Claim You, page 7
“I thought you were Mr. Tate’s protégé. In the same business as he is?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“What is that business, exactly? Shrink-wrapping?”
He laughed. “Nah. You don’t get rich in shrink-wrapping. Frankie started there, but his main thing was passive income. Setting up ways to make money while doing as little as possible.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. She’d always been skeptical of people who professed to make loads of money while doing nothing; but clearly, something had worked for Franklin Tate. “What kind of passive income?”
“He’s all over. Multiple industries. Real estate. Crypto. Day trading. And he taught me how to do it, too. So yeah . . . it’s the life. As you can see.”
“You owe a lot to him, huh? How did you meet him?”
“Si. I was homeless as a teen, living on the streets. He came through on a tour with his first wife, and I was panhandling outside a café. He and his wife bought me a meal and we got to talking. He’d just moved to Venice and needed someone to help him learn Italian. So I started off as his tutor, and he put me up here. When he learned the language, he started teaching me his business.”
“So do you stand to inherit his business, now?”
He shook his head. “I have my own business, built on the same model as his. I guess his wife would inherit that, not that she’d know a thing about how to run it. She’s not all there.” He tapped his temple.
“It must’ve been a shock for you to lose him?”
The smirk on his face disappeared. “Yeah. I’m sorry about it. Really sorry. He was not the best of men, but he was good to me.”
She cocked her head. “Oh? Why do you say he wasn’t the best of men?”
“Eh. That was the first lesson he told me. In business, you’re not going to make everyone happy. He sure didn’t. I am sure some people felt cheated by him. But it’s a dog-eat-dog world. You do the best you can for yourself, and if someone doesn’t like it, tough.”
“So he had enemies.”
“I’m sure.”
“Do you know their names?”
Matteo let out a short, honking laugh. “Can’t help you there.”
“What about the people who were on the plane with him that night? Any of them?”
He shook his head. “As far as I know, they were all his good friends.”
“His Frati.”
“Si. That’s right. That’s what he called us. A brotherhood of his favorite people. You know that saying about keeping your enemies closer? It didn’t apply to him. He surrounded himself with people who’d take a bullet for him, and he never talked about any enemies.”
“You’d take a bullet for him?”
He leaned in and removed his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot, but very big dark eyes, giving him a handsome face. Those eyes focused on her with complete clarity. “I feel I owe him that much. I mean, seriously. All the stuff he did for me? And then he takes me on this trip for my birthday? I’m falling short, big-time, in paying him back.”
Either he was a very good actor, or here was someone who really had cared about Franklin Tate. “What did you think when you heard Goldie had hired me?”
He ran a hand through his thick dark curls. “Thought it was probably a good thing. I liked Goldie. She was the one who first offered me that meal, fifteen years ago. She’s a real sweetheart. They didn’t get along as husband and wife, but she cares about him. And there was something odd about the way he went. So it makes sense.”
“What was odd?” she asked, so intensely curious that she didn’t even realize she’d sat at the edge of his lounge chair until he wiggled his toes near her.
“Well, he was healthy. One minute, he’s making all these plans for the future, and the next minute, he’s dead. It didn’t make sense.”
She pulled her notepad from her bag. “Do you mind giving me an account of everything that happened on the trip?”
He stretched his hands over his head and yawned. “I’ll do the best I can. Strap in.”
She held her pen to the paper. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, well . . . it was my birthday, my last year of my twenties, so Frankie came down and told me we should have a big blow-out party. He’d pay for all of it. So how could I resist? He brought along a couple of his friends. They’re part of our Frati. I don’t know them as well as he does, but I figure he’s the one paying, so he can make the guest list. I got there early in the morning and got on board. We took off, and landed an hour later in Monaco. It was great. I mean, I was high from almost the second I got on board.”
“So you were doing drugs?”
“Yep. And drinking and smoking cigars. All of it. The rest, when I think about it, came in flashes. The casinos. The girls. I met a blonde in Monte Carlo and I remember going with her into the restroom, and—” He gave her a suggestive glance. “You know.”
“Okay,” Daisy said. “That was in Monte Carlo. What about when you went to Lyon. Was there anyone else on the plane with you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking. “I think there were a few prostitutes. I remember doing lines with one of them on the conference table.” He raised a finger. “Then I remember Dirk—that fat American guy who handled Frankie’s investments—trying his luck with one of the flight attendants. When she didn’t bite, I saw him getting with a prostitute in the restroom.”
“This was before you landed in Lyon?”
He shrugged. “Might have been after. Lyon is just a big blur. I don’t remember any of it. I might not have even gotten off the plane in Lyon, come to think of it. I was that wasted.”
“Do you remember anything else from the trip?”
He shook his 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 let out a long breath. “Wild, wild night. By then, the police were running around, and when I got up, I learned that Frankie was dead.”
“So the last time you saw him was . . .”
“Earlier in the evening. He was with a girl he’d met in Monaco. At the baccarat table at the Blue Coast Casino. He took her aboard, and they went into the bedroom. I don’t think she was a prostitute. She was blonde, big boobs. Everything he likes. He was all over her, from what I remember.” He massaged his temple. “Yeah, that was the last time I saw him. He gave me a look and told me to be good, closed the door, and that was it.”
“So you don’t remember if he got out in Lyon?”
He shrugged. “No. I assume he did. When I woke up that morning, the blonde was gone and he was sitting, dead, in his regular captain’s chair.”
“So you never saw the blonde leave.”
“No. And I didn’t even get a good look at her. All I saw was blonde hair and big boobs.”
“Did you see him drinking his morning pick-me-up?”
Matteo frowned. “No . . . uh, I know about it. He swears by it. But I guess I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“So you never saw anyone making him a drink, at all, while you were on there?”
He smirked. “I don’t make drinks. That’s what the stewardesses are for. I wouldn’t even know where they keep the bottle opener on that plane.”
“What about the other people who were on board? Did you see any of them when you woke up?”
“The two stewardesses were there. The older lady and the hot one. The other guys had already left.”
Daisy scanned the page of notes. Though she’d been meticulous, as she read it over, she realized she didn’t have very much to go on. The blonde he’d been with, who he’d met in Monaco? Without more information, she’d be all but impossible to find.
“Do you know Dorrance Calloway?” she asked, since he was next on her list of suspects to interview.
“Dorry?” He shrugged. “Only knew him from the group we were in. He seemed okay. A little bit of a snob. He and Frankie went way back. College, I think? From what I hear, Dorry lent Frankie the capital to start his first venture in shrink-wrapping.”
“He lives in downtown Venice. I was thinking of tracking him down, next.”
He shook his head. “Eh. Wouldn’t bother with that. The only one more blitzed out of his mind was Dorry. He was smashed from beginning to end.”
“And yet you said he was gone when you woke up?”
His brow lifted. “Yeah. That’s right. I guess I missed out on a lot.” His lips twisted. “But I can’t see it being Dorry. The two of them were even closer than we were. They had a long history.”
She sighed as she looked over her notes. “So you don’t have any idea who you think it could have been?”
A cloud had slipped its way over the sun. Matteo pulled off his glasses and stared out at the harbor. “I don’t have a clue. But I’ll tell you this. I had a feeling from the moment I stepped on the plane. I’ve gone on trips with Frankie before, but I can’t explain it. I felt like something bad was going to happen. And I think he knew it, too.”
“What makes you say that?”
He pressed his lips together. “Nothing I can put my finger on. He was always Mr. Happy Go Lucky, in it to have fun. And he was. He was having a good time. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that under that regular façade, he was worried about something.”
Daisy blinked. This was news to her. “What do you think it was? If you had to guess?”
“Again, no clue. And I can’t say what it was, maybe just intuition. But there was something off about him.”
“Did he mention anything about Kiki? Apparently he’d had a fight with her. Maybe that was what you sensed?”
“I don’t think so. He’d been fighting with Kiki for the past week. About what, I don’t know. He was never one to let his wife get in the way of his having a good time. So I don’t think it was that.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
He may have been, but it was still something worth thinking about. Franklin Tate had taken his friends on a party trip, and yet, he’d been worried about something. Was he worried for his life? Did he know someone was out to get him?
“I’ll look into it,” she said, standing and scanning the harbor. There were no boats near, at all. “Do you happen to know when the next ferry will get here?”
He grinned. “Tomorrow morning.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Ferries only stop here once a day. In the morning.”
“Oh. Are there any hotels on the island?”
He laughed. “This isn’t exactly on the beaten path as far as tourist destinations go.”
She looked around, helpless. What good was having a black card if there was no way to use it?
“If I were you,” he said as she wondered exactly what she was going to do next. “I’d track down that woman Tate met at the baccarat table in Monaco. I think she might be the key to everything.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
About two hours later, Daisy found herself in Little Blue, soaring high over the Ligurian Sea.
She had her hands locked together in her lap, a pair of headphones clamped tight over her ears, giving her a headache. They did nothing to drown out the whirring of the propellers, which sounded like a sputtering lawn mower, a second before it gave out.
Making things worse was the dizzying spectacle below. Flying in a commercial jet was one thing, but this contraption felt a little like a tin can with wings. Despite Arlo’s assurance that it was safe, she still wasn’t sure it was a good idea to have it be the only thing standing between her and certain death.
As they flew, Arlo, sitting relaxed and now—hopefully—sober in the pilot’s chair next to her, pointed out things. His voice, piped through her earphones, was clear, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond.
She was too busy gnawing the inside of her cheek to shreds.
She wondered for the hundredth time in a row if it had been a good idea to use her black card to rent the plane. She’d wanted to rent the private jet. After all, if she was hoping to retrace the steps of that night, it would have given her the full experience. The expense was mind-boggling, but she’d convinced herself Goldie would be fine with it.
But then Arlo had told her that he needed a co-pilot for the big jet—those were the rules—and so she’d had to settle for Little Blue.
She’d settled, which meant her stomach would be unsettled, until the trip was over. Thank goodness the flight was only ninety minutes. She didn’t think she could take much more.
The wings bounced on turbulence a little more, as he dipped the plane to descend. For a moment, she thought they were in freefall, so she reached out for something—anything—to grab onto.
“Easy does it,” he said to her with a grin.
“Are we almost there?”
“Si. Coming in for a landing right now.”
She exhaled with relief as they passed through the clouds and she beheld the coast of France.
“Next stop, Nice,” he called to her.
“I thought we were going to Monaco?” she asked, alarmed. Maybe he was still high.
“No airport in Monaco. Nearest one is in Nice, Cote d’ Azur,” he said to her as the plane dipped into what felt like a nosedive, coming in hot.
She closed her eyes and gripped the edge of her seat for dear life. “Okay.”
But a moment later, the plane bumped gently onto the runway, and she let out the breath she’d been holding as she tore open her eyes. They’d landed.
He pulled off his headphones and grinned. “See? Told you there was nothing to it. I’ve made that flight a thousand times.”
The plane coasted to a stop, and he helped her step out onto the tarmac and pointed her in the direction of the front of the airport. “You can leave your luggage here. You’ll just need to take a bus or taxi to Monte Carlo. Right that way. I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”
“Thanks,” she said. She expected he would be there. She’d paid him an arm and a leg with the express hope that he’d help her retrace the route, and she still needed to go to Lyon, after this.
“Good luck!” he called after her.
She made her way to the taxi line. When she hailed a taxi, she settled into the seat, watching the sights of the seaside towns. “I’d like to go to the Blue Coast Casino in Monte Carlo, please,” she told the driver, reciting the name Matteo had given her.
The driver took off with a nod. Everything was bright white in the sun, and a cool breeze wafted off of the Mediterranean, making it the ideal temperature for sightseeing. But it wasn’t hard to be reminded that she wasn’t here for sightseeing. Even her driver seemed sophisticated. He was dressed casually in khakis and a button-down linen shirt, with floppy dark hair and stubble, making him look far too attractive to be a simple cab driver.
He was not the only thing on the coast that made her feel like she’d wandered onto a movie set. Everything about this was out of her comfort zone. The homes were so opulent, and every person looked as if they’d just finished getting made up for their close-up. They were all chic, attractive, and confident.
As beautiful as it was, it made her shift uncomfortably. When they crossed the border into Monaco, it only seemed to get wealthier and more fantastic. Did normal people even live here, or were only fabulous people allowed?
If so, they’ll probably run me out of town, she thought as the cab pulled up in front of one of the casinos. Far from the gaudy glitz of Vegas, this place was more sedate, relying on old-world glamour and sophistication.
The valet who opened the door for her tipped his hat and said, “Bienvenue au casino de la côte bleue.”
“Merci,” she said, one of the few French phrases she was comfortable with. “Do you speak English?”
“Of course.”
“Great,” she fought the blush climbing over her cheeks. Even the young valet was model-gorgeous, with dark eyes that seemed to penetrate right through to her core. “I’m a private investigator looking into the suspicious death of one of the casino’s patrons, and I’m seeking out a woman who he was last seen with. They had gambled together at this casino.”
“That’s a shame. Which client are you referring to?”
“His name is Franklin Tate.”
Recognition sparked at once. “Frankie? Frankie’s dead? Oh, no,” he said, his face crumpling. His composed façade fell away as he jogged over to the two other men in red jackets at the valet stand. “Boys, I just heard some terrible news. Frankie Tate is dead. This lady here is investigating his death.”
The men all reacted in the same way, with shock and horror. “No, no, that can’t be true. He was just here,” one of them said. “Tipped me good, too.”
“Why are you investigating?” the first, younger valet said. “You said his death was suspicious?”
“He was found dead on the plane, when it returned to Venice. The official cause of death was listed as a heart attack, but his ex-wife wanted me to confirm there was nothing suspicious about it.”
The men hung their heads in respect for the dead man. The larger man said, “He was feeling no pain when I saw him. He went into the bar with a couple of guys and I saw them through the window, doing shots with the men he came with.” He elbowed the other valet. “You saw him, right?”
“Indeed, I did,” the older man with a head of thick white hair said. “He was quite inebriated, as were his friends.”
“Did you seem him gambling? I’m specifically looking for a woman he might have been with. She was blonde and attractive. I believe they met at the baccarat table.”
“Oh, that’s Tina,” the young model-guy said with a grin.
The other men nodded.
“Tina’s always here,” the white-haired man said. “At the baccarat table. Now that you say that, I do recall them all piling into a limo, late in the afternoon. But Tina’s a sweetheart. You can’t mean that she had anything to do with it?”
Daisy shrugged. “I don’t know enough yet, but I would like to ask her some questions. Do you know where I can find her?”
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