Daisy stared at the paper, confused. “But how do you think she killed him if she wasn’t—”

  “I don’t know! That’s what I want you to find out!” Goldie slapped her palm on the desk. “Maybe she had an accomplice. I don’t know. But the fact is that she’s involved, she wanted to collect his big fortune, and she didn’t want me to have any of it.”

  “You? Why would you—”

  “Because he was all set to give me a loan to get my business off the ground,” she said, digging in her designer handbag and pulling out a card.

  Goldie’s long, elaborately painted fingernails nearly scratched Daisy as she took the card from her hands and read:

  Goldie’s Designs

  Fun for Nails!

  Daisy looked up to see Goldie showing off a set of bejeweled fingernails, each one with a little palm-tree and beach scene on it. “I’m doing nail appliques,” she explained. “It’s a worldwide venture. I’ve got clients all over the place, and I’m in the process of opening up a little place in Mexico. My little pet project.”

  “Oh. Very nice. How much was the loan for?”

  “Six million.”

  Daisy nearly choked. Little pet project? Not by a long shot.

  Goldie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been a long time coming. I would’ve had the money last year if that woman didn’t stand in the way. She insisted he wait until after the wedding to think about it. And so he did. And now she’s gone and killed him, and I guaranteed you that, conveniently, he left all of his money to her! He always was such a softie when it came to a pretty gal.”

  Daisy wrote more notes, thinking it over. Her father would likely have taken the job. At the very least, he would’ve known if getting involved was something worthwhile. But she was not Edward Fortune. Far from it.

  “So you’d need me to go . . .” She began. “To Venice?”

  “Yes, of course. That’s where the little harlot lives.”

  Daisy gritted her teeth. She’d been fine in Rhodes last month, but that didn’t mean that she could jet off anywhere at a moment’s notice. Her father’s health could turn on a dime, and whenever he became confused and difficult, she was usually the only one who could talk him out of it.

  Otherwise, she would’ve taken this job without question. It was a job. And she needed more of those in order to keep him afloat at Independence Court. If she got a few more cheating spouse cases in, locally, she might be able to save enough money to pay for his care without having to travel overseas.

  “I’m not sure if I have the room in my schedule,” Daisy said, flipping through her calendar and hoping Goldie wouldn’t see how empty it was.

  But Goldie was no dope. She’d seen all the empty desks, the broken-down equipment. And the phone hadn’t rung once.

  Fortune Investigations was dying.

  Daisy was no dope, either. She knew this case could help revive it. But at what cost? Things had worked out at Rhodes, but knowing she was so far away from her father had been a terrible feeling, like walking on eggshells every moment of the day. If something happened to her father when she was gone, she’d never be able to forgive herself.

  She continued flipping pages through the calendar. “I can see, but I really would have to—"

  Goldie said, “I’ll pay, of course, for everything. I’ll give you a black card.”

  “A black . . . what?”

  “A black card, darling. It’s a card to take care of any of your expenses. No matter what the cost. There’s no limit on it; I’ll cover it all. And of course, what is your fee? Is a hundred-thousand enough?”

  Daisy nearly gagged. She’d have to do a hundred cheating spouse cases to make that money. “Well, I—”

  “Two hundred, then?”

  Daisy’s eyes widened. “Well, I don’t know—”

  “Look,” the woman said in a low voice, leaning over so far that the bottoms of her long earrings hit the desktop. “I’m really at the end of my rope. I don’t know who else to ask. And I feel like Frankie has been begging me from the grave. I have to do something. And I see you’re from an impressive lineage. That’s your father, huh?”

  Daisy followed the woman’s gaze to the photo of her father with the president. She nodded.

  “I see the resemblance. And I can tell you’d be good at this. You’re sweet. But not too sweet. So I have no doubt you’d be able to work your way into their place and find the truth.”

  Daisy looked up at the photograph. Though she’d been taught all her father’s tricks, she’d thought she’d be working by his side a lot longer than she had. Goldie was a lot more confident about Daisy’s abilities than Daisy was herself.

  But her father, looking at the camera, seemed to say, Do it. Just say yes.

  When she turned back, Goldie was standing over her. Clearly a take-charge kind of woman, she had her hand out, ready to shake. “So two-hundred thousand, half on signing, half after the investigation is complete. Is it a deal, doll?”

  Two-hundred-thousand. The amount was so big, it made all of her financial problems seem tiny, in comparison.

  That was what she needed, to keep her father receiving the best care possible. In the end, that was all that mattered.

  Daisy stood up and shook her hand. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

  “Great,” she said, her handshake firm. “Send along the invoice and I’ll see that you’re paid. I’ll have my assistant book you on a flight out, say, tomorrow? And send you all the details. How does that sound?”

  “Good,” Daisy said, hardly able to believe that at this time, tomorrow, she’d be heading for Venice. She’d always wanted to go there. But if her trip to Greece had proven anything, it was that working at an exotic place and actually enjoying it were two different things. “I can’t wait.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was Daisy’s first time in luxury class on a commercial airline. Everything was going her way. The champagne was flowing, the snacks were plentiful, and the wealthy, attractive businessman in the seat next to her was attempting to chat her up.

  If only she had the ability to enjoy it.

  Instead, she was too lost in her head, trying to plan her next steps for when she landed in Venice, in less than ten hours. This was a red-eye flight, so she’d arrive in the morning. Most of the people around her were sleeping, save for the man next to her, who had his laptop out and was busily typing away. Some presentation in Italian with a lot of numbers and graphs.

  Daisy couldn’t sleep. Not with everything going through her head.

  “More champagne?” the flight attendant asked as Daisy buried her nose in her files, trying to read up on Franklin Tate.

  “No thanks,” she murmured, pointing to her still-full glass.

  “I’ll take some,” the businessman said, holding his flute out over Daisy in order to refill it. Some drops fell on Daisy’s papers, but she barely noticed.

  Franklin Tate was what most would call a wheeler-dealer. He liked to throw things up against the wall and see what would stick. In his youth, he’d had lots of businesses, most failures. But then he hit upon a success in shrink wrapping, and made his fortune there. Not a very glamorous business, but his lifestyle sure was. From the information Goldie had provided, he was often jetting around to all the richest playgrounds in the world, gambling. His villa in Venice was neither quaint nor charming—it was a giant mansion, poised on an island cliffside in the Venice harbor. Everything in the file Goldie had sent detailed his life of wealth and extravagance.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Even though it was far plusher than riding economy, Daisy didn’t fit in here. She knew it. She recalled the way she’d felt during the last case, in Rhodes, like a piece of lead among so many diamonds. Not only had she been taxed with finding a murderer, but she’d also had to contend with navigating an alien world.

  And that’s just what these wealthy people were to her—so strange, they might as well have been from another planet.

  But she’d made it through, the last time. Even solved the case. Her father had been proud.

  You can do it again. You just have to stop worrying about standing out and do what you’re hired to do.

  She looked down at herself. It was hard not to worry when even the special travel clothes she’d bought for the flight looked frumpy compared to the well-dressed heiress across the aisle, who wore head-to-toe jewels, designer heels, and cradled a teacup pup in her lap.

  It wasn’t just that, though. Goldie’s files detailed all about Franklin Tate’s life—his history, his home, his investments. But there was very little to go on. None of his wives had been on the plane when he passed, so despite what Goldie said, they didn’t seem like a good place to start. What did seem promising was those who’d been aboard the private plane with Franklin Tate. However, she didn’t have that information, and wasn’t quite sure where to get it. Normally, she’d consult the airline and ask for a manifest. Simple. But this was a private jet, and so those rules didn’t apply. She’d have to see if she could locate a police report or ask around at the airport and see if they kept a passenger log.

  Dad, she thought, If you have any wisdom or tips you can mentally transmit to me right now, I’d sure appreciate them.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of how sad he’d looked when she’d stopped by Independence Court on the way to the airport. He’d had a bad night, the nurses had said, and they’d had to restrain him. He’d barely recognized her when she said goodbye. It had been hard to tear herself away. She’d had to keep repeating to herself, This is for him. This is for him, even as she boarded the plane.

  Fear gripped her, sudden and hard. Grabbing her purse, she opened it up, making sure the black card Goldie had given her was still there.

  It was. Just where she’d left it. And she’d checked to make sure, an hour ago.

  She was being irrational.

  Calm down, she commanded herself.

  “First time in Venice?” the man next to her said, snapping his laptop closed. He had a deep tan and dark, Italian features, but his accent was American.

  She nodded. “Is it obvious?”

  “You do look nervous,” he admitted. “Beautiful, beautiful city.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Not that she would get much time to enjoy it.

  “For business or pleasure?”

  “Oh. I wish I could say pleasure, but . . .” she held up the papers she’d scattered upon her tray table.

  “Working girl, hmm?” he said, with a condescending wink she didn’t much like. “What business are you in?”

  “I’m an investigator,” she said, trying to be as vague as possible. She added, “You?” not because she cared to know, but because she didn’t want to explain what she was investigating just yet.

  “I’m in financial planning and investments,” he said, and proceeded to give her a long-winded explanation of his profession.

  She zoned out a few times, glad he was the one doing the talking. “Sounds interesting,” she said, when he was done.

  He shrugged, clearly proud of his employment. “It definitely keeps me on my toes,” he said with a smirk. “But what I want to know is, what are you investigating about Franklin Tate?”

  She blinked. “Do you know him?”

  He snorted. “Of course. You can’t do business in Venice without knowing Franklin Tate. He has some investments with my firm, I believe. I don’t know him personally, but I suppose you could say we travel in the same social circles.”

  “Oh?” She felt foolish. She’d just spent the past few hours ignoring his attempts at conversation, when right now, he was her best chance at finding out information about Tate’s background. “Are they a very tight bunch?”

  “Yes. Very. The boys with their toys and their money. They’re kind of a club. They call themselves the Frati.”

  “Brothers,” she murmured. “Are you a member?”

  “I guess you could say I’m on the fringes. I haven’t been formally initiated, not like Tate. He was practically their ringleader. But I know them. Many of them are my clients. They often get together for holidays, traveling together in each other’s private yachts or planes all over the world.”

  Daisy nodded. “Then I’m sure it will be a surprise to you that Franklin Tate was found dead, two days ago.”

  The man had been in the midst of drinking his champagne, and swallowed hard. “What? How . . .”

  “He was on his plane, coming back from one of those gambling trips.”

  The man’s face went pale. “That’s horrible. And you’re investigating it . . . why?”

  “His ex-wife thinks there might be foul play.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Foul play? That’s exciting. Wait . . . you’re a criminal investigator?”

  “Private investigator. Hired by his ex.”

  He reached across the armrest, extending his hand. “In that case, pleasure to meet you. I’m Alfred. Alfred Long.”

  She shook it. “Daisy Fortune.”

  “Good to meet you. I’m sure you’ll hear my name batted about during your investigations, considering I’m close to the group. But I promise you. I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t on the plane. Have been in the States for six months. This is my first trip back to Venice in a while.”

  She grabbed a pen from her bag. “Would you mind . . . I don’t really have much to go on right now. I haven’t even been to the police yet. Do you happen to know any of the men that might have been on the plane with him?”

  “Of course. I can give you some idea.” He took the pen from her and began to scribble some names. “These are the ones he was close to and tended to travel with. You going to interview the wife? Uh . . . Katerina?”

  “Kiki? Yes, that’s my next stop, as soon as I get off the plane.”

  “Ah. Right. Kiki. Katerina’s her real name. You don’t forget someone like Kiki.” His eyebrows waggled.

  Goldie’s description had made Daisy curious enough, but now, she was really curious to meet the woman. “Why’s that?”

  “She’s a knockout. Just a really beautiful girl. I remember Tate parading her around, when they first got engaged. He was so proud.” His brow knitted. “The ex doesn’t think she had anything to do with it, does she?”

  Daisy shrugged. “Looking into all avenues at this point. What do you think?”

  He tilted his head, considering this. “I mean, I guess it’s possible. She probably stood to inherit hundreds of millions. And they were just married a couple months ago. But she doesn’t seem like a rocket scientist, if you know what I mean. To plan a murder? I don’t know if she has that in her.” He shook his head. “Wow. Franklin Tate dead. No wonder the office was in a tizzy yesterday.”

  “I’m sure it’s a shock to many people.”

  “Well . . .” His lips twisted, as if he was attempting to find the most diplomatic way to phrase his next words. “I wouldn’t say that. Man was a bit of a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “His ex said that he was pretty fit. That’s why she thought it had to be foul play.”

  He shook his head. “I guess, compared to some people, he was fit. He spent a pretty penny to keep his body looking good, from the outside—plastic surgery, tanning, all the tricks. But I was at one of the holiday parties he hosted in his villa. Lots of drugs. Lots of alcohol. Sex. Decadence. The man knew how to party, like a fraternity brother. So I get the feeling that all that pretty packaging was hiding something underneath.”

  “Interesting. Do you know if he had any enemies?”

  “Oh, yeah. Man like him? He made his money off of cheating the hell out of people.”

  She paged through her notes. “Says here he made his fortune in the shrink-wrapping business.”

  “Right,” he said doubtfully. “That might’ve been where he started, but the man liked to make deals. And making deals is all about what he could do for himself, while doing as little as possible for the other guy. Tate was good at it. He could sell anything to anyone. So I’m sure there were people along the way who felt cheated.”

  She stared at the list of names he’d written down. There were six of them. “Maybe even someone he considered his friend?”

  “Always a possibility.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Lots of possibilities. You’re going to need a bulldozer to chip through his list of business associates, friends, and relations. He had a lot, like a spider web, stretching all over the city.”

  A sick feeling twisted her gut. She already knew that. The trouble with these rich and important types was that they had a lot of connections. A lot of people they might have crossed. And a lot of people who felt they were so important and above the law, that they’d take the chance in committing murder.

  She sighed as she felt the plane starting to lose altitude. She looked out the window as the plane dipped below the clouds and the wings tilted, giving her a very first look at Italy. In a few moments’ time, they would land, and she would be expected to find this needle in a haystack.

  Starting with the beautiful and young Kiki Tate.

  She had her work cut out for her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When the plane touched down at the Venice Marco Polo Airport, the first thing Daisy did was make a call to the city’s coroner.

  Apparently, everything in Europe moved at a more leisurely pace. The coroner’s report was still “pending.” She left a message with her phone number, hoping they understood English, asking them to email her the details when they were available.

  Daisy stepped out into the temperate, sunny morning, and made her way to the taxi line along Galileo Galilei Avenue, checking the map on her phone as she leaned against the arm of her rolling suitcase.

  “I think you’re in the wrong line,” a voice said behind her.

  She startled and turned to find Alfred Long standing behind her, wearing sunglasses and looking as much like he belonged in Venice as the Italian Gothic and Byzantine architecture around them.

  She stood on her toes and pointed to the sign that said, Taxi. Was he being facetious? Obviously, this was the right line, unless he expected her to walk to her destination. “I’m sorry?”