He stood up and went closer to the screen. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know who they are.”

  “But I thought you said—"

  “I only know what they are. I don’t pay attention, past that. There are dozens of ladies like them in this city, waiting for rich tourists to descend.” He took in the exasperation in her face, then went to a drawer and pulled out a business card. He grabbed a pen from his chest pocket, writing a few words on the back of the card, which he pushed over to her. “This is the name of a night club that runs a high-class agency with the best girls. You might have some luck asking your questions around there.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the card and reading it. Club Rossignol. She turned it over and saw the scrawled words, Je la connais, laissez-la entrer—Arséne Bérenger. “Am I free to go?”

  He waved her off. Then sat down in the executive leather chair behind the desk.

  She made to leave, but stopped. “If it turns out he was murdered, won’t you want to know if I find out who killed him?”

  He laced his fingers in front of him. “Mademoiselle, if you find that out, I won’t need you to report back. I have ears all over this city. I will know almost the moment you do.”

  He winked in a way that unsettled her, then pressed the button to lower the screen.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Daisy stepped out of the narrow alley, she had two messages on her phone. The first one was from Arlo, asking where the heck she was. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who’d had trouble finding the secret casino she’d told him to meet her at.

  The second was an email from the coroner in Venice.

  Thankfully, he’d taken the time to write it in English. She scanned it, reading several things at once:

  . . . minute traces of poison Batrachotoxin found in patient’s bloodstream . . .

  . . . slight burns on fingertips . . .

  . . . BAC of .20

  . . . further traces of Batrachotoxin residue both inside mouth and on lips/chin . . .

  . . . unexplained laceration on right side of neck . . .

  Following the great Edward Fortune, she’d read many a medical report. This one wasn’t the most thorough, but it did have something that made it stand out:

  Batrachotoxin

  The coroner had called it a poison, but was it one that Franklin Tate had accidentally stumbled across on his own during the night? She’d never seen the word before.

  She did a quick internet search on her phone and scanned the page, getting more information. It was a nasty substance.

  . . . an extremely potent cardio- and neurotoxic steroidal alkaloid . . .

  . . . binds to and irreversibly opens the sodium channels of nerve cells and prevents them from closing, resulting in paralysis and death . . .

  . . . No antidote is known . . .

  Where would Franklin Tate have come across something like that?

  She scanned an article and found the answer.

  Batrachotoxin is found in certain species of frogs, beetles, and birds in Central and South America.

  So . . . basically, nowhere.

  Some person had to have introduced it to him. Apparently, it was a clear to milky white, tasteless substance, so he probably wouldn’t have noticed a thing. That is, until the poison started to take effect, which, according to the article, could happen anywhere from minutes to an hour after the poison was ingested.

  Murder. Now she was sure. Franklin Tate had been murdered.

  That new information lit a fire under her. She grabbed the business card Arséne had given her. Club Rossignol. As she lifted her head to scan the strip, a voice called, “Hey, Daisy.”

  Not expecting to hear her name, it took her a moment to recognize the person striding toward her. It was Arlo. “There you are! I have been up and down this street a thousand times,” he said. “No Casino Le Blanc.”

  Of, course, Arlo. She’d forgotten.

  “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,” she said to him. “I didn’t realize the casino was so hidden. I’m glad you found me.”

  “No problem. Nice night, anyway.” He studied the card in her hand. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  She shook her head. “I have one more stop to make. And then tomorrow, I think we should go on to the next stop, Lyon, if that’s all right?”

  He nodded. “My pleasure.”

  She dug around in her purse and pulled out the black card. It didn’t have her name on it, so she figured anyone could use it. “Here. Get a hotel room for yourself. Just text me where you are and I’ll come by for it when I’m done.”

  Arlo didn’t make a move to take it. “You going to Rossignol?”

  “Well, I have to—”

  “That’s the hottest club on the strip. The boys always went there. Can I come with you?” he asked.

  “I guess. Sure, that would be great,” she said with a shrug. She actually appreciated the company. Arlo, in his baggy jeans and backwards baseball cap didn’t look like he’d fit in at a high-end, exclusive club, either. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Right this way.”

  They walked down the block, Arlo pointing out different sights Franklin Tate and his boys used to talk about. Most of them were casinos or night clubs. About halfway down the block, he stopped at a building that looked as though it was carved from a block of obsidian. There were no windows, just a black, glossy front, and a word written in blue neon: Rossignol.

  There was also a line of people waiting to get in, stretching out of sight, around the block.

  “Popular place, huh?” Daisy said as they walked to the bouncer at the door. This one wasn’t as nicely dressed as the one outside Le Blanc, but his face was a lot meaner. He didn’t look like he was about to take any crap from anyone. “Hi, uh . . . do you speak English?”

  He rolled his eyes at her and pointed to the end of the line.

  She held the business card in front of her and said, “I’m not here to party. I’m a private eye, investigating a murder. I was told that I could come here to ask some questions about one of your patrons—”

  She faltered when she realized he was staring at the card in front of her. He plucked the card from her hand and read the back of it, then pushed aside the velvet rope, waving her through.

  “Thanks,” she said, grinning back at Arlo.

  When Arlo tried to pass through, though, he put a beefy arm up to stop him. “Just her.”

  She gave him an apologetic look. “Just go to the hotel, and text me,” she said in a low voice, and headed into the fray.

  The place was worse than a can of sardines, and some French song was blasting at a volume louder than a jet engine. Once again, the place was filled with rich and celebrity-beautiful people, all looking as though they belonged there. Fighting her initial instinct to turn and rush away, she squared her shoulders and found a path through the crowd, toward the bar.

  When she finally squeezed to the front, she waved her hand until she managed to attract the attention of the bald bartender with tattoo sleeves up his arms. As he leaned in for her order, she said, “Can you point me to the escort service?”

  He gave her a quizzical look, and she showed him the card from Arséne.

  He nodded and pointed down a hall, to the side of the bar.

  “Merci,” she said, fighting her way through the crowd once again, until she came to the narrow, dark hallway. The restrooms were there, so people were popping in and out. Beyond that, a couple was making out, pawing each other as if they weren’t in public. Then she saw a door. A couple of women were standing in front of it, talking.

  One of them had long, raven hair, like the girl in the surveillance video. As Daisy looked closer, she noticed her small, flat, hip purse. She was sure she’d seen the girl in the video wearing that.

  She made her way around various obstacles and approached the woman, who stared her up and down but said nothing.

  Daisy held up the card. “Hi. Are you . . . ?”

  The woman smiled sexily. “Six-hundred an hour,” she said in a heavily accented voice, leaning in. “I am Cass.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not interested in hiring you. I just wanted to ask you some questions.”

  Cass rolled her eyes. “I am not interested in making conversation,” she said, motioning to the door. “I’m working.”

  “I understand. It shouldn’t take long.”

  The door opened, and a scantily-dressed woman walked out. The next woman in line, in front of Cass, walked in. She sighed as the door closed. “I’m not saying anything. You can’t make me talk.”

  “Fine. I’ll be the one talking, and you can tell me if I’m right. You spent time with this man on his private plane three nights ago,” she said, showing his picture.

  Cass looked at it, but didn’t speak. She shrugged.

  “You accompanied him and his friends on the plane, and partied with them.”

  She frowned. “What does this matter? I don’t know why you are so interested. There was nothing different about this outcall than any of the others I’ve been on. I got the notice from Tony that he needed a couple of girls. So—”

  “Who is Tony?”

  She looked at Daisy like she was crazy. “Tony K. He owns this club. I’m waiting for him right now.” She pointed to the door. “This is his office.”

  “Okay, so he tells you where to go?”

  She pressed her lips together. “You need to go.”

  Daisy planted her feet, waiting for an answer.

  She sighed. “Fine. Yes. So Pearl and I went. And we did what we were supposed to do, and we left. Gave the men a good time. That is all.”

  “You left before the plane took off?”

  “That’s right. As I said. Nothing happened.”

  “Have you been with Frankie before?”

  “No. But he came here many times. And I do not think Tony likes him. Which was odd because he pays well.”

  “Did you get paid?”

  “Of course. Tony pays us. What kind of question is that?” she demanded. “Look, we did nothing wrong. I’m not saying more.”

  Daisy shrugged. She was just wondering if he’d stiffed them, the way he’d stiffed Arséne.

  Another thought came to her. If Tony handled the purse strings on these women, maybe he had been stiffed in the past. Maybe he was the killer, and had paid Cass to poison Frankie. “Did you spend your time with Frankie, or one of the other—”

  The door suddenly opened, and the woman came out.

  Cass waved her off. “I don’t know. I’m done answering questions. I don’t know why you’re even asking me this,” she said, stepping through the door and slamming it, hard, in Daisy’s face.

  Daisy stared for a moment, wishing she could be a fly on the wall in that room. What were they talking about? Were they complicit, working together? She started to put her ear against the door when it suddenly swung open, and a slight but attractive looking man with longish, slicked-back dark hair, a moustache, and a shirt, opened past his breastbone, stood there, glaring at her.

  “Do not harass my women,” he snarled at her, wagging a long finger at her. “Or I will have my men escort you out.”

  Her heart threatened to jam itself in her throat, but she swallowed it back. “Oh, I wasn’t. I was just trying to find out what she knew about—”

  “I don’t care what you are trying to do. She is working and you are getting in the way. So get out of my way before I throw you out.”

  She backed away as he guided Cass toward the club’s main area.

  But the more she thought about the theory, the more convinced she became that they had something to do with it. Why else would they be unwilling to talk to her?

  “Wait,” she called, but they didn’t turn around.

  She followed them into the crowd, weaving around bodies, losing them in the throng for a while. When she saw them again, they were standing at the front door, staring at her. The moment she caught sight of them, they disappeared down another hallway.

  Pushing her way through, she picked up the pace and arrived at a short, narrow hall, ending in a door with a glowing red EXIT sign over it. There was nowhere else they could’ve gone. She pushed it open into the cool sea of night, seeing nothing but a brick wall in the darkness. She looked around as the door swung shut behind her, realizing that she was in a narrow back alley.

  At first, all she heard was the sound of dripping water, but then, a voice said, “Don’t move.”

  She turned to find herself looking down the barrel of a gun.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I told you not to follow us.” The voice was heavy, breathy. Dead serious. His two pinpoint-eyes, illuminated by a dim, faraway streetlight, trained on her.

  Daisy instinctively put her hands up as Tony stepped out of the shadows and raised the gun so it was pointing directly at her forehead. He held the gun comfortably in his hand, like a true gangster, as if he’d used one many times before. Her heart hammered in her chest. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Doesn’t matter if you want it. You found it. By sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he said. “Who are you?”

  Daisy looked around for escape. They were alone. Even Cass was gone. The main road had to have been far away, because she couldn’t even hear the sound of the traffic upon it. “I’m . . . Daisy Fortune. I’m investigating the death of Franklin Tate.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You police?”

  She shook her head.

  “Cass said you looked like police. I don’t like police.”

  Daisy said, carefully, “I’m not police. I don’t care about whatever operation you’re running here. I want answers about Franklin Tate.”

  He snorted and, to her relief, put the gun in his waistband. “Why would anyone care about that bastard?”

  “You knew him?”

  He looked up and down the alley. “Yeah, I knew him. He came to my club all the time. I can tell you a lot of people didn’t like him.”

  “You included?”

  He shrugged.

  “I hear he stiffed a lot of people. Did he stiff you?”

  His eyes sparked, telling Daisy she was onto something. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. He was always trying to get something for nothing. Robbing Peter to pay Paul, and shit like that. When you loaned him money, might as well have kissed it goodbye forever.”

  “If you thought that, then why did you let him hire your girls?” Daisy asked, crossing her arms.

  Tony stared. “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t pay for them, right? You knew he wouldn’t. And yet you let Cass go with him. She told me she was there, at his plane, the night he died.”

  He gave her a doubtful look. “So what are you saying? You think Cass killed him?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” she said, her voice louder now, as all the pieces of the puzzle seemed to come together in her head. “I think that you were done with Franklin Tate’s cheating ways. You came after him again and again for the money. And when he didn’t pay, you had Cass kill him.”

  He stared at her for a long moment.

  Then, to her surprise, he burst out laughing. “If I want to collect a debt, I don’t kill the guy. That’s not going to help me get my money back. I have other . . . persuasive techniques,” he said with a sly smile. “The world is better off without Franklin Tate. There’s no doubt about it. But I would’ve been better off if he lived and paid me the money I was owed.”

  Daisy frowned. “Why did you send Cass, then, if you knew she wouldn’t be paid?”

  “We were paid. One of the other men on the trip paid us. I insisted on it in advance, because I knew what he was all about.”

  She stared at him. Though she was standing still, she could feel herself taking a step backwards in the case. “Then why did you run from me?”

  “I told you. Cass thought you were police.”

  She sighed. Then she turned and walked away, toward the alley exit. “Thanks,” she mumbled over her shoulder.

  Another dead end. Though the medical report had made it apparent that Franklin Tate’s death was murder, no clear suspect had come from her day’s investigations. Her only hope was to travel to the next stop, in Lyon, and hope that it provided the answers she was seeking.

  For now, it was time to find the hotel and try to get some sleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When Daisy arrived at the hotel Arlo had texted her he’d selected, it was after one in the morning. She found him, right where he said he would be, at the bar, drinking what looked like a club soda. He passed the black card back to her.

  “Find anything?”

  “Very little,” she said, slumping into the chair across from him. She didn’t tell him of the poison, or the fact that the medical report was all but confirming murder. Her father had always told her to keep her cards close to her chest. And while she might have trusted Arlo to use the black card, she wasn’t sure she could trust him with sensitive information pertaining to the case. “Do you remember any of the prostitutes that were brought on board from this stop? If I showed you a picture of one, would you recognize her?”

  Arlo nodded. “Probably.”

  She showed him one she’d snapped of the girl named Cass as she and Tony were rushing away. “Does she look familiar?”

  He brought it close to his eyeline and tilted his head. “Yep. That’s her. But she was with the other one. The fat guy. Not so much Franklin.”

  “Oh.” She pulled up a picture she’d snapped of Tina. “What about this one?”

  “Yeah. But she left. There was another girl, though. I can’t remember if she was here or in Lyon. But she was with Franklin the most.”

  “A prostitute?”

  “Didn’t look like a prostitute. Looked too wealthy for that. Had red hair, cut short.”

  Daisy made a note of that, and sighed, her eyes crossing as she tried to read her handwriting. “Can you tell me exactly what you remember from their time in Lyon?”

 

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