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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?”
“Youdolook 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 theFrati.”
“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 . . .”
