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

by JL Simpson

  “His mother?”

  “Yes. I pet him and give him a pep talk before he's sent in to do his thing. He's like an Olympic athlete.”

  Daisy couldn't imagine a male of any species needing a pep talk, to take up an offer of no-strings-attached sex with a more than willing female. Then again, Solomon seemed to be avoiding just that with Belinda. “Are you available in an hour, Ms. Mars?”

  She wrote down the address, ended the call, and shoved her phone back in her pocket. Solomon was busy mopping his desk with a dishtowel, carefully rearranging his neat little piles of paper away from the spill. Daisy pulled on her jacket, and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Don't wait up for me.”

  He spun around. “Where are you going?”

  “Christchurch.”

  “I'll come with you.”

  “No you won't. You'll go to your meeting, and then take Belinda to the gym. I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Have you got my number on speed dial?”

  She sighed. “I won't need you.”

  “If I need you, will you come and save me?”

  Daisy laughed. “You'll be fine. You never know; you might even have fun.”

  “That's what has me worried.”

  Chapter Three

  Daisy pulled her new lime green hatchback to the side of the road. A truck beeped as it sped past, and she flipped the driver the bird. Moron. She checked the GPS on her phone. The turn off to the kennel should be right where she was parked. Obviously it wasn't. She pulled back into the traffic, and crawled along, collecting a tail-back of irate drivers. A sign with a picture of a giant white poodle looked promising. She wrenched the steering wheel left, and her car slewed sideways in the loose stones at the edge of the road, before gaining traction and leaping forward, spitting pebbles into the passing traffic.

  The driveway weaved between fields carpeted with stubble left after the harvest. If you had to live somewhere in England, this wasn't a bad spot. The river and the coast were minutes away. Folks from up north, who couldn't afford Spain and the party islands in the Mediterranean, came down here for a holiday, and some people had the good fortune to call it home.

  Daisy pulled to a stop in a graveled parking area, grabbed her bag, and slammed and locked the car door. High pitched yapping carried on the wind. Her heart pounded. They were fluffy little poodles. No one was scared of fluffy poodles. So they had sharp teeth, but they couldn't exactly rip her throat out. Although, they could probably do a number on her fake Jimmy Choo boots.

  Shoulders back and head held high, she crunched across the drive to the front door, and rang the bell. The ‘ding-dong’ was greeted by a frenzy of howling and yelling. A door slammed, and footsteps approached. The front door was flung open. Daisy did a double take. Neither the name Candy Mars nor the voice she'd heard over the phone had prepared her for the reality that was the dog breeder. There was no sign of the breathless big-breasted young woman Daisy anticipated. Ms. Mars was an obese sixty something. Her salt-and-pepper gray hair was styled into a beehive reminiscent of the sixties, and she sported a pair of shiny purple track pants and a stained white T-shirt.

  Daisy smiled. “Hi. I'm Daisy Dunlop, looking for Ms. Mars.”

  “Call me Candy. Come in. Come in.” The old lady stepped back, leaving enough room for Daisy to squeeze past.

  Daisy stepped inside, and Candy shut the door and led the way through a musty, dog-smelling, canary yellow hallway. “When I saw you in the paper, I knew you'd be the one to find my missing Johnny.”

  The further through the house they went, the faster Daisy's heart rate got. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, she really should have mentioned her teeny-weeny little phobia. Not that poodles were anything to be worried about. They weren't Rottweilers. They were tiny, like rabbits, and who was scared of rabbits?

  Candy shoved open the door to a large sunny room, and Daisy screamed. Half-a-dozen giant bouncing balls of fur moved toward them. One lunged at her. Huge. Freaking huge. He jumped up. His paws reached her shoulders, and the monster bared his teeth in her face.

  Candy yelled, “Down. Down.”

  Daisy spun and ran from the room.

  He caught her squarely in the middle of her back. She stuck out her arms, to break her fall, but ended up with her face planted in the musty hall carpet. The beast had her pinned. A wet warm tongue licked the back of her neck. Daisy squealed. It was obviously tasting her before taking its first bite.

  “Jethro, get off.” The weight eased, but Daisy stayed face down on the stinky carpet. If they thought she was dead, they might leave her alone. Candy berated the animals, her voice getting more distant by the minute. Daisy closed her eyes, and concentrated on breathing deeply and slowing her racing pulse.

  “Ms. Dunlop?”

  She turned her head.

  Candy was bent over, staring at her. “Are you scared of dogs?”

  “A little bit. I thought I would be fine with fluffy little poodles, but you must feed them steroids. They're huge.”

  The old lady laughed, making her three chins wobble. “They're standard poodles, dear. They're supposed to be this big. Jethro has never been very well behaved. The family who bought him never trained him. I took him back when they emigrated to New Zealand. No matter what I do, he refuses to follow commands. He’s been spoiled his whole life. I've put the dogs in the garden. Would you like a cup of tea and some scones with jam and clotted cream?”

  Daisy climbed to her feet, and rubbed at the stinging carpet burn on her chin. She glanced at her jeans, which now sported a trendy hole in the left knee, and let out a sigh. “Tea and scones would be lovely.”

  She followed the old lady into a sunny kitchen, and took a seat at the pine table. A pin board full of rosettes and photos adorned one wall. One picture stood out. A smiling, dark haired, slender man, who looked to be in his late twenties, was surrounded by snaps of poodles and newspaper clippings. The picture looked tatty around the edges. Not recent, but the way he was dressed didn't scream any particular decade. A younger version of him was front and center in a newspaper clipping, along with two other children. The boy to his left looked sullen. The little girl to his right sported Shirley Temple curls, and had the look of the devil in her eyes.

  One of the fierce creatures barked, and Daisy checked to make sure they hadn't managed to get back indoors. The ravenous hairballs stared through the glass doors at her, but as long as they stayed outside, she'd be fine.

  Candy placed a tray on the table, and proceeded to pour dark steaming tea from the pot for both of them.

  After Daisy sampled what could only be described as a scone fit for God, her hands stopped shaking enough for her to pull a notebook and pen from her bag. “When did Johnny go missing?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Last Saturday? And you waited until Friday to contact me?”

  “I spoke to the police, but they don't seem to be taking me very seriously. Besides, I thought I might get a ransom note.”

  “Did you?”

  Candy shook her head. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Nothing. If I did, I’d pay anything to get him back.”

  “Did someone break in and take him?”

  “No. We were at a dog show in Cirencester. When I got home, I opened the dog trailer, and he wasn't in his cage.” Candy’s voice broke on a sob. She lifted a scone and took a bite.

  Daisy was in the camp that believed cake could fix any emotional crisis. She just hoped she never had enough emotional upheaval she ended up Candy’s size. Maybe she should have gone to the gym with Solomon, and burnt off the chocolate cake. Candy washed down her food with a loud slurp of tea, and Daisy sat with her pen poised over her pad.

  “But you definitely put him in there?”

  Candy nodded. “I don't let anyone else near the dogs. Chester used to help out, but he's not interested anymore.”

  “Chester?”

  Candy smiled, and pointed at the photo of the skinny man. “My son. He outgrew my small dog-breeding busi
ness and moved out. He’s intent on taking things to a new level and making his own mark on the world. He has a way with animals. Traveled all over Europe, making contacts and spreading the word about my dogs. Thanks to Chester's hard work, there are poodles sired by Candy Mars dogs in more countries than I can name. Johnny was his greatest achievement. Chester loved that dog. He'd be gutted to know he was missing.”

  “Have you asked him to help keep an eye out for Johnny?”

  Candy shook her head. “We don't talk as often as I’d like. He’s a busy man with his own life to lead. Last time we spoke, he was off to the Balkans for a month on a business trip. He gets back to the UK tomorrow.”

  Daisy asked Candy for Chester's number, and scribbled his details in her notebook. If he knew Johnny, and had been involved with the kennel, he might have some idea about why the dog was missing. “Okay. I need to know everything that happened the day of the show, and then we can come up with a list of people you think might have a reason to steal Johnny.”

  * * * * *

  Solomon got back to the office with enough money to pay the bills for another fortnight. He threw his keys on the desk, and shrugged out of his jacket. When he'd gone into the PI business he'd never planned to run his own version of cheaters. He didn't know what was worse—catching the bastards banging someone other than their spouse, or proving the infidelity only existed in the other partner's head. It seemed to him that once a person became paranoid enough to pay someone to trail after their other half and photograph their every move, the relationship was headed for disaster, no matter the outcome of his investigation.

  The door to the office opened, allowing a cool breeze to rustle the mess of papers on Daisy's desk.

  “Solomon? Will I do?” Belinda asked.

  Solomon took a deep breath, and turned with what he hoped was a genuine looking smile on his face. He was greeted by legs—long shapely legs, with creamy thighs—tiny white shorts, an expanse of skin covering a flat stomach, and luscious boobs in a crop top. The whole sexual fairground ride was topped with Belinda's pretty smiling face. He should have sworn off relationships a different week. She was killing him.

  He turned to his desk, knocking over an empty coffee cup in the process. “I guess you'll be fine.” His voice was gruffer than he intended.

  “Oh, good. So, what happens now?” He could hear the laughter in her voice. The little vixen was pleased she had him so unusually flustered.

  Solomon opened and then rummaged through the drawer. With Belinda in that getup, he didn't have a lot of places to hide a listening device. If Daisy had got the goods, he planned to have her along with him to confront the maggot and the gym owner with her evidence. The less involvement he needed from Belinda the better. With that thought in mind, he selected a wire that would transmit what was said to his earpiece, and record it all at the same time. Fingers crossed the man would take the bait, and Solomon could return an unsullied Belinda to her shop in no time at all.

  He turned with the device in his hands. “You need to be putting this on.”

  “Do what you must to me.” She stepped closer, and thrust her chest at him.

  Solomon met her gaze, and glanced back at the gadget in his hands. She was sorely testing his resolve to keep his distance. He took a deep breath, and got to work.

  Belinda stood perfectly still, while he placed the earpiece in her ear and nestled the microphone and the rest of the device in her cleavage. He stepped back, telling himself that the increase in her breathing was due to nerves about the operation, and had nothing to do with the fact he was touching her.

  He could say the same thing about his racing pulse, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d done this a thousand times before, and the job held no fear for him. Her pupils dilated, and she shivered under his gaze. One word, and he was sure she would fall into his arms, but he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend, and she was too classy to be in the market for a quick lay.

  He scooped his earpiece off the desk, and grabbed his keys and jacket. “Let’s be going.”

  Chapter Four

  Daisy pulled into a car park close to the river. She needed some fresh air, before driving all the way home to Eastleigh. Candy had been very forthcoming. Not only was Daisy's notebook filled with a blow-by-blow account of the day spent at the show, but Candy also had half-a-dozen people that were on her hit list of suspects. The dog breeder had even insisted that Daisy take a tour of the facilities. The dogs had behaved, mostly. Apparently immersion therapy didn't work, though. If a person only had a limited number of heart beats before they died, Daisy’s heart was currently racing for the finish line.

  She climbed from the car, locked up, and strolled toward a park bench, but as she got closer she could see it was already occupied. A man lay flat on his back, with a battered dark grey fedora balanced over his face. It was only three in the afternoon, so not exactly bed time. She cleared her throat. The man lifted the hat.

  “Cliff? Cliff Richards?” she asked.

  They might have only met briefly, but once you’d seen Cliff with a squirrel sleeping on his chest, he could never be forgotten. His dark hair had grown out a little, and he didn’t appear to have shaved for a day or two. He looked thinner than she remembered, but he still carried himself with the easy grace of a man in his early twenties. He usually lived in the pleasure gardens in Bournemouth, and eked out a living selling things other people discarded.

  Cliff swung his legs to the ground, and sat up. “Daisy, isn't it?”

  “May I?” She pointed at the bench.

  Cliff made a big show of wiping the space next to him with the sleeve of his thin, battered jacket. “Sure t'ing.”

  She shivered in the cold late-autumn breeze, as she sat and stared at the water. A group of swans glided past. “So, what brings you to Christchurch? A holiday?” The minute the words left her mouth, she knew it was a dumb question. Swapping from one park bench to another was hardly like taking a trip to the Costa del Sol.

  “I had a bit of trouble so I t'ought I'd winter here.” He mumbled in a thick West Indian accent.

  “Trouble?” She took a closer look at him. A dark bruise circled his left eye. She hadn’t noticed it before, because of his nut-brown skin. “Did someone hit you?”

  He shrugged. “Not until I hit them first. It weren't not'ing’. I'd do it again if I had to.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some thugs t'ought it would be funny to try and catch the squirrels. They're too friendly. My fault for letting them sleep on my chest.”

  “You look tired.”

  She couldn't help but notice him flinch when he shrugged his shoulders. “Not sleeping well. The cops keep moving me on. I need to find a better place to lay my head down. Somewhere they ain't looking.”

  “How does a warm meal and a soft bed for the night sound? It's the least I can do.”

  “You don't need to do not'ing. You paid good coin for your partner’s missing phone.”

  In a few years her son Sherman would be the same age as Cliff. Daisy prayed he would never find himself homeless. Did Cliff have a mother somewhere, worrying about him? “Come on. You know you want to.”

  He fidgeted, tugging at the loose threads around a hole in the knee of his jeans. “I'm not fit for company. You don't want me at your house.”

  “I would be happy to put you up, but I have a better idea. Our office has a lovely bed, a bathroom with a hot shower, and a kitchen stocked with all the chocolate-chip cookies a man could want. No one else is using it. The room is yours for as long as you need it.”

  The expression in his big brown eyes was still wary.

  “How about we start with dinner, and then you can decide? What do you like to eat?”

  He smiled, his teeth white in his brown face. “Seafood.”

  Daisy got to her feet. “Seafood it is. I know a great restaurant in Southampton.”

  “Sout'ampton?” He frowned.

  “Don't panic. I can bring you back s
oon enough, if you're hell bent on living here.”

  He got to his feet, before retrieving a plastic Tesco bag from under the bench.

  “I don’t panic.” he grumbled as he followed her across the grass.

  * * * * *

  Solomon sat in the car and checked his watch. He could hear the music for the class. Belinda had been at it for thirty-five minutes, and hadn't bitched once about exercising. Maybe she was a better partner than Daisy. Her manner was a little odd, but she did as she was told without argument. He lifted the lapel of his jacket, moving the microphone closer to his mouth. “How are you doing?”

  Belinda sounded a little breathless. “Fine.”

  “And our target?”

  “Keeps leering and winking at me. Once the class ends, I'll go and ask him for some advice.”

  “How long?”

  “About ten more minutes.”

  Solomon leaned back in the driver's seat of his SUV, and stretched his legs. After rushing in to save Daisy earlier in the day, he couldn’t risk the man seeing him before he made his move. “Give me a signal when you're going to speak to him and then wait for my say so before making your approach.”

  “Roger, over, and out.”

  He smiled, and closed his eyes. The music stopped, and he could hear the instructor talking them through a set of stretches. Solomon tried hard not to imagine Belinda in the various poses his mind conjured up.

  Belinda's voice sounded in his ear. “Fire in the hole.”

  Solomon scrambled out of the car. “Wait until I’m in position.”

  “He’s coming over.”

  “Hey, pretty lady. Can I help you with something?” The man's voice growled through the listening device.

  Solomon burst through the door to the stairwell, and took the steps two at a time.

  “I'm a little out of shape.” Belinda’s voice whispered in his earpiece.