by JL Simpson
“Do you know anything about Elliott’s mother?”
“No. I do know Tobias and Elliott didn’t get along, but then, what siblings do? My sister is positively beastly to me.”
“You know the duke’s estate is looking for Toby, don’t you?”
“Yes. I saw it in the paper.”
Daisy sipped her now-cool coffee. At last she had something to work with.
“Now your turn.”
Daisy glanced at Belinda. “What?”
“Tell me all you know about Solomon. I can hardly work out how to win his affection if I know nothing about him.”
“His affection. Is that what you’re calling it?”
Belinda’s face turned pink and she laughed. “You are awful, Daisy. Okay, maybe his affection isn’t what I mean.”
Daisy sighed. “His affection isn’t what you’re going to get either.”
She had no clue what to tell Belinda. How did you politely tell someone the lust of their life wasn’t interested? He could have been lying to dissuade Daisy from playing matchmaker, but it seemed cruel to have the poor girl dreaming about something he claimed she could never have.
The sound of the front door crashing open was a godsend. Daisy spun her chair around, but the person stomping into the office wasn’t Solomon. The scowl on the dark-haired woman’s face distorted her features. She looked as mad as hell.
“Where’s Ronan?”
Daisy frowned. “Who?”
“Solomon. Fucking Solomon. Where is he?”
The woman stomped through the office and down the corridor. Daisy took after her. “You can’t go down there. He’s out.”
The front door slammed shut, and Daisy turned her head, hoping to see Solomon arriving in time to save the day, but it seemed Belinda had bailed on her. Coward. With two of them they might have been able to throw the crazy woman out. She was skinny and tottering along in six-inch platform heels. Daisy could take her on alone, but everyone knew mental people had superhuman powers.
The woman grabbed the door handle to the locked room.
“You can’t go in there. It’s locked.”
“Not for fucking long it’s not. I know you’re in there, Ronan. Get out here and be a man.”
She stepped back and ran shoulder first into the door. It didn’t budge.
“Stop it or I’m going to call the cops.”
The woman’s laughter was maniacal. “Call them. I’m sure Ronan would love them to see what he keeps hidden in here. Has he told you about his freaky obsession with another man? I bet he stalks the guy.”
She backed up and kicked the door with her huge platform heels. The sound of splintering wood sent her into a frenzy, and two kicks later the door flew open. Panting, the woman stepped inside. “He’s not here?”
“I told you he wasn’t.”
“Fuck.” The woman stomped back down the corridor toward the office.
“Where are you going?”
“To find the cheap bastard.”
“What am I supposed to tell him when he comes back and finds the door kicked in?”
She shrugged. “Tell him Lisa called, and it’s his turn to have Molly for the weekend. Oh, and I want this week’s money, or I’ll be putting his nuts in a vise.”
“Money? Molly?”
The woman disappeared out the front door, slamming it behind her. Who was she, and why did Solomon owe her money? Christ, the baby seat wasn’t for show. Molly must be his kid. No wonder Lisa was pissed off. She probably had plans for a happy family, and Solomon was apparently off women.
Daisy stared through the now-open doorway. The room had a single bed shoved against one wall, and a bank of wardrobes and cupboards along the other. Did Solomon live at the office? Either way he certainly appeared to be a neat freak. You could bounce a coin off the bed, and were those hospital corners? She stepped inside and chewed her bottom lip. Now the door was open she could take a little look around. What harm could there be in knowing more about Solomon—or Ronan, as Lisa called him?
Chapter Nine
Solomon sipped his soft drink and waited for his lunch companion. The café door swung open, and the man of the hour stepped inside. Apparently in no hurry, Detective Dan Maloney stopped to chat to the waitress. The girl giggled and blushed. Dan winked at her and then made his way across the room.
Solomon sighed. “I see you’ve lost none of your charm with the ladies.”
Dan held out a hand and Solomon took it, giving a firm shake before letting go. The detective sat in the empty chair across the table and raised an eyebrow. “What can I say? The women love me.”
The waitress arrived, blushing all over again when the detective turned on the charm. Solomon ground his teeth. Nothing pissed him off quicker than a philandering husband…or wife. Once the waitress had taken their orders and they were alone, Solomon rested his elbows on the table. “I wanted to call in the favor you owe me.”
“I suspected as much. So what is it?”
“What do the police know about the suspicious death of Stuart Bligh?”
“Stuart Bligh?”
“When his body was discovered in his burnt-out weekender in the New Forest there was only one leg left.”
“I heard about that, but it’s not my case.”
Solomon leaned closer. “I’m sure you can put that charm to good use and find out a few things.”
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“How the fire started and, if the police suspect foul play, who they have in the frame for it?”
“Not much, then.”
“Have you not heard any murmurings in the office over your morning doughnuts and coffee?”
“Very funny. Kerry has the case, and he likes to keep things close to his chest. Besides, I’ve been busy.”
The waitress arrived with a Caesar salad for Solomon and a large bowl of steaming pasta and sauce for the detective. Maloney was whippet thin. Either he worked out a lot or he had a great metabolism. Solomon ran for miles, but there was no way he would devour that many carbs in the middle of the day unless he was bulking.
Solomon lifted his fork. “I heard you’re working on the case of the frozen corpse.”
“Not just one frozen corpse. It’s the second in a month.”
“Interesting. Have you any leads?”
Dan shrugged. “Some.”
“And were both the bodies found around here?”
“Nope. One was in Poole Harbor. They were semi-frozen, but here’s the thing”—Dan waved his fork toward Solomon—“Both of them had their teeth pulled out, faces bashed in and the ends of their fingers were missing.”
“Whoever murdered them is trying to hide their identities. What would be the point of that unless their identities will lead you back to the killer?”
“Not likely. We know who the dead men are. Two homeless bums. Both mid to late twenties. Medium build. Blond hair. Both came to the area to look for work and dropped off the radar. No one knows when exactly they went missing off the streets. One of them had a social worker who was trying to get him into rehab for substance issues, but they only met him once a month, so we can’t pinpoint when he disappeared.”
“How did they die?”
“One drowned and the other appears to have been suffocated.”
“So it’s a nutter with a thing about blond twenty-something men and a large freezer that you’re looking for?”
“Exactly.”
Solomon shoved his half-empty plate aside. “Well, good luck, Detective. If I should hear anything on my travels I’ll be sure to pass it on.”
“And then expect another favor?”
“Cynicism is not a good look on anyone.”
“Realism is, though. I’ll give you a call if I find out anything about your barbecued leg.”
Solomon patted the detective on the shoulder and made his way onto the street. He glanced back to see the waitress bent over the table. No doubt Maloney was enjoying the view of her cleavage.
Daisy had been in the office alone for a couple of hours. She would be wanting lunch. There was a café that did food to go on the way back to his SUV, and he had a feeling Daisy would love the sorts of sugary, unhealthy fare on offer. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the icon for the tracking app.
* * * *
Daisy tried to resist checking out Solomon’s personal space, but her inner snoop won out. She now knew, despite his claims to the contrary, he wore white boxer briefs, had an overdeveloped tidy gene, and trusted no one. Apart from clothing, the cupboards contained nothing of interest. The safe however would no doubt hold an encyclopedia’s worth of information about the Irish git. Maybe his desk in the office would reveal more. She resisted the temptation. Finding out Solomon’s secrets could wait for another day. Besides, she already knew more than she did yesterday. He was off women. Some crazy bitch with a love for big shoes was after him for money, and he probably had a kid called Molly. A smile spread across her face. Ronan. He didn’t look like a Ronan.
She sat back at her desk, opened a Word document and added bullet points of all that she knew about Toby. There was the unusual guitar, Elliott’s parentage, and maybe she would find something more if she could look into the duke’s finances. Where to start, though?
She typed, “Jimi Hendrix guitar for sale” into Google and a dozen links to sites popped up. After clicking on all of them, and finding none of the instruments were white, she gave up. She brought up the Yellow Pages and searched for music stores in Southampton. A list flashed up, and she clicked on the link for one that claimed to be a guitar specialist. The website stated that the store was called Strummers, but had formerly been Fretland. Bingo. She pulled a notebook from her bag and wrote down the address.
She switched off her computer and shrugged on her jacket. Fingers crossed Toby had hit hard times and sold the damn thing. Hopefully the store could give her some ideas about where to go looking for the sale, and the seller.
Her stomach rumbled. Where the hell had Solomon got to? She should probably wait for him to get back. Her gaze shifted down the corridor toward the open door to the secret room. Solomon would go apeshit when he saw it. Maybe she could call a locksmith. On the other hand Lisa had done a fantastic job. A locksmith would probably recommend a whole new door and a carpenter to fit it. Then it would need to be painted. No way could she get that all done before Solomon showed up. And even if she could, who was going to pay for it? No, it was best not to be around when he came back. Besides she had a hot lead to follow up.
Chapter Ten
Daisy’s feet were throbbing by the time she got to the music store. Tomorrow she planned to dress in jeans and sneakers. She might even go and visit a gym. Just to see what went on. If she planned to do this job for real, she might need to consider the shape she was in. Not that Paul complained about her curves. He said he loved having something to hold onto while he took the ride and had no interest in banging a washboard. She sighed. Paul was freaking perfect. Had Lisa thought Solomon was her Mr. Perfect?
She shoved the shop door open. A loud buzzer heralded her arrival. A gangly dude with the palest complexion she’d ever seen and blond dreadlocks that stuck up like pineapple leaves lifted his head. “Afternoon.”
Smile firmly in place, Daisy crossed to the counter. “I wonder if you can help me.”
“If music’s your thing, I’m your man.”
“Groovy.”
He grinned, flashing a gold tooth. “Lady, no one says groovy anymore.”
Daisy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. “I’m no lady. My name’s Daisy, and apparently I’m a bit of a dinosaur.”
His gaze dropped to her chest and then shifted back to her face. “You don’t look like any dinosaur I ever saw.”
“See a lot of dinosaurs, do you? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Levi.”
“Okay. Levi. I’m looking for a guitar.”
He glanced over her head. “Whole wall of ’em over there.”
“I want a very particular guitar.”
“If we don’t ’ave it I can order it in.”
“I’m looking for a Strat formerly owned by Jimi Hendrix and autographed by Keith Richards.”
“Funny, don’t see you as the sort to be into Hendrix and the Rolling Stones. I would ’ave picked you as more of a Red Hot Chili Peppers fan.”
“Hendrix and the Stones are a bit before my time, Levi.”
“The Stones don’t belong to a time, Daisy. They’re eternal, like God.”
“My little heart might not go pitter-patter at the thought of Mick Jagger strutting his stuff, but it does speed up when I find the perfect instrument. I’m a big guitar fan.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a level she hoped was deep and seductive. “Do you have my perfect instrument, Levi?”
“Nope.”
“Bugger.”
“Don’t carry old stock, but I might be able to put you in touch with someone who owns such an instrument. Only thing is, he likes to be discreet.”
“Discreet.”
“Yeah. You know. Doesn’t want people poking their nose into his business.”
Daisy plastered on her best innocent face. “I never poke my nose in anywhere. I just want to buy a guitar.”
“Give me your number and I’ll pass it on.”
Daisy picked up a pen off the counter and scribbled her name and number on the back of a pamphlet advertising music lessons. “Call me.”
Levi folded the pamphlet. “Count on it.”
“Bye, Levi.”
He smiled. “Bye, Daisy.”
She strutted across the shop and out the front door. Now what? Her stomach rumbled. She might find lunch and then head back to work. Hopefully if Solomon was at the office he would have had enough time to calm down about the door by the time she got there.
A strip mall across the street had a bakery advertising pies and cakes. She crossed at the lights. A black SUV pulled into the car park and slammed on the brakes, stopping inches in front of Daisy. The driver’s-side window wound down, and she met the fierce gaze of Solomon. Busted. So busted.
“Get in, Princess.”
“How did you find me?”
“Get in.” His eyes were all steely CIA interrogator.
“I was hungry.”
“Get in.”
“Did you go back to the office yet? Because it wasn’t my fault.”
“What wasn’t your fault?”
“Nothing. How about you go to the office, and I’ll grab lunch and take the rest of the day off?”
“How about you do as you’re told and get in?”
“What about lunch?”
“I’ve eaten already.”
“Well, I haven’t, which is why I left the office.”
He lifted a paper bag off the passenger seat. “I bought you this.”
“You did? That’s sweet, but I really had my heart set on a cake, not that health shit you munch on.”
“I’ve got cake.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. There had to be a way to avoid going back to the office with him.
“How about we drive down to the Marina and eat by the water?”
“How about you get in the bleedin’ car and stop wasting my time? You were supposed to stay put and work on finding your missing heir.”
“If you haven’t been to the office how did you know I’d gone out?”
“I’m a P.I. Knowing things is my business. Besides, you never do what you’re told. Now are you going to get in, or do I have to get out and throw you in the back?”
“You wouldn’t, would you?”
His only response was a scowl. She was all out of excuses, and if she ran he would soon outpace her. Going to the gym moved up her list of priorities. With no options left, she strolled around the car and climbed in the passenger side.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as she fumbled to do up her seatbelt. Once she was safely
buckled in he gunned the engine and peeled out of the car park.
She opened the glove box and started rummaging.
“What is it that you’re doing?”
“Looking for some tunes.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Of course you don’t. What about the radio, then?”
“What about you tell me why you really left the office.”
“I will if you will.”
“What?”
“Why did you leave in such a rush?”
“I had a meeting.”
“With?”
“Detective Maloney.”
“About?”
“The leg.”
“Good idea. I thought I might have a word with Dan myself. He’s very forthcoming after a beer or two.”
“Stay away from him.”
“Why?”
“He’s a womanizer.”
Daisy laughed. “He’s married.”
“So.”
“So why would you think he’s a womanizer?”
“Is he a man?”
“Of course.”
“Does he have a penis?”
Daisy shrugged. “I guess he must have one. He does have a kid, and Bridget has never complained that he’s not up to the job.”
“Well, then, he’s a womanizer.”
“What about Paul? He’s got a penis.”
“Doughnut’s different.”
She wasn’t going to argue with that. Paul was different. He would never stray. However, why Solomon put him in a different category to the rest of the male population was a mystery. She glanced in his direction. His focus was on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel, jaw set like concrete. Now wasn’t a good time to ask. She’d wait until he was more relaxed, and in a sharing mood before broaching the topic of his relationship with Paul.
“If you only need a penis to be a womanizer, does the opposite apply?”
“What?”
“You said you’re not interested in women before you left the office, so can I assume you don’t have a penis? It sure as hell would explain why you’re so grumpy all the time. Sexual frustration is such a bitch.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine how your brain works. I’m not discussing my wedding tackle with you.”
“Good, because I really don’t want that picture in my head. I’ll just keep assuming you don’t have any. You’re like a Ken doll.”
Solomon glanced at her. “I prefer G.I. Joe or Action Man.”
