. So that delicious meal, and this view, was about as close to enjoying Venice as she’d probably get.

  As she was leaning over, spying a couple on a romantic gondola ride and imagining what that might feel like, someone knocked on her door.

  When she opened it, she was surprised to find Kiki Tate standing there, dressed all in mourning black.

  Before Daisy could react, the young woman enveloped her in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she said. “I just heard when I stepped off the boat, so I had to come over and tell you, in person. I always knew that something foul had happened on that plane. I’d had a bad feeling from the moment Frankie told me about that trip.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  She released her and looked around the room with distaste. “Oh, the police officer told me where to find you. He said that you worked it all out, you clever person, you. Well done.” Kiki patted her back. “I can’t believe that Matteo would do such a thing, especially since, well . . .”

  Daisy frowned at her. There was something she seemed reluctant to say. “What is it?”

  “Well, if it was about Frankie cheating Matteo out of money, that would be silly. Frankie had the money in another account for one of his other businesses. I’ve seen it. It was hundreds of millions. He had to wait a bit, for legal reasons or some such thing, but he was planning to take care of everything. He told Matteo that.”

  Daisy straightened. “Are you sure? I heard . . . wasn’t he selling off parts of the island because he was in financial trouble?”

  She laughed. “Trouble? No, not Frankie. He was selling it off because I didn’t use the plane, and I kept telling him how much I hated how far civilization was from our little place. We never went over to that side of the island, so he decided that he would sell it off to various businesses so I wouldn’t have to travel so far, and it’d be a little busier around here. As much as he loved to play games and joke around, he was a very shrewd man, so he knew what he was doing. Okay, yes, he was a little reckless and didn’t pay attention to the details, but his heart was in the right place. And he did all this . . . for me.” She beamed, then sniffled. “I can hardly believe he’s gone.”

  Daisy stood there, still, taking this information in. So though Franklin Tate seemed to attract trouble, it wasn’t of the financial kind. “I thought people said you fought over money.”

  “I told you, we made up! He sent me such a sweet message! And I felt so bad that I woke up early and put together his things for the trip.”

  “The morning breakfast drink,” Daisy said, almost to herself. “But what about your spending? Wasn’t he upset about that?”

  She laughed. “Oh, gosh, he complained that I didn’t spend enough. The truth is, I’m a simple girl. He always wanted to buy me things, and I told him no. He’d send me on these long shopping sprees, and I’d never buy anything. He hated when I did that!”

  The world shifted a little for Daisy, at that moment. Everything she’d known about the case . . . it had been wrong.

  So what else had she been wrong about?

  “You said that you knew he flirted with other women. Is that right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I was okay with that. I told you, he and I had an agreement."

  “Yes, I know. You had an agreement that a little flirtation with other people was all right. As long as he knew he was coming home to you, right? But was there anyone else you were worried about? Someone that you thought might be getting too serious?”

  The girl stared at her, astonishment and anger flaring in her eyes. “What? No,” she said, clearly attacked, clutching her heart. She looked up and down the hallway. “Well . . . actually . . . can I come in?”

  Daisy stepped aside.

  The woman stepped into the hotel room and made herself comfortable on the king bed. “To be truthful, he has an ex. Not Goldie. Not Vicki, his second wife. It was Portia.”

  “His third wife?” Daisy ventured.

  She nodded. “Yes! They were only married a month, right before he met me. It was kind of a whirlwind romance. The two of them had strong personalities, and I guess they clashed. So they agreed to end it. But I came to find out that he was still talking to her. And once, I found a text he’d sent, which said he never should’ve divorced her.”

  That, alone, didn’t mean much. He could’ve just been joking. He liked to play games, after all. But everything together . . . “Did you tell him you found that?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d also found receipts that he’d gone out to lunch with her. Several times.”

  Daisy thought of the mysterious redhead, her curiosity sparking. “Wait. Does she live in Lyon?”

  “No. Right here in Venice. But that was what we were fighting about. Her. I said if I found out she had anything to do with this trip, there’d be hell to pay. He promised me up and down that she would not be a part of it.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  She shrugged. “Yes, of course. That’s why we made up, because he told me he only had eyes for me. And it turned out to be true, right? There were plenty of women on the trip. All the boys talked about the revolving door of high-class escorts and other girls. But no Portia.”

  Daisy still couldn’t get the redhead out of her mind. “But what does she look like?”

  “Oh!” Kiki opened her phone and scrolled through, her long fingernail tapping the screen. Then she handed it over to her. “She’s very pretty. Smart, too.”

  Contrary to Daisy’s hopes, the woman was not a redhead. She had long dark hair, and was slight, with an exotic quality to her. It sparked something in Daisy’s mind, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. “Oh . . . she’s very beautiful.”

  “Yeah, her mother’s from the Philippines, I think,” Kiki said, rolling her eyes as she took the phone back. “He told me he met her on a flight to Brazil when he was married to his second wife, and it was instant love. Or whatever.”

  Something fell into place as Daisy stood there. As unusual and exotic as Tate’s third ex-wife was, there was something about her that was also very familiar. Daisy gritted her teeth, trying to focus on just what it was.

  “Anyway,” Kiki stood up. “I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done. And you can go back to Goldie and tell her I had nothing to do with it. Her old gold-digging wife theory turned out to be wrong. You think you could send me a picture of Goldie’s face when you tell her the news?”

  That was the prevailing theory, whenever a rich man died, wasn’t it? The wife, poisoning her beloved husband. But in this case . . .

  Only half-thinking as she escorted Kiki out, Daisy murmured, “Sorry, I already told her. She was surprised, definitely.”

  The young woman snapped her fingers. “Oh, drat. I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall . . .”

  Kiki droned on, but Daisy was no longer listening. Was there a chance that Goldie was right, after all? That the third wife had something to do with it? But she was an ex. She’d get no benefit out of his death. Unless . . .