The Daisy Dunlop Mystery Box Set: Lost Cause, Lost & Found, Lost Property
Page 25
“So they say, but give it time, and your uptight pompous old boy’s club members will crack under the pressure of continued police questioning.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“I should go and let you get some rest.” She leaned over the bed and kissed him on the cheek. “Welcome to the family. But be warned, you ever throw piss on me again, and I won’t be shooting at your arse. Paul always wanted a sister.”
“You’re not that good a shot.”
“True. Only a trained sniper with a magnifying glass could hit a target that small.”
THE END
LOST & FOUND
(A DAISY DUNLOP MYSTERY ~ BOOK 2)
Author
JL Simpson
www.jlsimpson.com
JL Simpson Newsletter sign-up
Editing by Sotia Lazu
www.sotialazu.com
Text Copyright © JL Simpson
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter One
Daisy Dunlop's nostrils filled with the salty tang of sweaty bodies. The deep bass of loud music assaulted her eardrums. She blew her damp hair out of her eyes, and concentrated on planting one foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. The treadmill's timer revealed she’d been jogging for less than five minutes. The bloody thing had to be faulty. No one was paying her any attention, so she punched it, but it continued to tick over just as slowly.
Her heart raced. Each pump set off an echoing boom in her skull. Any second now, her blood pressure would reach maximum, and her head would shoot off her shoulders. She would become the UK's latest YouTube star. Shame she'd be too dead to enjoy it. She pounded her legs as fast as they could go, and yet she was barely keeping up with the speeding belt. She'd been parachuted into her own particular version of hell, with not so much as a fun-size chocolate bar to sustain her.
She dropped her chin toward her chest, and between sucking in lungfuls of air whispered, “Why the hell am I doing this?”
The Irish brogue of her business partner, Ronan Liffey, also known as Solomon, sounded through the device in her ear. “Because you look better in Lycra than I do.”
“Bull…shit.”
“I'm flattered you think I could rock the bike shorts, Princess.”
Between gasps for air, she whispered, “That's a picture I don't need in my head.” Solomon laughed. Sweat ran down her face and between her breasts. She glanced at the radio device hidden inside her top. Each breath was hard won and she struggled to speak, stopping between each word. “Are you sure this secret communication thing doesn't have a camera?”
“If it did, darlin', it would currently be giving me a great view of your ample cleavage.”
Gasp. “Are you saying I'm fat?” Gasp. “Is that why I'm doing this circuit class?”
“You're doing the class because the instructor is unlikely to sexually harass me.”
Sure her eyesight was failing due to lack of oxygen to her brain, she swiped a hand across her forehead to stop a dribble of sweat. Unbalanced, she wobbled and grabbed for the handrails to stop herself from taking a tumble. Once her legs were back in rhythm she took a deep breath and gasped out, “I thought you banned me from flirting with people?”
“Sometimes you have to work to your strengths.”
“And pimping me out…dressed like…an oversized escapee…from a Miley Cyrus twerking video…is a strength?”
Laughter filled her ear, and she growled.
A hand gripped Daisy's upper arm. She squealed, and glanced over her shoulder at the mustached middle-aged gym instructor. His unique odor of liniment and sweat filled the air. “Who are you talking to?”
She fought back a shudder, before smiling and batting her eyelids seductively. “Um, no one.” She sucked in a breath, and hit the button to slow the treadmill. “I'm singing along to my iPod.” She dropped back to a walking pace, glad to be able to breathe more easily. “It's the new one by Ronan Keating. Have you heard it? It's called, ‘My Partner's a Big Fat Irish Git.’”
“If you've got enough breath to sing, you aren't running fast enough, cupcake.”
Before she could come up with a suitable response, he reached over and pressed the speed button with his large hairy hand. Daisy’s legs felt like rubber, and she struggled to keep up, as the man wandered off to torment someone else.
No matter how fast she pumped her legs, the control panel got further and further away. Maybe the hairy moron's instruction to attach the emergency stop cord to their clothing had been good advice after all. Her left foot slipped off the end of the treadmill, and she windmilled her arms in a frantic attempt to save herself. She screamed as she finally lost the fight, shot backward, and collapsed face down in a humiliated heap behind the machine.
She cracked open one eyelid. The whole circuit class stood around, staring at her. So much for blending in. When she spied a pair of legs encased in dark jeans making their way through the crowd, she snapped her eyelid shut. Bugger. Why did Solomon only ever witness her biggest failures, and not her greatest triumphs? Not that she had a lot of triumphs.
“Princess?”
“Go away. I'm dead.”
Solomon patted her on the shoulder, and whispered, “Would chocolate cake revive you?”
She moaned. The man knew her too well.
* * * * *
Solomon leaned back in his chair, sipping a cup of black coffee as he watched Daisy devour a slice of the café’s specialty rich dark chocolate and cream cake, moaning and licking her fork with orgasmic pleasure.
Damp strawberry blonde curls hung limp around her pink face. When she said she wasn’t built for sport, he figured it to be an excuse. However, her inability to do something as simple as run on a treadmill seemed to prove her point. “So, did he make any lewd suggestions?” he asked.
Daisy’s smile reached her bright green eyes. She sucked a blob of frosting off her finger. “Not unless ‘you're not running fast enough’ is code for ‘let me roger you with my big stiffy.’”
Solomon choked on a mouthful
of coffee, and spurted it across the table.
Daisy passed him a napkin.
He wiped up the spill, and wadded the napkin into a ball. “Maybe you'll have better luck this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?”
“Sure. We'll buy you a more provocative outfit, and book you into the pump class. It'll be easier than running.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Sorry, darlin'?”
“I'm sorry I shot you in the arse. Haven't I been punished enough?”
Solomon shifted in his chair. The wound had healed, but the searing pain of the bullet burying itself in his butt cheek was still fresh in his memory. “I'm not punishing you.”
“What's this about, then?”
“It's about paying the bills. Do you have another case?”
Daisy licked chocolate frosting off the tines of her fork. “Nope, but I'm working on it.”
“Good girl. However, I'll still be needing your help.”
“Can't you get someone else?”
“You're the one threatening to reveal my secret if I don’t let you be my partner. The job's yours.”
“I'm not blackmailing you, and I don't want to be your partner. I just need some office space.”
“If I can't pay the bills, neither of us will have an office.”
“What happened to the money from the insurance job?”
“They weren't best pleased when you found a freezer full of dead people that were insured with them.”
“Why don't you sell the car? It's worth more than a house.”
Solomon folded his arms and glared at her. The thought had crossed his mind, but you don’t sell something that grand until you were down to your last penny. The car had been hard won, and he’d no plans to give it up just yet. “The Aston Martin is not for sale.”
She leaned across the table. “What did you do, to earn the kind of cash you need to buy a car like that, anyway?”
He fought the urge to look down the front of her gaping top as he moved closer, and whispered, “I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”
“Paul knows. Doesn't he?”
“I have no idea what your husband knows.”
“You two are as thick as thieves.”
Solomon refused to be drawn in any deeper.
She shoved her empty plate aside. “Do I really have to go back to the gym today?”
“I'm afraid so.” He got to his feet, and stood next to her chair. “Ready to go, Princess?”
She stood, and he placed his jacket around her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, and he tugged the zipper up to her throat. The garment swamped her, but it was best she stay covered up until she had a chance to change into something a little less revealing.
He followed her to the door. She stopped, and pulled something from his jacket pocket? “What's this?”
He shrugged. “A letter.”
“For me?”
“That it is, darlin'.”
Daisy stared at the loopy handwriting, before turning the envelope over and looking at the back. “Who from?”
Solomon sighed. “Do I look like your bleedin’ secretary? You'll have to open it to find out.”
Chapter Two
Back at the office, Daisy emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp from her shower. She'd struggled out of the body-sucking Lycra—which added to the whole horror of going to the gym—and changed into figure hugging jeans, a white shirt, and sage green jumper. No doubt Solomon would be more comfortable, now she'd covered up. It was sweet that he thought every man on the planet would be driven to lust at a mere glimpse of her scantily-clad form. He took his role of protector very seriously. Although she doubted Paul meant for Solomon to guard her virtue. She smiled at the thought of Paul. He knew he had nothing to fear from other men. He was her very own perfect specimen of manhood.
“What are you thinking on, Princess?”
“Nothing.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow. “You've a stupid look on your face.”
“Do not.”
“Is Doughnut going to get lucky later?”
Daisy's face heated, and she stuck out her tongue at Solomon. “We don't all think about sex twenty-four seven.”
Solomon smirked.
“Don't you have something to go and detect?” She crossed to her desk and switched her computer on.
“Not unless you want to go back to the gym for the aerobics class in half-an-hour.”
Daisy sat, and lifted the letter she’d left on her keyboard. “No way. Are you sure we don't have anything else?”
“I've an appointment later. What was in your letter?”
“It's from a Candy Mars. She saw my name in an article about me rescuing you and Lord Tobias Wareham.”
Solomon growled in apparent frustration. “I didn't need rescuing.”
Daisy looked up at him. “So you keep saying.” She turned her attention back to the letter. “Candy says someone has stolen her prize-winning poodle. She thinks they plan to use him to impregnate females without paying the stud fee.”
“What?” Solomon's laughter filled the room. “A stud poodle? She wants you to find her stud poodle. You’d better get on it fast, before he gets busy with a Rottweiler.”
Daisy smiled at him. “She wants us to find her stud poodle. She's offering a big fat retainer and a finder's fee.”
“I thought you wanted to be an heir hunter?”
Daisy shrugged, not willing to admit she was yet to work out how to find a case, never mind actually solve it and collect a fee. “Missing dog. Missing people. Same thing.”
“Except people don't bite.”
He had a point. She had a bad history with dogs. In fact, they absolutely terrified her. Not that she’d let him know that. “You obviously don't hang out with the right sort of people.”
“And there you are, back to your love life with Doughnut.”
Daisy was busy thinking up a cutting response when the door to the office opened, and Belinda, the blonde up-market florist from next door, stepped inside, balancing three cups of coffee in a cardboard holder. Daisy’s frustration at not having a chance to come back at Solomon disappeared. Belinda was fun, and watching Solomon’s efforts to avoid her obvious interest was a great deal more entertaining than arguing with him.
“I saw you arrive back, and thought, ‘Gosh, I bet they're ready for coffee.’”
Solomon got to his feet, and crossed the office. “Very kind of you. Thanks.”
Belinda's face turned pink, and she broke into a goofy grin. “So what are you guys working on? Anything exciting?”
Solomon shrugged, accepted a coffee, and returned to his desk, apparently taking a sudden interest in some paperwork.
Daisy felt sorry for the poor woman. She'd have more luck getting a date with The Pope. “I've got to book a meeting with a lady about a missing poodle. Tell me, Belinda, do you go to the gym?”
“Oh, yes, rather. I like to keep in shape. Why?”
“Daisy.” Solomon growled.
Daisy leaned back, and put her feet on the edge of her desk. “Solomon's working on a case, and he needs a woman to be bait for a gym instructor. Apparently the man suffers from grabby hands, and a strange desire to tell his female customers where he would like to insert one of his body parts.”
Belinda placed the cup holder on the edge of the desk, and smiled at Solomon. “Do you want me to go undercover?”
“Sure he does. Don’t you, Solomon?”
He glared at Daisy. “It's a delicate case.”
“Bullshit. If it was delicate, you wouldn't need me.” Daisy got to her feet, and wandered around Belinda. “I mean, look at you. You’re perfect. Toned butt, nice boobs. The man won't be able to resist. You don't mind wearing a wire, do you?”
Belinda nodded, and then shook her head. “Not at all. Will there be handcuffs?”
Daisy tipped her head in Solomon’s direction. “If you piss him off enough, I can guarantee th
ere will be handcuffs.”
Solomon shoved his chair back. “I've somewhere to be.”
“What time do you need me for the gym?” Belinda asked.
Solomon sighed. “The class is at five. Be here by four, so I can wire you up. And wear something sexy.”
Belinda jiggled with apparent delight. “Four. Okay. Shall do. I need to go shopping. See you later.”
She bolted out the door, and Daisy sat and put her feet back on the desk. “She's in such a tizzy, she forgot her coffee.”
Solomon glared at her.
Daisy fought to keep a straight face. “I thought you were going out?”
“Why did you do that? You know I'm not interested.”
“She's lovely. And it's not like you're dating anyone. You're not, are you?”
“No, I don’t date.”
“If you don't want Belinda to act like a slobbering fool every time you see her, then just behave like the real you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to call Candy Mars.”
Daisy tugged her phone from her pocket, and dialed the number at the top of the letter. The phone rang half-a-dozen times, before a breathless female voice answered. “Mars’s Poodle Kennel.”
“Is that Candy Mars?”
A cacophony of yapping sounded down the phone. “Just a minute.”
The barking got quieter. “Hello? Sorry. They get over excited when the phone rings. This is Candy. What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Mars, this is Daisy Dunlop. You sent me a letter asking me to look into your missing stud poodle.”
Solomon snorted with laughter. Daisy lifted a stress ball from her in-tray, and pegged it at his head. It missed, and hit his cup. Coffee spilled over his desk. He jumped to his feet as it dripped into his lap. She cringed, and put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “Shit. Sorry.”
He stomped down the corridor, toward the kitchen.
Daisy turned her attention back to her call. “Maybe it would be easier for me to come and visit you.”
“Can you come today? I just know my little Johnny Jay Jay will be missing me terribly. He's very sensitive. It will do them no good trying to use him to service their bitches. He can't perform without his mummy to calm his nerves.”