by JL Simpson
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?”
“You wanted Paul to visit you for a booty call?”
Solomon chuckled.
Daisy sighed. “Can we not talk about Paul?”
“Problem?”
“Do you think he’s safe at the house on his own?”
“You want him to stay with us?”
“I’m not sure he would agree. He’s worried something will happen to the house if he leaves it empty.”
“No harm in asking, Princess.”
“I’ll give him a call later. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Not being an arsehole.”
Solomon laughed. “Bollocks, my cover must be slipping.”
“Don’t get carried away. I’m sure your inner arsehole is in there somewhere waiting to show itself.”
“We can but hope, darlin’. But if not can we keep this revelation to ourselves? I’ve spent years working on my bad-boy persona.”
“Why?”
He glanced at her. “Why keep it quiet?”
“No, why do you want a bad boy persona?”
Solomon shrugged. “Life’s easier that way.”
“You mean if you behave like a git people won’t care about you. That’s really sad.”
“This is real life, Princess. No one cares about me and it’s best for everyone it stays that way.”
Daisy gazed at the brake lights flashing red on the back of the car they were following. “I care about
you. So does Paul. He cared about you even when you were a git.”
The Aston Martin slowed as Solomon took a left turn. “I’m still a git. Maybe you can use your phone to check that charity on the Internet.”
Had his childhood really been so tough he couldn’t accept anyone cared about him? Too bad. Once this was over she’d build bridges. Sherman would love to have his godfather back as an honorary uncle, and Paul needed someone to get drunk and act the fool with.
*
Solomon concentrated on the road ahead. The car purred along, and he relaxed back in the seat. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Daisy had told Belinda that a woman not doing as she was told was his kryptonite, but she was wrong. He glanced at Daisy. She was focused on her phone as she scrolled through Google results. A woman saying she cared about him with real feeling was his weakness, but he’d never let another member of the fairer sex lead him around by the balls again. Not even one married to his best mate.
Daisy’s voice broke the silence. “I think I might be on to something.”
“What’s that?”
“The charity helps homeless men. Their website shows the board of trustees.”
“And?”
“My old boss Clive Lewis is one of them.”
“Interesting.”
“So is Phat Kitty’s manager, Jason Tyler.”
He recalled the conversation he’d had with Phat Kitty and Jason. “Shite. Can you find out if they’re putting on a charity show tonight?”
Solomon negotiated Winchester’s one-way system. The benefit of driving a car worth more than most people’s houses was that other vehicles got out of the way. No one wanted to have to ring their insurance company and tell them they’d damaged an Aston Martin.
“Royal Bath Hotel in Bournemouth from seven.”
“Does it have any other details?”
“You can buy tickets online. They cost five hundred pounds a head for dinner and entertainment.”
Solomon blew out a breath. Steep, but the insurance company was covering his expenses. If he was going back to Bournemouth he’d be able to try and retrieve his phone. “Can you email me the link? I’ll buy a ticket when we get home.”
“One ticket? What about me?”
“You’ll be busy, Princess.”
“Doing what?”
He flashed her a smile. “I thought Paul was coming over. If not, then I’ll think of something.”
“Why can’t I come? I might be able to help.”
“You’ll be recognized.”
“And you won’t?”
“I don’t have your pretty hair and memorable figure.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister. I thought we were in this together?” She stared at him and frowned. “Do you really think my hair’s pretty?”
He chuckled. “Daisy, a lady never fishes for compliments.”
“Lucky I’m not a lady, then. So do you?” She twirled a curl of her hair around a finger and stared at it.
He shook his head as he pulled into the car park and found an empty space. Daisy dropped her phone into her bag and climbed out as soon as they were stationary. He got out and locked the car before following her across the lumpy asphalt toward the main street. They were bang on time. Hopefully Mike Morrison would be in a sharing mood.
Daisy waited for him to catch up. “What do you think you’ll find out tonight anyway?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “No idea, but I’ve a feeling the charity is a key to solving this whole thing.”
“Liam said Stuart Bligh’s son went missing. He could have decided to leave money to a charity he thought might be able to help him if he’s living rough. It could be a coincidence.”
“I don’t like coincidences. There are hundreds of charities for homeless people. What are the chances he would randomly choose the one that your friend Clive and the manager of another potential beneficiary of an insurance policy under investigation are involved in?”
“Do you think it was Clive who set the killers on to me?”
“That would be my guess, Princess.”
“And he works for Maroni.”
“That he does.”
“But Clive thinks I’m looking for Toby. What does that have to do with the insurance policies?”
“Right now I have no idea. I guess time will tell, but at least we’re making progress.”
“I suppose.”
They walked the rest of the way to the accountant’s office in silence. Daisy had a point. Belinda had told them Tobias used to live in a squat. Did his disappearance have something to do with the insurance policies? That was something to look into. When they reached the accountant’s office, Solomon pushed the chrome-and-glass door open and waited for Daisy to step inside before he followed her.
The middle-aged receptionist glanced up. “Can I help you?”
Daisy walked to the counter. “Daisy Dunlop to see Mike Morrison.”
“Please take a seat.”
Solomon sank onto a dark brown sofa, and Daisy perched on the edge next to him. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned her head. “You worked in finance?”
She nodded.
“Okay, you take the lead.”
“Cool.” Her smile lit up her whole face. You’d swear to God he’d told her she’d won the lottery, not that she could question some crusty old sod in glasses and a brown cardigan.
A man wandered into the reception area, and Solomon decided he’d short changed the guy. Brown cardigan was such a stereotype. The old sod’s cardigan was closer to gray.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Daisy sat on the sofa and stared at the vision in a tux that stood the other side of the room. Solomon scrubbed up pretty well for a git. “Not bad but you should accessorize.”
“How’s that?”
She smiled. “I think a strawberry blonde in a sleek cream dress on your arm would be perfect.”
“Sorry, Princess. No can do. I have no idea who’ll be there, and I promised to keep you safe.”
“They tried to blow you up too, remember?”
He ran a finger over the healing graze on his face. “I do remember. Don’t tell me you’re worried about me?”
“Nope. I couldn’t care less.”
He chuckled as he tugged his French cuffs so they showed just below the sleeves of his Givenchy jacket. “What time will Paul be over?”
“About ten, he said. He wants to make sure our house is locked up tight and no one is hanging around before heading out.”
“You remember how to set the perimeter alarm and disarm it to let him in?”
“Yes. Stop fussing and get going or you’ll be late.”
“I don’t want to be the first to arrive.”
“You don’t want to be the last either.”
“If you need me you’ve got my new number in case I can’t find my other phone at the car park.”
“You do realize even if you do find your old phone there’s every chance it’s cooked to a crisp.”
“True. You know where everything is. There are some dinners in the freezer you can reheat when you’re hungry. What is it that you plan to do while I’m gone?”
“I’m going to do some research into that charity, Anthony the Abbot, and Jason Tyler. I can’t help thinking about that poor man.”
“Which man?”
“Stuart Bligh.”
Solomon sat next to her on the sofa. “Why?”
“He lost his son and then died with everything he owned mortgaged to the hilt. Once the bank sells off the house and gets the proceeds of the property insurance their will only be the life insurance money. Instead of getting a sizeable inheritance the butler gets about ten grand, everything else goes to the charity. Stuart must have been worried sick about his debts. Do you think he killed himself?”
“The police found no sign of the fire being anything other than an accident.”
“I wonder where all his money went?”
&n
bsp; “It seems we’ve another mystery to solve, Princess.”
“Do you think the missing money is related?”
“Undoubtedly. If you spend any time in this business you soon start to notice a pattern. Nearly everything comes down to sex or money.
Daisy sighed. “Or maybe sex and money. If he was still alive and the whole thing was a way to scam money from the insurance company, why give it to charity? It makes no sense.”
“If it all made sense we’d be out of work, would we not?” Solomon glanced at his watch. “Now, I’d better get going. Will you be all right by yourself?”
“If I say no will you let me come with you? I could glam up in jiffy.”
He chuckled. “Nope. As much as I’d love to see your particular version of glam, I’d cancel and stay home.”
“In that case, I’ll play Cinderella and stay here and you can go off and be Daniel Craig.”
Solomon frowned. “What?”
“The tux. The Aston Martin. You’re a real-life 007. If the women knew the heat you were packing they’d definitely be throwing themselves at you all night.”
“Is it heat that I’m packing? That’s a new one on me.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow and Daisy felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. She’d been talking about his gun, not his dangly bits but, apparently like every other man, his life and thoughts revolved around his penis.
Solomon lifted an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”
Daisy laughed. “That you’re packing heat? No way. That you’ll be the belle of the ball? Nope. I’m not into women.”
Solomon leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “If the women of the world ever find out you would write them all off so easily they’ll be greatly disappointed. I’ll be late so don’t wait up. See you for breakfast. Make sure you set the alarm as soon as I’ve gone and only switch it off long enough to let Paul in. I’ve got a remote to disarm it when I get back.”
“Yes, sir.” She grabbed his arm as he started to rise from the sofa. “Be careful.”
“I’ve no intention of being anything else, Princess.”
“Are you taking your gun?”
He shook his head. “It’s safely locked in my study. I don’t think I’ll be in danger in a public venue, and I don’t want to be caught with it if the police are still at the car park when I go looking for my phone.” He winked at her. “The only heat I’m packing tonight is my own.”
