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CHAPTER TWENTY
Daisy gripped the phone tightly as the cab sped off for the airport. “Is this Darla?”
“Yes,” the woman on the other end said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t check my messages until now. I let every number I don’t recognize go to voicemail.”
“No problem, I’m just glad you called me back,” she said hurriedly, eager to get to her questions. “You must’ve gotten a lot of calls from the police in Venice, after what happened, though?”
“Not one. They took my statement, but never called me again. Why are you calling me? I thought it was a heart attack from an overdose?”
Daisy frowned. Maybe if that was still the prevailing theory, the police wouldn’t have reason to call witnesses again. But now that the substance Batrachotoxin was found in his body, didn’t that change things?Werethe police in someone’s back pocket? Or did they simply not care? “It appears he might have been murdered.”
“Murdered? Oh, God. How can that be true?”
“You made him his morning drink, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Of course. His pick-me-up. I made it for him both mornings.”
“Both mornings?”
“Of course. But how do you know . . .” Her voice cracked. “It could’ve been something he drank beforehand. I didn’t serve him anything else.”
“Apparently there was residue of something suspicious on the glass, so . . .”
“Oh. Oh no. I just took the materials from the fridge that he’d packed, threw it in a blender, and served it to him. It was the last thing I gave him.”
“At what time was this?”
“Around four. He was alive and kicking then. Too alive, if you know what I mean. He had grabby hands, always squeezing our butts as we passed by.”
“There were two of you, right?”
“Yes. Erin was the other one. She was newer, but nice, competent. We had our hands full, believe me.”
“I tried to get in touch with Erin, but she hasn’t called me back,” Daisy said. “Do you know where she lives?”
“Some flat, outside of Venice. With some friends. Sorry, I only worked with her that one time. I think she just graduated from college, from what she was telling me.”
“Okay, I’ll keep trying. So could you tell me what happened, who was on board, that last leg?”
“It was just cleaning up after a bunch of drunken men. They all passed out in different areas of the plane. One of them threw up in the conference room. Poor Erin had a bad time, cleaning that up.”
“There was no woman passenger on board? A redhead, maybe?”
A pause. “No. There were no women. Just the men.”
“Are you sure? You saw them all leave, and come aboard, each time, during the trip?”
“Oh, yes. Thank goodness for Erin. It was such a long night, that after we got them off the plane and cleaned up a bit, we took a little nap. I was so tired, I almost didn’t wake up, in Lyon. But Erin woke me and I was able to see them all come in. No women. I’m sure of it. Just a lot of tired, drunken men.”
Daisy sighed. Had he bought this mysterious redhead earrings and left her in Lyon? If she’d never boarded the plane, then she couldn’t have poisoned his drink.
“When was the last time you waited on him? To bring the morning drink?”
“Yep. And I swear, I just took the plastic bag with all the stuff out of the fridge, made it in the blender, and handed it off to him. I didn’t leave it alone. I don’t see how anyone could’ve poisoned it, unless someone got into it when it was in the fridge. I mean, we don’t keep it under lock and key or anything, so that’s possible.”
“Okay, thank you,” she said, ending the call and staring out the window. The airport was coming into view.
Soon she would leave this place. Her stomach twisted. She’d just spent two days traveling to three countries, only to come up with nothing. Maybe she’d answered Goldie’s question as to whether Kiki was responsible, but that was only half the story. She wouldn’t feel right charging Goldie if she didn’t provide the killer. And that meant that her agency, her father’s situation . . . all of it would be just as bleak as before.
