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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 andpaid me the money I was owed.”
Daisy frowned. “Why did you send Cass, then, if you knew she wouldn’t be paid?”
“Wewerepaid. 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.
