Daisy thought of the pain in Arianna’s eyes when she’d spoken about her brother’s death. She couldn’t blame her for wanting answers—it must’ve been so hard to acknowledge the truth regarding someone she loved so much. “That’s a shame.”

  “It is,” she said with a smile. “But I have to say, the Mastersons make this job interesting. Otherwise, it would probably be nothing but private beach trespassers and rowdy college kids fighting at the local bars.”

  “What made you come all the way out here from New York City?” Daisy said, licking some crabmeat from her fingers.

  “I thought it would be a nice change of pace. Easier,” Parsons said with a shrug. “But in a lot of ways, it’s harder. Criminals don’t hide it as well in the city. People like the Mastersons are just as bad—but they keep it under layers of secrets. It’s harder to peel back.”

  “You think Davis Masterson had a secret?” Daisy asked.

  “I know she did. More than one,” the detective said with a smile. “But whether it had anything to do with her murder, I’m still not convinced. Personally, I think she was playing with fire. She met the wrong person out there, a man who wanted her jewels, and she got burned. It’s as simple as that.”

  “So you still think it’s a stranger she met at the club?”

  She nodded and wiped at her mouth. “It has to be. I'm willing to bet my life on it. Someone had to have seen something, and we just need to keep digging until we find that person. We're giving the security footage another good combing as we speak. The answers are there."

  Daisy wasn't sure about that. The answers didn't seem to be anywhere right now. And she knew what it was like to attract drama. She felt like she was drawing her own in . . . and yet she was miles away from it.

  Glancing at her phone, she thought of her father and Zachary and hoped they'd be okay.

  One more day, she told herself. Maybe the answers will come tomorrow.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Zachary Hardy looked down at the message from Daisy: My father is staying at my place tonight. I know the nurse should be checking in on him, but would you mind doing so, also?

  Then he looked across the street. From his place, parked along the curb of the quiet East Plainfield street, nothing looked amiss.

  The apartment complex was old but well taken care of, a brick building with four flats, two on each floor. Daisy’s occupied the lower right one. From the one bay window in the front, Zachary could see a faint blue glow. Her father was likely watching television.

  He looked down at the message. Daisy had only mentioned her father a few times but hadn't said much about him; other than that, she was always having to visit him in the nursing home. She'd mentioned he'd once run the detective agency and that he'd been suffering a mysterious disease, possibly due to the strain of losing his son . . . but that was all.

  So that she’d asked him to check on the old man without a proper introduction was surprising, to say the least. He didn’t want to be just a stranger, showing up at Mr. Fortune’s door in the dead of night. That would probably alarm him more than anything.

  Still, he understood. Daisy was worried. Her father had been on the brink of death just months before, requiring a full team of medical professionals to keep him afloat. And now, he was alone.

  And Daisy was the one bright spot in his life since he’d moved temporarily across the pond. It was a lonely life, being here, trying to get the Philadelphia office of Hardy & Hardy on solid footing. Every time he thought of Daisy, it brought a smile to his lips. Most days, he couldn’t wait to get through the day so he could see her.

  Things were progressing nicely, too, for their relationship. He could almost see it becoming more permanent—that is if she agreed. She was a busy woman, though. But that was what made her so interesting.

  So it hadn’t mattered what type of favor she was asking. She could’ve asked him to swim back to London or to climb the tallest peak. He would do his best to carry it out to her satisfaction.

  This, in comparison—driving two hours and back from Philly to do a well-check— would be easy.

  But he didn’t want to frighten the man. Especially if Daisy hadn’t told her father that he’d be stopping in. He’d had a mountain of work to do, so he hadn’t been able to leave the city until after eight. Now, it was getting later into the evening, at the time most elderly people turned in, and Zachary could just imagine the guy nodding off in front of the television, in that big comfortable velveteen couch they'd sat down to watch monster movies on only days ago.

  And a part of him wondered if there was something more behind her request. She'd promised him she wasn't looking into Charlie anymore because the Mackeys were a frightening bunch, and more harm than good could come of it.

  But he didn’t know if that was quite true.

  As Zachary opened the car door, he made the decision. He’d simply peer in the window, make sure everything was all right, and then go on his merry way.

  Stepping out of his car, he was just about to slam the door when he noticed something in the bushes outside that window.

  At first, he thought it was a large animal, maybe a raccoon, scavenging among the garbage cans near the sidewalk.

  But then he saw the hint of a pale face and realized it was a person.

  Crouching low, clearly up to no good, the person edged his way into the bushes beneath Daisy’s window. Zachary saw two hands on the white window frame, a head lifting up ever-so-slightly.

  It turned out someone else had had the same idea he'd had.

  Someone else was peering in Daisy’s window.

  A shiver went down his spine. Surely that wasn’t what Daisy had been concerned about . . . was it?

  Breaking into a jog, thoughts swarmed his mind. Daisy had said she was done looking into the mystery of Charlie, which had been a big relief for him. The Mackeys were too big, too powerful. She didn’t want to be tangled with them. He thought he’d made that clear.

  But Daisy was nothing if not headstrong. And she’d explained to him how Charlie’s disappearance had effectively ruined her life and the life of her father. She’d told him, time and time again, that Charlie’s disappearance was the one mystery that she’d have given anything to solve.

  Maybe his warnings had fallen on deaf ears.

  He reached the curb just as the man turned around. Zachary noticed something in his hand—a weapon.—and stopped short. “You there! What's all this?" he huffed out, clutching his side since it had been a long time since he'd exerted himself even the slightest bit.

  The man barely glanced at Zachary before taking off, racing around the house.

  Still nursing the stitch in his side, Zachary let out a curse and begrudgingly took off after him, down the narrow alley between the apartment building at the house.

  Thankfully, he didn't have to go far. He found the man attempting to scale a high fence in the back of the property. Reaching it, he grabbed a handful of the spy's jacket between the shoulder blades and yanked hard.

  The spy tumbled to the ground, sprawling out on his back, as his weapon slipped from his grip and clattered against the pavement, splintering into pieces that scattered in all directions. As he scrambled to get up, Zachary straddled him and shoved him down. “Who are you?” he said, reaching for the man’s wrists to hold him immobile.

  “Let me go!” the man whined.

  It was dark, a small shaft of moonlight filtering down from the trees, the only source of light. It was enough to illuminate the fear in the man's face. As soon as Zachary had subdued the man, he scanned the area for the broken weapon. Instead, he found a lens, broken black plastic—all the parts of a puzzle that, once put together, would equal a camera.

  Not a weapon.

  “Not until you answer my question. Who are you?” he repeated. “What are you doing, taking pictures inside that apartment?”

  “Nothing! Nothing! I was just . . . I don’t know. I was lost!” he blubbered, revealing his youth.

  Zachary scoffed and gripped his wrists harder. “Lost. Right!”

  “I swear!” Tears gathered in his eyes, and he started to sob.

  As Zachary looked closer at him, he almost started to feel bad for the kid. He was probably barely out of high school. He loosened his hold on him only slightly. "Level with me, boy. What are you out here for? Who sent you?"

  He sniffled. “No one.”

  “The Mackeys?” he suggested, but even as the name left his mouth, he knew it was wrong. The Mackeys’ weapon of choice wouldn’t be a camera. It would be something far fiercer, far more dangerous.

  “Who?”

  “Then who? You tell me.” He shifted back, still using his weight to stop the kid from getting up, and pulled out his phone. “I guess I’ll have to get the police involved.”

  “No, please!” he begged, his eyes wild with concern. “Fine. I’ll tell you. I was hired. By The Port Daily.”

  Zachary frowned, playing over the name in his head. It didn’t strike a bell. “What is that?”

  "Let me up, and I'll show you."

  Cautiously, Zachary released one of the boy's hands and sat back, letting him slide to sitting. He reached into his windbreaker and pulled out a rolled-up document that looked like one of those free papers nobody ever read. He unfolded it so that Zachary could read the masthead.

  The Port Daily, from Newport, Rhode Island.

  The headline beneath it read, Jewelfiend’s Kinky Sex Life Exposed!

  A tabloid newspaper? He hadn’t seen this particular one, but the racks in the UK were full of them. Zachary rolled his eyes; he never knew why anyone would be interested in those rags. Now it was making sense. He pulled off the kid and stood up. “You work for these people?”

  He nodded. “Well, no, not exactly. I freelance. And they said they’d pay five-hundred bucks for a photo related to the case. I heard this chick was a detective and investigating it. And I live around here, so I thought, why not?”

  “I’ll give you a reason why not,” he muttered, giving him a hand to help him up. “You almost wound up in the pen. Be careful next time, okay? Get out of here.”

  The boy collected his pieces of camera and raced off.

  The excitement over, Zachary took a step toward the front of the building, noting a slight pain in the tendons of his leg. He was going to feel that tomorrow. I really need to get back into the gym, he thought as he rounded the house.

  Then he stood on his toes and looked in.

  Sure enough, an older man, who he assumed was Edward Fortune, was lying on his side on the couch, facing the television, sound asleep as the light and dark images danced across his face.

  Yes, he’d made the right move. It was good not to wake him.

  Grabbing his phone, he sent a quick text to Daisy: All is good. I hope you are doing well. Talk tomorrow?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daisy woke the next morning and stretched out in bed, looking through the half-closed blinds as the sun painted its first warm orange rays across the room.

  The room was definitely spartan, but she didn’t mind that. After all, she’d never planned to be in it very long. Even now, she hoped she wouldn’t have to spend another night here.

  She grabbed her phone and saw the message from Zachary: All is good. I hope you are doing well. Talk tomorrow?

  It had been sent at a little after eleven. She smiled, happy to have him, and looked at the time. Just after six.

  Knowing he’d be getting up to head to work, she pressed in a call to him. He answered immediately. “Hello, Love. You have no worries. Your father seemed fine.”

  “You spoke to him? Did he say he’d had any problems?”

  “No . . . I got there late and didn’t want to bother him. I wasn’t sure you’d told him I was coming. So I just peeked in the window and made sure he was all right. He was asleep in front of the television.”

  She laughed, relieved. She could just imagine her father asleep on her sofa—he used to do that all the time when she was younger, passing out in front of some silly sitcom after a long shift at work. "Of course, I told him you'd be stopping by."

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “Well, I appreciate you going all that way to look in. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “Not at all. It’s just . . .”

  He hesitated, and she could tell there was something on his mind. “Was something wrong?”

  “No, no. It was nothing,” he said, and she wished at that moment she could’ve pried it out of his head. Was there something he’d seen, however small, that was off? A small indication that the Mackeys were after her, watching?

  “All right . . .” she said slowly, giving him time to confess his concerns. But he didn’t. Whatever it was, she had the feeling it was really not good. “Are you sure everything was all right?”

  "Well, I didn't want to admit it. But there was someone lurking outside the house when I arrived, peeking in the windows. I hope that case of yours gets solved soon."

  Her heart jumped into her throat. “What?” Every nerve in her body stood on end. “Did they leave another message?”

  “Another message?”

  She bit her tongue. “No, I meant—”

  “Daisy,” he said, his voice stern. “You’re not getting threatening messages, are you?”

  “No . . .” she lied.

  “Good. Because if you are still messing with that family, then you should be worried.”

  Her gut sank. He was right. At that moment, she felt awful. Staying in the past, running in circles, putting everyone in danger, while she had an amazing man who could be her future? What was she doing?

  He went on. “I just miss you. And I’m sure he’d like you to be home with him,” he said, his voice softer now. “I would like you home, too. How is the case going?”

  “Oh, you know. I must be overtired. I wish I had better news. Unfortunately, I haven’t come up with any good solutions quite yet.”

  “Well, it’s only been a day. You’ll come up with something.”

  She loved that he had so much faith in her, even when she had none in herself. It sent a dagger to her heart, though, to think she’d put him in danger last night. Thankfully, it had all worked out. But for how long would her luck hold out?

  "Do you want me to check on him again tonight, Dear?" he asked as her mind was flooded with possible dangerous scenarios involving her father alone in her apartment.

  “No, I couldn’t ask that again.”

  “Nonsense. I’m happy too,” he offered, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe this time I might even introduce myself?”

  She laughed. "Well, can I let you know? Who knows? I might miraculously solve the case this morning, and I'll be back home by nightfall?"

  “I know you’re joking, but I have no doubt you could,” he said, entirely serious.

  "Goodbye," she said with a smile, ending the call and staring at the ugly wallpaper. He might have had faith in her, but right now, she had no faith in an outcome that would put her on a flight back to Newark tonight. It was going to take some hard work, especially since, at that moment, she had no new leads whatsoever.

  She went to the attached bathroom to take a shower, all the while going over possible tacks. Maybe she should poke around the Sea Spray and Beachcomber Club, too. But what would that do? Emily Parsons already had her team working on that front. It was likely the police force knew all the regulars, so they were ahead of her in that regard.

  No, it made sense to stick close to home. And that meant talking with the few members of staff she hadn’t yet had a chance to speak with.

  She finished getting dressed and headed out to the main area, noting that the main part of the carriage house was empty once again. Once again, the Mastersons had put their staff to work, even at that early hour.

  Indeed, when she arrived at the front of the house, she saw Kevin and the other gardener, an older, scruffy man in a backward ballcap, watering the landscaping at the side of the main house. Kevin grinned at her as she approached, tipping an imaginary cap to her. "Nice day, huh?"

  It was a nice day, and that wasn’t the smarmy, overly flirtatious greeting she’d expected from him, so she relaxed. “Sure is. Good day to be working outside.”

  “Maybe. But I prefer the kind of work that goes on indoors, behind closed doors.” He winked.

  She rolled her eyes, wondering why she’d even bothered. Picking up the pace, she saw Van Blair arriving in the Masterson car. Arianna was just stepping out when she climbed the steps. “Oh,” she said, a little annoyance in her tone, which made Daisy wonder if she should have used the servants’ entrance.

  “Good morning,” Daisy said brightly.

  “Morning. I’m sorry I can’t stay. I have to be at an appointment in Providence," she said, throwing those dark sunglasses on. "I'll be back this afternoon, and you can fill me in."

  Daisy nodded, hoping she’d have something to report by then.

  “Cook is making breakfast. Her Belgian waffles are divine,” Arianna said, ducking her head and sweeping into the car door Van Blair was holding open for her.

  Daisy hadn’t been planning on Belgian waffles, but she had been planning on making a stop at the kitchen. So she headed that way in time to see Rosemarie and Cash heading out. Cash was in the lead, zooming past her like a rocket, his mouth dirty with syrup.

  “Good morning,” she said as she passed them. Rosemarie responded with a hurried “Hello,” before shouting after Cash to be careful.

  In the vast white kitchen, Daisy found a slim woman in an apron with a severe, dark pixie cut working in front of the stove. She didn't look over her shoulder but must've sensed Daisy's presence because she said, "Just sit down. Fresh batch on its way in a minute."

  Daisy took one of five stools at the high counter, which was full of jars of cream, strawberries, chocolate sauce, even sprinkles—everything a good Belgian waffle-making bar should have. A moment later, the woman turned around and spied her.

 

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