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She envisioned a door opening, and being unceremoniously dumped onto the cold, pristine cobblestones of the courtyard out front.
“Wait,” she started to say. “I belong here. I was that guy’s date. And I just came back because I wanted to see if this man had left his—”
“Quiet,” one of the men barked, moving slightly so she could see where they were leading her. She wasn’t in the casino anymore. In fact, she’d never been here before. She was in a long, flower-wallpapered corridor. Was this some elegant back room in a secret casino? Was she going to meet some burly pit boss who’d scare her death before having her executed? Did those things happen in France?
She didn’t know, but every hair she had stood on end. Suddenly, shewishedthey’d throw her out onto the courtyard.
Someone shouted something in French, and she heard a door open.
She’d just begun to fidget nervously from one foot to the next when one of the men grabbed her and shoved her inside, knocking her completely off balance. All the air whooshed out of her lungs as she took two running steps, nearly careening head-first into another solid wall of a man. She caught herself by grabbing hold of his lapels.
Then she looked up, into his cold, assessing eyes. “Hello. Uh . . .Bonjour?”
“Bonsoir,” he corrected, his eyes on her hands, which were sweating all over his lapels.
She yanked them off and did her best to smooth them out, then stepped back, her face heating. As she looked at him, she got even hotter when she realized how attractive he was. Mid-thirties, debonair, in a custom tux, with a head of thick, carelessly swept dark hair and hooded eyes. “Oh, right.”
He raised a sharp eyebrow as her eyes volleyed around the room. “American?”
She nodded, and then said, hoping to lighten the mood, “Yes . . . is this where you bring all your guests?”
His face registered no emotion. “Only the most interesting ones.”
That stare. She felt like he could see to the back zipper of her blouse. “Uh . . . Why am I here?”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. “I was hoping you could tell us that, mademoiselle . . .?”
“Fortune,” she finished. “I was just trying to explain. I’m an investigator. But I’m not affiliated with the police, if you’re worried about that. I was hired by Mr. Tate’s family to look into the suspicious circumstances surrounding his last visit here. That’s all.”
He looked back at the long, sleek black desk behind him, where there was nothing except an ashtray, with a smoldering cigarette. He lifted the cigarette, took an effortless puff, still considering her response, and narrowed his eyes. “Investigator? You don’t look much like an investigator, Fortune.”
Her first instinct was to say,Well, you don’t look much like a pit boss,but she wasn’t sure that was what he was. He looked more devilish than mean. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
He stroked his chin and shrugged. “My name is Arséne Bérenger,” he said, extending a hand to her. “This is my casino.”
She shook it, a little taken aback. He was so young, probably her age. He owned this whole casino? “Oh. I’m sorry. Did I need permission to go around asking questions?”
He reached over and plucked the picture from her hand. “Not ordinarily, but when someone comes in who knows Franklin Tate, obviously, we’re interested.”
Daisy blinked. “And why’s that?”
“Because the last time he was here, he passed us a check for over two-hundred thousand dollars. And it bounced.” He took another drag of his cigarette and let it out. “Not to mention that he lost all the money we’d fronted him.”
Daisy stared, aghast. So he wasn’t just in financial trouble. He was inreally deep.
“So, tell us . . .” Arséne leaned forward, eyes glimmering. “Where the hell is he?”
“Well he’s . . .”
She paused, something hitting her. They didn’t know he was dead. Of course they didn’t. And they couldn’t have anything to do with it. Because with him dead, they’d never get their money back. They needed him alive to recoup their losses.
“Oui?” the casino owner demanded, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“He’s dead,” she explained.
He stared at her for a moment, then straightened, stubbed his cigarette out, and dragged his hands down his face. “You’re serious?”
She nodded. “I’m still waiting on the coroner’s report. It might be accidental, but there’s a chance it was suspicious.”
