by JL Simpson
“What about the bleedin’ Somerset Club?”
“Do you want to tell him John, or shall I?”
John leaned back. “Go right ahead.”
“The Somerset Club is an exclusive gentlemen’s club in London. You have to be loaded to be a member. Which begs the question, why did three filthy rich men need life insurance, and why did they die just after taking it out? Suspicious or what?”
Solomon shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it. So have you anything else, John? What exactly do you think happened to the dead men?”
“I don’t believe they’re dead.”
Daisy frowned. “What about the charred leg?”
“Someone else’s.”
“Another person died?” Daisy tried to think of a better explanation. “Or maybe a leg that had been amputated at a hospital. Or how about a leg stolen from a dead body? They could have broken into a funeral parlor and sawn a leg off a cadaver before it was buried.” She looked at Solomon. “We should check to see if any funeral homes have reported a break-in.”
Solomon stared at her. “I had no idea your brain was so full of shite. Do you think you can phone the police and ask if anyone reported a missing human leg? This isn’t Hollywood, Princess. This is real life, which is far more boring and logical than any bleedin’ movie plot.”
Despite her desire to appear professional in front of a client Daisy couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at Solomon. Her brain was not full of shit, and who knew where the leg had come from? Besides, she had an “in” with the police. Ben’s dad had loose lips after a few too many beers.
John’s deep melodic laughter broke the tension. “An active imagination might be a good thing. Who knows the depths of human depravity?”
Solomon turned his attention to John. “We only have your suspicion that the leg is not exactly what it appears to be. You could be taking two and two and making seven. Insurance companies aren’t known for their implicit faith in humanity.”
Daisy frowned. “Can’t you do DNA testing and prove it?”
John shook his head. “The police used DNA to try and identify the body, but no luck. Apparently he has no living relatives we can test against. It came down to the butler identifying him by way of a distinctive mole on his big toe.”
“Who is it that gets the money from all these policies?” Solomon asked.
John leaned over and flicked a few pages ahead in Solomon’s folder. “Frank Mayberry’s estate, and then we assume it gets paid out to his widow, Samantha, twenty-five years his junior. Giles Beckitt’s only living relative is his cousin, Maureen. Our best guess is the estate pays out to her. You might know Maureen; she goes by the pseudonym Phat Kitty.”
Daisy flicked a few pages on in her copy to catch up. “Phat Kitty, the singer?”
Solomon snorted. “If you can call what she does singing?”
He had a point. Daisy couldn’t see the appeal herself. “Well, I guess with a few million pounds she can finally afford that drug habit and have enough left over for some clothes. The woman must freeze in the winter.”
John chuckled. “Not a fan, then?”
“Nope, but my son Sherman is. Not that I’m sure he has any interest in her singing.”
Solomon sighed. “How about we leave a discussion on the sex drives of fourteen-year-old boys for another day and get back to the case.”
John whistled. “Really, you don’t look old enough to have a teenage son. Does she, Solomon? You are definitely way too yummy, no insult intended.”
“I have no desire to discuss anything about Daisy being yummy or otherwise, and neither do you. She’s married to my best mate.”
Daisy smiled. “Well, thank you, John. Ignore Solomon. He’s not a morning person. However, you’re clearly a man with taste and discernment at any time of the day.”
“Daisy.” Her name came out of Solomon’s mouth as a growl. “He’s clearly a man with more than insurance on his mind, and you have Paul. Remember?”
She’d completely forgotten Solomon had an overactive protective gene when it came to her, or more likely, Paul. Flirting with another man would likely set him off. John was in danger of losing more than Solomon’s agreement to help him solve the mystery if she kept going.
“I do remember.”
Solomon shoved the files to one side as their meals arrived. Once they were all tucking into the cardboard and dried fruit Daisy now regretted ordering, Solomon picked up the conversation.
“What about the third man with the charred leg? Who gets his money?”
“Stuart Bligh. It goes to his estate, and we believe the main beneficiary is his butler, but his solicitor, Liam Sparks, is refusing to cooperate,” John said.
Daisy shoved her bowl aside, deciding she would rather wait until the meeting was over and get something decent to eat. There was a great place across the road that did doughnuts and coffee to go. “Aha, a potential conflict of interest, then? The butler could be in on it.”
“Absolutely. Anyway, everything we have is in the file. We haven’t reported it to the police yet. We want to know more before we take that step. If you need anything else you know how to get in touch. We’ll pay the usual fee on a successful outcome and five hundred a day plus costs to hire you either way if you accept the case.”
“Five hundred pounds a day. Solomon. He wants to pay us five hundred pounds a day. What’s the success fee?”
“Point five percent of the insurance cover.”
“Point five percent of a million is five grand. How many million were the policies for?” Daisy flipped through the pages in the folder and totted them up in her head. Ten. Ten million. “Jesus. Solomon, do you know how much that is?”
“I do.”
“Say yes. You have to say yes.” She turned to John. “We’ll take it.”
Solomon shook his head. “Make a note for me to give you lessons in negotiation.” He smiled at John. “It appears I’ll be taking the case.”
Daisy slammed the folder closed. “We’ll be taking the case.”
“I’ll be taking the case, Princess. You still have a lost heir to hunt.”
“What? Why? I thought we were partners?”
John took the folder Daisy had been looking at and slid it into his satchel before getting to his feet. “I’ll get the paperwork for the contract started and have it sent over for signing.” He held out his hand, and Solomon gave him a firm handshake. John smiled at Daisy. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Good luck with your new venture, and if you ever think about moving into solving insurance fraud give me a call. Solomon has my number.”
Solomon glared at him. “She won’t be needing your number.”
He patted Solomon on the shoulder. “If you say so. I’ll give you a call later in the week to see how things are going.”
Daisy watched John until he left the café. “Why can’t I work for John?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Crossing the road is dangerous.”
Solomon pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw some notes on the table. When he lifted the folder and slid it under his arm, and then got to his feet and headed for the door, Daisy followed.
“How is this going to work? If I’m not on this insurance case with you but you can’t leave me on my own, how do I find Lord Toby exactly?”
Solomon sighed as he held the door open and let her exit first. “I have it all sorted. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
“You can be such a patronizing bastard sometimes.”
“Only sometimes? I must be slipping.”
She checked her watch. “We need to get moving.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“I made an appointment last night.”
“With?”
“A man who might be able to shed some light on why Lord Toby needs to be found.”
Solomon unlocked his SUV and opened the passenger side door for her. “What man?”
She glanced at the open door and th
en across at the café. “Just a second. I’ll tell you when I get back.”
She sprinted across the street to the sound of the door slamming and a loud exclamation of “Bollocks.”
Chapter Six
Solomon pulled the car into the parking lot behind the office that housed the law firm of Lewis, Leviston, and Smythe, amongst other businesses, as Daisy requested. He’d been here only a few nights ago. Not that anyone had seen him.
He’d refrained from asking her what the esteemed lawyers had to offer in the way of assistance when it became evident any reply from Daisy would result in his upholstery and carpet being showered with more crumbs and sugar from the disgusting doughnuts she’d consumed on the journey. He squeezed his SUV into an empty spot marked for clients and switched the engine off.
Apparently full, Daisy shoved the remnants of her second breakfast into the empty bakery bag and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Ready?”
Solomon frowned. “For what exactly?”
She lifted her voluminous bag from the back seat. “To find a missing heir, of course.”
Before he could ask anything more she got out of the vehicle, slamming the door closed. This was undoubtedly a waste of time, but if he let her go in alone she might sneak out the front door, and then he would have to use more of his day looking for her.
He followed Daisy’s lead. She entered the back of the modern chrome-and-glass building and didn’t even hesitate to read the sign telling her which floor she needed. Clearly, she had visited before.
“What are we doing here, Daisy?”
She pressed the call button for the elevator. “Watch and learn.”
When the polished steel doors slid open they stepped inside. He leaned against the wall and watched as she fussed with her hair, adjusted her boobs, and smoothed her tiny skirt over her arse. They were going to see a man. A man she obviously thought she could flirt into giving up information.
“I think you should do up another button on your shirt and perhaps wear my jacket.”
“Why? Do my boobs bother you?”
“Not at all, but then they’re not on display for me, are they?”
“Do you wish they were?”
“Christ. No.”
She laughed. “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch.”
“I don’t wear boxers.”
“TMI. I do believe you’re flirting with me, Solomon. Tut-tut. What would Paul say?”
“I’m not flirting. I’m stating the facts, and besides, Paul knows I’m not the least bit interested in his wife.”
“So why are you flirting with me, then?”
Solomon stepped closer, and she stared up at him.
“Why are you?”
She laughed. “Because I know it pisses you off. And you?”
He took another step so that she was forced to back up into the corner. Her focus shifted from his face to his shoulder. He leaned into her and whispered, “If you want to make this a pissing contest, Princess, I’m happy to comply. I could out-flirt you in a heartbeat and make you really uncomfortable. Want to try me?”
She glanced back up at him and smiled. “So, you admit it. You were flirting, then.”
Before he had a chance to reply the doors slid open. He followed Daisy into a bland reception area. A small red leather sofa was the only visible splash of color in a sea of black and white. Even the blonde receptionist must have been hired for her monotone clothes and pale, washed-out complexion.
Daisy approached the desk. “Daisy Dunlop and Solomon, to see Mr. Lewis.”
The receptionist glanced at Solomon. “Mr. Solomon?”
He shook his head. “Just Solomon.”
“Please take a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Daisy crossed the tiled floor and sank onto the sofa. Solomon hovered close by. The thing was too small and intimate for two people who were nothing more than colleagues.
He remembered when Paul had come back after a week on R and R with his bag stuffed full of photos of Daisy. Paul told him they’d met when he’d run to help her out of the gutter after the heel on her shoe had broken. From that moment the man was smitten. He’d determined to be Daisy’s knight in shining armor, even though it looked to be a full-time occupation. Solomon was happy for him. Daisy was a pain in the arse, but he’d never doubted how much she loved Paul. Things would have been great if he hadn’t been such a fecking jealous bastard on Paul’s behalf. It wasn’t his place to chain her up and keep her out of the reach of other men. He needed to keep himself on a short leash or this business with Daisy would end the same way as the last time they’d been together.
She glanced up at him and he smiled. A frown wrinkled her brow, and he sighed. She probably thought he was a mad bastard. One minute he was overprotective and moody, and the next he was smiling at her. Perhaps he was mental, although he’d been fine until she’d blown back into his life.
“Mr. Lewis is ready for you. Second door on the left.”
Daisy had already clambered to her feet and was striding down the corridor before the receptionist had finished speaking. Solomon smiled at the woman and followed behind Daisy, intent on ignoring the sway of her arse in the tight skirt. She was being deliberately provocative.
*
Daisy stepped into Clive’s office. Nothing had changed, other than the flowers on top of the cupboard behind his desk. The walls were still cream, the thick plush pile carpet deep red, and the furniture polished American oak. Clive Lewis stepped around from behind his desk to accept Daisy’s handshake, pulling her close enough to kiss both cheeks.
“Daisy. Lovely to see you. Things have never been the same since you left.”
“You mean no one has sent you the wrong client, accidentally set off the fire alarm, or dropped a full cup of coffee all over Derek’s files, or in a client’s lap?”
Clive laughed. “Good times. Good times.”
“I’m not sure Derek would agree.”
“Manfred got over the coffee thing. Rumor has it he even cancelled the contract on your head. And as for Derek, it’s about time he retired. This place could use livening up. God knows, the new girl has the personality of a plant pot.”
“What happened to Shirley?”
“I had to let her go this morning. Some unpleasantness with my wife.”
Solomon snorted and mumbled. “I bet there was.”
Clive stepped back and looked Daisy up and down. “You don’t look a day older, and you’re just as beautiful as I remember. Are you here to tell me you’ve thrown over your husband at last and are ready to run off with me?”
The sound of Solomon clearing his throat appeared to get Clive’s attention. “Sorry. You’re not …?”
“Her husband? No.” Solomon stepped up next to Daisy. She could sense his death glare, the one that could no doubt wring the truth out of the most hardened terrorist. Clive moved back behind his desk, fingering his wedding ring.
“I’m Solomon, a private detective who specializes in photographing philandering men, and a good friend of Daisy’s husband.”
Daisy glared at him, and he eased back from the macho bullshit stance he’d adopted. This was not going to work if Clive was scared witless. “Solomon is a colleague.”
Clive glanced from one to the other. “What?”
“We’re both private investigators.” Daisy motioned toward the visitor’s chairs. “Do you mind?”
Clive’s smile looked forced. “No, of course not.” He slid into his own chair and cleared his throat. “So, is this a business call?”
Daisy pulled a seat closer to the desk and sat, staring at Solomon until he did the same. “It is.”
Clive tugged at his tie. “Are you investigating me? I’ve got nothing to hide. Open book. Wide open.”
The poor man was sweating. Solomon was ruining everything.
“Not at all. I know you’re beyond reproach. I wanted to ask you a favor. How about a coffee and I’ll explain all?”
“Good idea.” Cl
ive hit the intercom button on his phone. “Gloria, three coffees, please.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. “So, a private investigator. What do you investigate?”
“All sorts, don’t we, Solomon?”
“Aye, although like I said, I do a fine line in spying on philandering husbands. You’ve no idea how many of them screw around at the Plaza Hotel. Did you know you can see into all the rooms from the building site across the street? Gives the tradesmen something to watch in the afternoons. Tell me, Clive, are you a man who likes the curtains open or closed?”
Clive ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at the door. Daisy stamped her heel down on Solomon’s foot and didn’t even bother to hide the smile when he grimaced. Apparently Santoni shoes didn’t have steel toe-caps.
“Clive.” Daisy leaned forward to pull the copy of the Duke of Mardon’s last will and testament from her bag. Despite his apparent fear of Solomon, she noticed that Clive didn’t hesitate to glance at her cleavage. She sat up and smiled at him. “I’m looking into the disappearance of Lord Tobias Wareham. I’ve got a copy of his father’s will, but you know me and lawyer speak. I knew if anyone could translate it into English for me, it would be you.”
She placed the document on the desk and nudged it toward Clive. He picked it up and smoothed out the creases. Gloria arrived with coffee, and Daisy played mother, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to one cup and passing it to Solomon, before standing and placing a cup at Clive’s elbow. He glanced up and smiled.
Daisy retook her seat, added milk and sugar to her cup, and sipped her drink. After what seemed an eternity, Clive looked up and smiled. “This isn’t really my area, but it is damn interesting stuff. How did you get a copy of this? Unless it’s received probate it won’t be on the public record and even if it did receive probate it won’t be available for months.”
She glanced at Solomon. He shrugged. “I’ve got my sources.”
“Understood. I have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. That way if I ever get tortured I can deny all knowledge.” Clive handed the document back with a high-pitched titter.
Daisy refolded the will and laid it in her lap. “So, can you tell me what it all means, Clive?”
