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“I don’t know,” Daisy said, following her out the door. “Just to set my mind at ease.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
It was after nine in the evening when Daisy made her way to the grand, gothic palazzo that belonged to Franklin Tate’s third wife, Portia.
Still turning everything she’d learned over in her mind, she climbed the steps to the front door and knocked. The pieces were coming together, but she still had gaps in the puzzle. She was fairly certain Portia had been in Lyon, possibly wearing the red wig as a disguise so no one would recognize her. Tate, knowing his wife Kiki would’ve disapproved, had arranged for the tryst, far from home. But that still didn’t make Portia a killer. After all, everyone aboard the plane had said that the redhead hadn’t accompanied Tate. So she’d have had no opportunity to poison the drink.
A maid answered, escorting her into a hallway with grand Venetian chandeliers, intricate terrazzo floors, and 18th-century frescoes. Daisy felt like she was in a museum as the maid said, “She was not expecting you? She was getting ready for bed, I believe.”
“No, I’m sorry it’s late. But it’s urgent. Please tell her I have news about Franklin Tate.”
The maid’s eyes went wide. She nodded and scurried up a long, curved staircase, adorned with shelves of multicolored Murano glass pieces. In the light of the chandelier, they painted prisms all over the room, mesmerizing Daisy so thoroughly that she didn’t notice the woman who’d crept halfway down the steps until she said, “You have information about Frankie?”
Daisy looked up to see the beautiful young woman. She was wearing a flowing dressing gown that touched her toes, and her hair and make-up was perfect. She didn’t look like someone who was even close to going to bed.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry to inform you that your ex-husband is dead.”
Her breath hitched, and she grabbed for her heart. “How terrible,” she said, as that one movement pointed the way to something Daisy had seen before.
It was a necklace with a tear-shaped black diamond.
As she moved closer, Daisy saw it all with perfect clarity, the diamond necklace, the delicate black earrings.
That confirmed it. Portia had been the red-headed woman, in disguise.
“No one has told you, Ms. . . .?”
She shook her head stiffly. “Tate. I kept the last name. No one bothers to think of the ex-wife, unfortunately. How did it happen? Drugs?”
“So you knew he was into drugs?”
She shrugged. “Frankie was into a lot of things. If it was expensive, he enjoyed it.”
Daisy started, “Yes, well, it was suspected to be a heart attack from a drug overdose, originally. But not anymore.”
The woman’s eyes flashed to Daisy. “No? What do you mean?”
“I mean that they found traces of Batrachotoxin in his morning drink, and in his bloodstream. It’s something that’s only found in South America.”
Portia looked away. “Oh, that’s interesting.” She motioned to the door. “Well, thanks for coming by, but I’m tired, and I really should be—”
“I heard on the grapevine that you used to travel to Brazil?”
She waved her hand. “Of course. I was a flight attendant.”
Daisy froze in the doorway as the woman tried to nudge her out. With that, it all became clear. “Erin. You’re Erin? The other flight attendant.”
Portia’s eyes widened, but just as quickly, narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll please--”
“Of course. He was still in love with you. He arranged the tryst in Lyon. But for a little bit of fun, he made you the flight attendant. What did you do, drug Darla so she didn’t know when you snuck off the plane in Lyon? None of the guys knew who you were. He was only married to you for a month. And you’d made sure he changed the will to you, but you knew he was reckless and hadn’t yet gotten around to changing the will to Kiki. This was your last chance to inherit everything he had.”
“You’re blathering nonsense,” she said, trying to shut the door on Daisy.
Daisy shoved her foot in the space at the last moment, wedging the door open. “It’s true, isn’t it? You had the motive, the opportunity. And you knew that no one would ever know you were on that flight. But you were.”
She turned around. “Marie! Call the police!”
Daisy crossed her arms. “Yes, call them. I’m sure they’ll be interested to know my story.”
