The Daisy Dunlop Mystery Box Set: Lost Cause, Lost & Found, Lost Property

by JL Simpson

  “Daisy? Why are you talking about Solomon?”

  She glanced at Paul who lay staring up at her. “He kissed me.”

  Paul pushed up onto one elbow. “What?”

  “I met this man in a pub and he scared me. He wouldn’t let me go. Solomon got a guy on his buck’s night in the pub to rescue me by asking me to dance, and then he cut in. We danced whilst he questioned me about the man I’d met, and then he said the guy couldn’t know we were together. I think Solomon was planning to follow him and find out who he was. He kissed me. I never wanted him to. I slapped him hard and walked out.”

  “So he did it for work? To save your arse?”

  Daisy shrugged. “I guess. Are you jealous? Are you mad?”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Ew. No.”

  Paul chuckled. “He must be losing his touch.”

  “Aren’t you going to go mental and punch him or something?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  Paul shook his head. “The Solomon I know and love wouldn’t make a move on a mate’s girl.”

  “Good.” Daisy threw the covers back and got to her feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to brush my teeth.”

  “You brushed them twice already.”

  Daisy pulled a face. “I want to make sure I got rid of all the Solomon cooties. Maybe I should book an appointment with the doctor and get some shots.”

  “How big a deal was this kiss? Did he go the whole hog and stick his tongue in your mouth?”

  “Paul! Ew. God, I’m going to vomit.”

  She ran to the bathroom. Paul’s laughter followed. He’d taken it well. She grabbed her toothbrush and loaded it up with toothpaste. As she brushed, paying particular attention to her tongue, she considered Paul’s reaction. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d been a little bit jealous.

  Once she’d rinsed and dried her face, she wandered back into the bedroom. Paul’s gaze followed her as she crossed the room and slid into bed. He wrapped an arm around her middle and tugged her tight against him, leaving her in no doubt he was back in the mood.

  “You know his name isn’t really Solomon, don’t you?”

  Paul groaned. “I give up.”

  “What?”

  “All this talk of Solomon is putting me off sex.”

  “Sorry. It’s just he confuses me.”

  “Me too, Daisy.”

  “Who is he really?”

  “Sergeant Ronan Liffey. Age thirty-eight. Birthday twenty-first of January. Born Carrickfergus, Northern Ireland.”

  “If you knew his real name why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “It never came up, and it’s not important because no one calls him by his real name.”

  “Lisa does.”

  “Who’s Lisa?”

  “Never mind Lisa. Why is he called Solomon?”

  “You know the story about Solomon in the Bible? The one where two women turn up arguing over a baby. They both claim the kid is theirs. King Solomon tells them he’s going to cut the baby in half and give them a piece each. The one who isn’t the boy’s mother tells him to go ahead. The mother tells Solomon to spare its life and give the boy to the other woman. Solomon had worked out who the baby belonged to and gave him to his real mother.”

  “Your Solomon threatened to cut a baby in half?”

  “Nope. Let me finish the story. Two men in the barracks started fighting over a girl. She was sitting in the rec room waiting for her date. They both claimed to have met her a few days earlier, and both had asked her out to dinner.”

  “Solomon threatened to cut her in half?”

  Paul laughed. “No. He told them as the senior officer in the room he was going to use the judgment of Solomon and decide who she dated. They both begged to be chosen.”

  “Who did he choose?”

  “Neither of them. He told them they could both screw her. Taff agreed. Simmo went mental and said he wasn’t going to share and Taff could have her.”

  “So he chose Simmo because he wouldn’t share?”

  “Nope.”

  “So she dated Taff instead?”

  “She didn’t date either of them. Once Solomon called her into the room and told her about the fight she refused to see either of them. She was supposed to be dating Taff, but when she heard he was willing to share he lost his appeal. Solomon went out with her for a couple of months before he got bored and moved on.”

  Daisy frowned. “Makes sense. I guess.”

  Paul kissed Daisy’s shoulder. “How are the Solomon cooties?”

  “Disgusting. I hope he hasn’t got rabies or anything. Maybe I should brush my teeth again?”

  “I’ve got something that’ll get rid of the taste for good. It’s supposed to have antiseptic qualities.” He dragged her hand down his body for emphasis.

  * * * *

  Solomon waited until the two men disappeared inside the pub. Well, well. That was a turn-up. Now he had two options, wait outside until they came out and continue to follow Zut, or go inside and hope he wasn’t spotted. It could be coincidence that John was at the same pub, but Solomon doubted it. However, as far as he knew Zut had information about Tobias, and John was investigating alleged life insurance fraud. What were the chances of the two being connected? Maybe Zut was a lowlife who had fingers in many dodgy pies, the sort of man who could be tapped on the shoulder for all sorts of information at a price.

  He climbed from the car and crept across the car park, stopping next to Zut’s Porsche. After a quick check to make sure no one was watching he ducked down, shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a tracking device. Once he was happy it was secured to the vehicle he checked his watch. Shite. If he was to be back in time to collect Melanie from the pub he’d need to leave in less than an hour.

  When he opened the pub door he was met by a wall of sound and a cloud of beer-scented warm air. A cover band was rocking the lounge bar. Solomon did a double take. Zut was on guitar. A glance around the room revealed John and his companion in the corner closest to the stage, each supping on a pint. There was no way Solomon could get close without being spotted. Head down, he elbowed his way to the bar and ordered a Guinness. The barman placed a full glass in front of him and held out his hand for the money. Solomon took some time sorting through a handful of coins he’d pulled from his pocket looking for the right change.

  “Good band. Do they play here often?”

  “Every week, mate. They’re okay, but they’re not the Rolling Stones.”

  Solomon couldn’t disagree. The cover version of “Satisfaction” they were currently rocking wasn’t a remix he could ever imagine Keith Richards signing up to play. Rapping the lyrics did nothing to add to the greatness of the original.

  Solomon dropped the correct money in the man’s hand. “What are they called?”

  “Zut and the Newtonians.”

  “That’s a bleedin’ terrible name.”

  The barman laughed and turned to serve someone else.

  Being sure to stay far enough away not to be noticed, Solomon sidled along the bar. Zut ended the song with a guitar solo. What he lacked in talent he made up for with enthusiasm. The band thanked the crowd and took a break. Zut crossed to John’s table and slid into a chair. A pretty blonde flopped into his lap and tried to kiss him. Zut shoved her off, apparently not interested. Solomon watched the exchange with a frown. Once the girl let the rocker go he lifted a shot glass and knocked back the contents in one. The girl disappeared into a small crowd near the stage, and Zut settled into a conversation with John and his companion.

  Solomon drained his pint and watched the play between the three men. This was no casual meeting. The way they leaned close together and laughed gave an impression of comfort that went beyond what you would expect from strangers.

  A girl arrived with a drink for Zut. He swallowed it in one and then headed back on stage to join his bandmates. The first chord of “A
ngie” was Solomon’s cue to leave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Solomon paid the cab driver and jogged up the path to Daisy’s house. His SUV stood on the front drive which, apart from a dent in the back bumper, looked unscathed. He’d had a shower at Melanie’s but decided against ducking to the office for a change of clothes before collecting his hapless temporary work colleague. The tracking device app on his phone showed Daisy was still where she was supposed to be, at home waiting for him. If he left it much later she might make a run for it, and he would waste time hunting her down.

  He lifted his hand and banged on the door. Footsteps sounded, the door swung open, and Sherman’s smiling face appeared.

  “Solomon.”

  “Sherman. You’re looking good. How did you go at the soccer?”

  “I’m expecting a call up from Man U any day now.”

  Solomon chuckled. “I hope you’ll be remembering us little people when you’re famous.”

  “I might hire you as my bodyguard.”

  “And I might just accept.”

  “Dad’s in the kitchen. Later, man.”

  Solomon resisted the urge to give Sherman a hug and offered a fist bump instead. The boy sprinted up the stairs as Solomon shut the front door and wandered through to the kitchen. Paul glanced up from his newspaper. “I hear you kissed my wife.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  Paul tossed the paper on the table. “Not in the least. I’ve kissed you before, and if I recall correctly it was far from pleasant. You hadn’t shaved and tasted of whiskey.”

  “You’re just saying that to cover up your true feelings.”

  “Really. Please stop kissing her. I can’t afford the toothpaste bill, and it’s putting a crimp in my sex life. Discussing you in bed does nothing for my libido.”

  Solomon lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile.

  Paul frowned. “Although from the happy smile on your face, and the crumpled nature of your clothing, I’m assuming kissing Daisy didn’t dampen your enthusiasm for whichever young lady you bedded last night.”

  “What can I say? Speaking of Daisy, is she not ready yet?”

  “Ready, willing, and able. She left half an hour ago. Said she had a breakfast meeting.”

  “Who with?”

  “A friend.” Paul tossed a lumpy sealed brown envelope at Solomon. “She left you this.”

  Solomon ripped it open and discovered his keys but nothing else.

  “And she said you might like this.” Paul put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the tracking device Solomon had left in her handbag. “She found it when she swapped from her black handbag to the brown one that matches her new boots. I won’t tell you the names she called you when she realized what it was, and how you had been, quote, ‘spying on her’ all the time.”

  “Bollocks. How am I supposed to keep her out of trouble if I don’t know where she is?”

  “That’s your problem not mine. If I was you I’d start my search at the café bakery in the precinct. She’s very partial to their chocolate croissants.”

  “I’ll be off, then. If she comes back, tie her to a chair and call me.”

  “I have to get going. I’ve a shift at ten. Besides I’m not sure she’d appreciate me turning her in, especially as I made her work with you in the first place. I need to hold on to the meager sex life I still have, and pissing off Daisy is not the way to do it.” Paul raised an eyebrow. “Unless I make tying her up into a kinky sex game.”

  Sherman stuck his head around the kitchen door. “Dad!”

  Solomon laughed. “Catch you later, Doughnut.”

  He made his way to the front door and let himself out. Once he’d unlocked and climbed inside his SUV he contemplated his plan of attack. If Daisy was at the café with a friend she was in no danger. This time of day the place was mobbed. He’d risk it and run back to the office for a change of clothes and to make some calls.

  He turned the key, and the CD player burst to life, drowning out the roar of the engine. Solomon hit the eject button with a growl and tossed the Boyzone CD onto the back seat. “Bleedin’ not funny, Daisy.”

  Apparently she’d found out his name. Hopefully being able to set him up with songs featuring Ronan Keating would be enough to keep her happy and she wouldn’t dig any further into his private life. He kept it private for a reason.

  * * * *

  Daisy sat nursing the last of her coffee, contemplating the day ahead. She still had no real idea about Toby or the guitar. At least the day had started well, but no doubt Paul would give the Irish git a hint about where Daisy was likely to be. Her long-standing Wednesday breakfast date was hardly a secret.

  Cherry’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Penny for them.”

  She glanced at Cherry. “Sorry, I was just wondering how best to tackle my case.”

  “I can’t believe a woman who can barely bring a photocopier to heel or subdue a coffee machine, is doing something as exciting as being a P.I.”

  “I’m not that bad. Besides I’m an heir hunter working with a P.I. And it’s not exciting.”

  Cherry raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I am that bad, but it’s still not that exciting. For example, yesterday I met a man about a guitar.”

  “A guitar?”

  “Yeah, Lord Tobias Wareham used to own a white one signed by Keith Richards. Last seen busking with it in Leicester Square, but who knows where he is now?”

  Cherry sipped her coffee and frowned. “You ever watch Sherlock?”

  “The one with Benedict Cabbagepatch?”

  “Cumberbatch. Yes, that one.”

  “A couple of episodes. Why? Do you think Moriarty has my missing lord?” Daisy snorted with laughter at her own joke.

  Cherry slapped her arm. “No, stupid. In one episode Sherlock used homeless people as his eyes and ears in London.”

  “You think I should talk to homeless people?”

  “Can’t hurt. You could start here and then go to the big smoke.”

  Cherry glanced at her watch. “Shit. I’m going to be late to meet my new client.”

  “On you go. See you next week?”

  Cherry got to her feet, tugging her laptop case and her handbag up her arm. “Absolutely, and you can tell me what progress you’ve made in the case of the missing lord.”

  Daisy stood and gave her friend a hug, only retaking her seat once Cherry had disappeared out the door.

  Maybe Cherry was onto something. She concentrated and tried to imagine she was Sherlock pulling the puzzle pieces together in her mind. Trouble was she didn’t even have the corners, never mind a picture to work from, and if this was anything like a real jigsaw puzzle some bastard was holding on to the last piece so they could appear the hero and finish the bloody thing after all the hard work was done. Her money was on Solomon for that role.

  He must have discovered she’d outsmarted him by now, and been serenaded by the CD she’d left in his player. She laughed as she imagined his reaction. Now that Cherry had left she should really go to the office, but first she might snoop around and chat with homeless people. She’d take a bag of hot jam doughnuts with her to bribe them. Cherry’s idea might be completely silly, but Daisy had nothing else to do.

  She ordered the doughnuts, and once they arrived she got up and left the warmth of the café. Winter was definitely on its way. The cool wind blowing up the street had the smell of rain, and the dark clouds hanging overhead looked full to bursting point. Tugging the collar of her jacket up, Daisy jogged to the car park. At this rate she wouldn’t need to get any other form of exercise, in fact she might even try out for the next London Marathon. Checking out a gym slipped a little further down her “to do” list.

  Her car sat alone in a corner on the fifth floor of a multistory car park. All the other cars were huddled at the opposite end of the floor as if her car had cooties. The bright yellow paint job was a bit much first thing in the morning, but it wasn’t bad enough to make people want t
o run away. A sickly cloying scent wafted on the cool air. Daisy slowed her approach. Now she was closer she could see the bonnet of her car was covered in something. A drop slid down the driver’s side front panel and dripped to the floor with a splash. The chocolate croissant and coffee Daisy had consumed threatened to do a comeback tour.

  Frozen to the spot, Daisy tugged her phone from her handbag. She dithered. Blood. Someone had thrown blood all over her lovely car. What if it was some sort of threat and the person who’d done it was still hanging about. She glanced around, but the floor appeared empty. Although there were too many pillars and cars to hide behind for her to be certain she was alone. Should she call Solomon or the cops?

  What if it wasn’t blood? It might be red paint. In which case calling either of them was silly. A painter might have tripped and spilt it by accident. He might even have left a note under her windscreen wiper with his details so he could pay to get the mess cleaned up and the bonnet resprayed. She approached her car. Her gaze shifted from the empty windscreen to the dashboard and then the driver’s seat. A hand was gripping her steering wheel. A hand that was no longer attached to a body. Daisy’s stomach heaved, and she threw up all over the side of the car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Solomon dropped the phone back onto its cradle, happy with what he’d achieved. Life was much easier without Daisy around. He checked the time. She must have finished breakfast by now. He figured after the drama the day before she hadn’t had time to organize another disaster and could be trusted to make her own way to the office. However, it was almost ten, and she was still a no-show.

  With a growl, he got to his feet and tugged his suit jacket on. He had less than an hour to find her if he was to make it to his first appointment on time. His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Daisy. He hit the button to accept the call.

  “Where the hell are you?”