Page 127 of Dead Man's List

“When was your last payment to Munro?” Kit asked.

“My day was the twenty-fifth of the month. Last month I got the twenty-sixth because my day was Christmas.”

“Where did you drop the thirty grand last month?” Connor asked.

“In a locker at the gym.”

Again with the gym locker.Like Kit would even leave her phone in a locker, much less thirty thousand dollars.Rich people, for heaven’s sake.

“Did you ever wait to see who came to pick it up?” she asked.

“No.” The word was snapped and final.

Okay, then.“Was Christopher Drummond being blackmailed, too?”

Again, Daly appeared shocked. “Drummond? He has enough trouble without being blackmailed, too.”

Kit smiled at him. “Not an answer, sir.”

“I don’t know,” Daly said bluntly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. I do know that Munro and Drummond used to be…well, not friends. I don’t think they had any actual friends. ButDrummond canceled his membership from our club quite some time ago. Long before Earl committed suicide and Hugh Smith took it on himself to get revenge against Munro.”

“Did anyone talk about Munro’s Ferrari?” Connor asked. “Like how they might have wanted it or thought that Munro didn’t deserve it?”

“None of us thought he deserved it and none of us wanted it. It was a flashy car and that’s how he intended it.” Daly shrugged carelessly. “He was new money. Liked to flaunt it. In reality, he was a nobody who married way above his station.”

Above his station? How veryDownton Abbey.

“He was a city council member,” Kit offered.

Another careless shrug. “Big fucking deal. Munro thought it was, though. No one I knew liked him. We tolerated him at best. Sometimes he could be useful if we wanted something special for our businesses from the city. But otherwise, we didn’t have anything to do with him. No one invited him to any parties. He was a useful pariah.”

“Did you want to kill him, sir?” Kit asked.

Daly just shook his head and said nothing.

“Were any of these other people on the list in favor of Hugh Smith’s hit man?” Connor asked.

“I don’t know. I only know that I wasn’t.”

“Did anyone speak up?” Connor pressed. “Or did they simply leave like you did?”

“A few people were in favor of a hit man during the first meeting, but that could have been emotion talking. My emotions do not control me, so I didn’t feel the need to say anything.”

Connor slid the list back to Daly. “Can you put a check mark by the names who were favorable?”

While Daly did so, Kit’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from Navarro.

Hugh Smith is dead. Throat cut. Missing a finger. Safe open and empty. He’s been dead at least a day or two.

Kit exhaled. She was not shocked. When she showed her phone to Connor, he didn’t appear shocked, either.

So Hugh Smith was not Neckbeard.Damn.

“How did the man with the neckbeard sound, Mr.Daly?” Kit asked.

“I remember a deep, gravelly voice. He might have had a twang. But I really only remember the beard. It was a medium brown and came down his neck and went down under his collar.”

Kit nodded once. “Thank you, sir. You’re the only one we’ve met who’s survived meeting him. Hugh Smith is dead.”

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