by JL Simpson
Solomon lifted a corner of his mouth. “Of course it will, darlin’.”
* * * *
Daisy’s conversation with Belinda had been most enlightening. Solomon had shown her the photo of the supposed Toby with his brother Elliott taken outside the family pile. Belinda had taken one look and declared it wasn’t the wayward Lord Toby. Apparently it was a fair match but not him. The real Toby had a narrower frame and a slightly different-shaped nose. Most damning of all were the eyes. Apparently the fake Lord’s were the wrong shape. He was also missing a crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek that he got from playing rugby.
They drove to Salisbury in silence as Daisy turned the problem over in her head. There had to be a logical reason for Elliott to parade the man around as his brother. They’d read the will. She could see no upside for Elliott.
Solomon nudged her elbow and she glanced at him. “What?”
“What are you thinking on?”
“Nothing makes any sense.”
“It will once we have all the pieces.”
“What are we missing?”
Solomon shrugged. “No idea, Princess.”
“Why did Maureen want us to find Zut?”
“Maybe she didn’t. We only have her word that he’s missing.”
“She wanted to blow us up?” Daisy stared at him. “Why?”
“While you were otherwise engaged last night I did some research into Jason Tyler.”
“And?”
“And he has a history of fraud. About ten years ago he set up a competition to find England’s next Spice Girls. Apparently thousands of hopefuls paid to enter, but the band never happened. Since getting out of jail he’s been managing Maureen and a couple of other small names. Despite her worldwide success I’ve found nothing held in her name. The house in Sandbanks is registered as his. On the surface he appears to be everything he seems. However I don’t trust him.”
“Why not?”
Solomon shrugged. “Gut feel. The man is not what he claims to be, even if he is putting on a good show.”
“Do you think he has plans to fleece Maureen? Maybe he intends to take her inheritance. If she was expecting his kid, then he could convince her to marry him and everything she has could be his. Do you think she’s in danger, or part of the plan to get us?”
“No idea, Princess.”
“What do we do now, then?”
He eased the car into the curb. “Now we have an appointment with Liam Sparks, where I’ll be asking the questions.”
“And what do I do? Are we going to do good cop, bad cop? I always wanted to do that.”
“You’re going to be your usual delightful self. That should put him off guard enough.”
“Arsehole.”
Arsehole with great taste, though. Solomon had ditched the SUV, declaring it was probably known by whoever was after them. However their current vehicle was unlikely to go unnoticed. She ran her hand over the dashboard. When she’d imagined he owned a sports car she’d been kidding, but apparently he did. A black Aston Martin DB9. A dream car.
“You do know you’re a cliché, don’t you?”
“How’s that?”
“A P.I. with a sports car. It’s very Magnum. Next you’ll be moving to Hawaii.”
“How do you know I’m not just having a midlife crisis?”
She looked at him. He might not be too many years from forty but, based on the way Belinda had been drooling, the man had nothing to have a crisis about. “Maybe you are, but I doubt it. I’m thinking I should reconsider the heir hunting and stick with being a P.I. if it means I get to buy a car like this.”
“Being a P.I. doesn’t pay that much, Princess.”
“So how come you own an Aston Martin?”
“Didn’t earn the money from being a private investigator.”
Daisy frowned. “How then?”
He glanced at his watch. “We’re going to be late.”
She opened the door and turned in her seat, accepting Solomon’s hand as she climbed from the car, grateful she’d opted to wear pants. Getting in and out of a sports car without flashing your undies when you wore anything other than pants would take practice. Thanks to the rip in the back of her skirt earlier, a rip Solomon had failed to mention, he’d seen more than enough of her and her lingerie for one day.
Once she was safely on her feet he let her hand go, slammed the passenger side door, and locked the car. “Ready?”
She tossed her hair over her shoulders and tugged her jacket straight. “Let’s go.”
He led the way toward the unassuming gray stone building, opened the door to the office and let her step inside before following. The interior was nothing like the offices of Lewis, Leviston and Smythe. They majored on bland; this place was a riot of color. The interior decorator must have been dropping acid. Orange and yellow walls were teamed with blue doors. A polished steel-and-glass reception desk was dwarfed by the massive silver SPARKS sign hanging on the back wall.
The dark-haired receptionist glanced up from her keyboard and smiled. A silver paper star was stuck on her left cheek. Daisy wondered if it was part of her uniform. The yellow shirt with the silver Sparks logo suited her. Not everyone could wear yellow. Some people looked like they had liver failure in yellow. A sign said her name was Melanie Mitchell.
Solomon crossed to the desk. “We’ve an appointment with Mr. Sparks.”
“Which one?”
“Liam.”
“And you are?”
“Solomon, and this is my associate, Ms. Dunlop.”
“He’s in a partner’s meeting. I’ll just go and let him know you’re here.”
Solomon reached across the desk and placed his hand on her arm. “Just a moment, Melanie.”
She frowned as he lifted his hand and tugged the star from her face. He dropped it on the desk, and her face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh God, Craig must have stuck it on me when I dropped him off at the childcare center.”
Solomon smiled. “Maybe he wanted to let you know you’re doing a grand job of being his mummy and thought you deserved a star.” He nodded toward a picture sitting next to her keyboard. “Is that the little man?”
She lifted the photograph and handed it to him. “It is.”
Daisy sighed. He was off again with the charm. Solomon turned and showed her the picture. “Cute, is he not?”
“Adorable. I remember when Sherman had blond ringlets.”
Solomon smiled. “Me too. Not that he’d thank you for them now.”
“Is Sherman your son?”
Solomon handed the photo back. “He’s Ms. Dunlop’s. I’ve not been blessed with a son.”
Melanie smiled. “I’m sure if you were he’d be adorable. I’d better let Liam know you’re here. Please, take a seat.”
The receptionist disappeared through a door, and Daisy shook her head.
Solomon frowned. “What?”
“Do you have to try and charm the pants off every one of the opposite sex you meet?”
Solomon laughed. “Pot, kettle.”
He had a point, but she’d stopped flirting with men—well, with him anyway.
A tall blond man stepped into the reception area followed by Melanie. He crossed the room and offered Solomon his hand. “Liam Sparks.”
As he shook Solomon’s hand he turned his baby blues on Daisy, sweeping his gaze from her high heels to her head and back to her eyes. “And this is?”
Daisy smiled and offered a hand. “Daisy Dunlop, Mr. Sparks.”
He dropped Solomon’s hand and took hers. “Liam, please.” Mr. Sparks smiled at Daisy and held the door open. “Shall we?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Solomon, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Chapter Thirty
Solomon took a seat next to Daisy. Apparently Liam Sparks preferred to sit on the edge of his desk in front of Daisy rather than occupy his perfectly good high-back leather chair. Solomon concentrated on not
grinding his teeth. Daisy was right about him charming women to get what he wanted, whether that was information or a workout in bed. If Liam was so enamored with Daisy’s pretty strawberry blonde hair and pouty lips, then so be it. While he was busy lusting he might let his guard down and actually tell them something useful.
Liam smiled. “So what can I help you with?”
Solomon tugged a notebook and pen from his pocket. “We’ve been hired by Standard Life Insurance to look into the claim relating to the death of your client Stuart Bligh.”
“Stuart?” Liam got to his feet, wandered behind his desk, and took his seat. He frowned and then smiled. “How rude of me. Would you like a coffee?” Before either of them could answer he hit the intercom button on his phone. “Mel, three coffees, please, darling.”
Solomon pinned the man with a stare. “Mr. Sparks? We note that the insurance claim is paid to his estate. I was hoping you could tell us what happens to the money after that.”
The man tapped his fingers on his desk. “I’d love to but client confidentiality and all that.”
Daisy grabbed Solomon’s arm and then leaned forward. “Liam, we’re not here to stir up trouble, and no one is under suspicion. This is routine for such a large policy. Until the insurance company is happy the claim is valid they won’t pay. Wouldn’t it be best for the beneficiaries if we could sort it out and put the whole thing to bed?” She reached over and put her hand over his. “I know we’re putting you in a difficult position, but if you could help we’d be very grateful.”
The door opened, and Liam tugged his hand free. Solomon glanced at Melanie who stood in the doorway. “You didn’t say how you wanted your coffee so I made a pot.”
She crossed the room and placed the tray with three cups, a pot of coffee, jug of milk and bowl of sugar on the desk. Liam glanced up at her, and she smiled. Solomon noted their matching wedding rings and wondered if Daisy would pick up on their relationship. Funny, she didn’t call herself Melanie Sparks. Although lots of women preferred to keep their own names, and why not? Changing your surname was a lot of hassle.
Melanie left them to it, and Daisy got busy playing mother. She didn’t bother to ask Solomon how he wanted his coffee, you could hardly get black wrong, and she left Liam to add his own milk and sugar.
Solomon watched as Daisy took a sip from her cup before placing it on the edge of the desk. She smiled at Liam. “Cute kid.”
Liam frowned and stopped stirring his coffee. “What?”
“When we came in I couldn’t help but notice the photograph of your son on Melanie’s desk. He looks a lot like you. Is he your first? I’ve only got the one son. I know if anything happened to him it would kill me.”
Liam glanced at Solomon and then back at Daisy. “Is that a threat?”
Daisy laughed. “God, no. Why would I threaten you? And what could I possibly do? I can’t even run in these boots, never mind catch someone and do them harm. I was just thinking out loud. That poor man’s relatives must be desperate to put the whole horrible accident behind them. I mean having to deal with the fact someone you love burnt to death would be bad enough, without all the legal headaches and delays.”
“Stuart didn’t have any relatives. Well, that’s not strictly true. He had a son, but he went missing years ago.”
Solomon glanced at Daisy. She met his gaze, and he gave her a slight nod. He might have been planning to interrogate the guy, but it seemed Daisy’s feminine charm was working for them.
*
Daisy held back a smile of triumph. She’d finally done something right and got the Irish git’s approval. Her gut twisted. Now she needed to prove to him that his faith wasn’t misplaced.
“Poor man. I know if my Sherman went missing I’d never stop looking. Did he try to find him?”
Liam nodded. “Spent tens of thousands on private detectives, waste of time.” He glanced at Solomon and smiled. “No offense.”
Solomon shrugged. “None taken. It’s easier for someone to take up a new name and remain hidden than you might imagine. They could be right in front of you, and you’d never spot them.”
Daisy took another mouthful of coffee. Interesting comment by Solomon, was he referring to Toby? Not that they were looking for him anymore.
She placed her cup back on the desk. “So, if Stuart had no living relatives I’m not sure I understand the need for a large insurance policy?” She frowned. “Surely even a lavish funeral doesn’t cost that much.”
Liam folded his arms. “What is this really all about? The police have identified the body. Why the investigation?”
“The insurance company has a number of large claims where the deceased passed away in suspicious circumstances. The authorities really didn’t have much to use to identify Mr. Bligh. I’m sure you can understand they’re just being thorough. And perhaps that’s a good thing. They have more money to spend on investigating the circumstances surrounding his death than the police. If it turns out that things are not as straightforward as they appear, then wouldn’t you want to help find out the truth? Are you sure there’s nothing in his will that might make you wonder about his sudden demise?”
Liam sipped his coffee and stared at her. She held his gaze. A frown marred his otherwise smooth forehead before he placed his empty cup on the desk and reached over toward the intercom. Daisy held her breath. Shit. He was probably going to get Melanie to escort them from the building.
He pressed the button. “Mel, can you get me a copy of Stuart Bligh’s latest will, please.”
Daisy glanced at Solomon and then back at Liam. “Latest will?”
“He changed it two months before his death. His old will left everything in trust for his son.”
“And now?”
“You’ll see.”
“How did he seem the last time you met him?”
Liam shrugged. “He looked tired, and had aged ten years in the last two. He said he was planning a trip to the Canary Islands and wanted to get his affairs in order first.”
“The Canary Islands?”
“That’s what he said. Something about someone letting him use their house for free.”
“Did he mention any money troubles?”
Liam shook his head. “None.”
“I noticed he’s a member of the Somerset Club, and with a house in the New Forest, I can only assume he died a very wealthy man.”
“Not as wealthy as you’d imagine.”
“How’s that?”
“No idea. I’m not his accountant.”
Melanie opened the door, crossed the room, and handed Liam the sheaf of papers she was carrying. “Your next appointment is waiting.”
Liam nodded. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Daisy and Solomon got to their feet, and Daisy took the papers from Liam. He held onto them for a minute. “You never got these from me.”
“Understood. You don’t happen to know who his accountant is, do you?”
“Morrison and Morrison in Winchester.”
He let the papers go, and they followed him to the door.
Daisy smiled up at him. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
“Sure.”
She led the way across the reception area and out the main door.
Papers in hand, she waited until they were out of the line of sight of the office before she whooped with excitement and did a victory dance around Solomon. He chuckled and grabbed her hand, tugging her into a hug.
“Well done, Princess.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze before pulling back and staring up at him. “You do know this is sexual harassment, and I can sue, don’t you?”
“As could I for the kiss you forced me into earlier.”
Daisy snorted. “Says the man intent on shoving his tongue down my throat.” She wiggled out of his arms. “I did good in there, didn’t I?”
“That you did, darlin’.”
; “Can I drive the Aston Martin?”
Solomon’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “Not that good! Besides you might put a dent in the back bumper bar.”
“How do you know that wasn’t already there before I drove the SUV?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t, but I do now. Lunch?”
She pulled her phone from her bag, slipped her arm through his, and nodded. “Lunch, but first I’ll give Morrison and Morrison a call.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Daisy felt nicely full by the time they’d got back into the Aston Martin for the trip to Winchester. Mike Morrison of Morrison and Morrison had agreed to see them at three. She resisted the urge to undo the button on her jeans. God, the café had been fantastic, and the chocolate cake with clotted cream was to die for.
Solomon had resisted the temptation and eaten quiche and salad. Apparently, he had more self-control in his little finger than she did in her whole body. But chocolate was the next best thing to sex, and who knew when she’d next see Paul for a conjugal visit? That man was better than anything she’d ever eaten. Her body flushed at the thought of Paul naked and in action.
“What are you thinking about?”
She glanced at Solomon. “Chocolate cake.”
He smiled as he edged the Aston Martin into the outside lane to pass a parked car. “Liar.”
Daisy grabbed the papers that were sticking out of the top of her bag. They’d decided not to look at them over lunch because they hadn’t wanted to be too open in public. She read the legalese. Blah, blah, blah. Why couldn’t lawyers write in English? They didn’t talk the way they wrote. Imagine if they did. Sleeping with a lawyer would be boring as hell.
Solomon slowed the car to take a corner. “What does it say? Who gets the money?”
“Simon Benson, Stuart Bligh’s butler, gets ten thousand pounds and the house. Not that there’s a house left to inherit. The rest of the estate, including the proceeds of the five million-pound life insurance policy, goes to a charity called Anthony the Abbot.” Daisy looked at Solomon. “I’ve never heard of them. Have you?”
He shook his head. “No, but they’ll be worth a look when we get home.”
“Am I staying with you tonight?”
“Don’t you want to? Is my hospitality not up to standard? Where else does the host call your husband for a booty call?”
