by JL Simpson
Daisy smiled. Sherman usually watched the music channel on a Saturday morning. He loved to start his weekend by ogling scantily clad females gyrating in a manner that would give Daisy backache. This morning he seemed perfectly content to play host to the little girl he'd only met once before, and she appeared to absolutely adore him. He would have been a great big brother, if Daisy hadn't chickened out of having more kids after giving birth to Sherman, the elephant baby.
When she got back to the kitchen, Paul had set the table, and her breakfast and coffee were waiting for her. She took her seat, and lifted her knife and fork.
Solomon munched on a piece of toast and sipped his coffee. He had dark circles under his eyes, and looked like shit.
“Rough night?”
“Aye, you could say that. Molly would only settle, if I stayed in the bed with her.”
Daisy frowned. “Your bed?”
“Nope. Her bed.”
She snorted with laughter.
Paul frowned. “Did I miss something?”
“Molly's got a pink princess bed. A very small pink princess bed.”
Solomon grunted. “I’m glad you find it amusing. She was fretful, and kept waking up and patting me. I don’t know what she’s scared of. She’s barely spoken since I picked her up last night.”
“Did something happen to her? Did Lisa do something?” Daisy put her cup down, and waited for his answer, her heart beating a little faster.
“Dan said she was fine when they arrested Lisa. The paramedics gave her the once over and didn’t find anything, and I couldn’t see any signs of physical injury when I bathed her for bed last night.”
“Maybe it's just that she's out of her routine. It wasn't your weekend to have her, and being at the police station with strangers wouldn't be much fun.”
“Mavis took good care of her.”
Daisy cocked an eyebrow. “Mavis?”
“PC Mavis Mills. An angel, in the truest sense of the word. Gave my little girl chocolate, and kept her entertained until I arrived to take her home.”
“Solomon's angel. Sounds like a TV show.”
Solomon growled at Daisy. She laughed and turned her attention to her breakfast, before it went stone cold.
Paul shoved his empty plate aside, and slapped his stomach. “That was perfect.”
“I aim to please.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, and Solomon sighed. “You two are nauseating.”
“Jealous?” Paul wrapped an arm around Daisy's shoulder, and kissed her again.
“Oh, no. I've nothing to be jealous of. Working with her is enough punishment for me.”
“Don't talk about me as if I'm not here. And I'm not punishment.”
“My butt begs to differ.”
“I always thought you talked out of your arse.”
Paul looked from Daisy to Solomon, and back again. “How do you two get any work done?”
Daisy swallowed the last of her coffee, and got to her feet. “Talking about work, I need to collect Cliff from the office, and go and interview some people today.”
Solomon chuckled. “Did she tell you she has a new assistant? Cliff Richards. And they're hunting for a stud poodle.”
“And did he tell you he has nothing to work on? Not one case. Nada. Zip. Zilch.”
“Not strictly true. I've a meeting at the gym at ten, to close my current case, and then I need to look into a few things.”
Daisy stared at him. When did he get something new? And if it was better than poodle hunting, why didn’t she know about it? “What few things? Have you got a new case?”
Solomon grunted. “I'm not saying.”
“Secret mission?”
“Absolutely.”
Paul frowned at Solomon. “I’m picking up Ben Maloney and Sherman from soccer practice, at twelve. You are still coming to the game this afternoon, aren't you?”
Solomon shrugged. “Depends.”
“On?”
Solomon leaned his elbows on the table, and smiled at Daisy as she reached over to collect Paul's empty plate. “Your lovely wife.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. “The one you were just slagging off?”
He flashed a lopsided smile. “The very same. Would you take care of my little angel for the day, Princess?”
“Don't ‘Princess’ me.”
“Would that be a no?”
“It would be a ‘don't Princess me, to try and wheedle me into doing your dirty work,’ but the answer to your question is yes. I'm going to talk to poodle breeders, and what better cover than a child who desperately wants a puppy?”
“She doesn't want a puppy.”
Daisy smiled. “Wanna bet?”
Solomon glared at her. “I mean it, Daisy. No bleedin’ puppies.”
Molly wandered into the kitchen, and scrambled into her dad's lap. “Are we getting a puppy, Da?”
Daisy laughed. “My work here is done. I need to shower and dress. Leave Molly's car seat in the front hall when you go. Ta ra.”
She disappeared up the stairs, chuckling as Solomon tried to convince Molly a puppy would be a bad idea. He was wrong. Maybe a tiny puppy was just what Molly needed. With all the back and forth between her parents, a little dog would be the perfect constant companion for the little girl, even if Lisa sorted out her life
Chapter Nine
Solomon pulled his SUV into the curb down the road from Lisa's house, and tugged his phone from his pocket. He swiped across Dan Maloney's name, and held the phone to his ear.
The detective answered. “Maloney.”
“Hi. It's Solomon. Is Lisa still at the police station?”
“She is.”
“Are there any plans to let her out today?”
“Not that I’m aware of. She's been officially charged, and stays in custody until the magistrate sets bail. Assuming she gets bail. Why?”
“No reason.”
“What are you up to?”
Solomon hung up, and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
He reached over, flipped open the glove box, and retrieved a pair of purple latex gloves. They were hardly inconspicuous, unless you were embracing your inner Willy Wonka, so he shoved them into his jacket pocket. He opened the door, and climbed out, checking the street to see if anyone paid him any heed. The net curtains a few doors down twitched, and he raised his hand in salute, chuckling when the curtain fell back into place. No one liked to be caught snooping on the neighbors’ comings and goings.
He slammed the driver's door and locked his vehicle, before striding along the pavement with a sense of purpose. Nothing in Lisa's street seemed out of place. The lazy maggot next door still had his old blue Cortina up on blocks outside his house, and his front lawn was littered with empty beer bottles and cans. Solomon had offered to pay for Lisa to move somewhere more up market, but she seemed to take great delight in bringing up their daughter in close proximity to a slum.
Even though he had a key, he preferred not to be seen entering the semi-detached double story Lisa called home. He scooted around the side of the building, and opened the wooden gate that kept Molly safely in the garden, before following the gravel path to the back of the house.
Solomon stood outside the kitchen door, and pulled on his gloves. He retrieved the key from his pocket, slid it into the lock, and turned. Once he'd stepped inside, he closed the door, being sure to flip the latch, so no one else could get in without a key.
The house was eerily quiet. Usually Lisa had the TV or radio blaring away. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and a pile of laundry sat on the floor in front of the open washing machine.
A quick search of the downstairs revealed nothing out of the ordinary, other than a man’s shoe in the front hall. Solomon picked it up, and then climbed the stairs, coming to a stop on the landing. He gently pushed the door to Lisa's bedroom open, and stood on the threshold. His heart raced, and his palms grew sweaty. Lisa was messy but this wasn't just untidy. Drawers had been em
ptied on the floor and thrown aside. Pillows spilled their contents across the carpet. Clothes were piled high on the bed, in a jumble of bright colors and patterns. A man's right foot was visible beneath the mess. Solomon stepped closer and shoved the mountain of clothes aside.
He blew out a breath. Shite.
Lisa might be the world's worst housewife, but leaving a dead man wearing a pair of black silk boxer shorts in the middle of your bed went beyond forgetting to put the hoover around once a week.
Solomon bent over, to get a better look. The man appeared to be in his early forties, with thinning dark hair and a thickening waist line. His tan went a long way to compensate for the pallor of death. A neat bullet hole marred the middle of his hairy chest. Blood had soaked the bedcovers. No point in checking for a pulse.
Solomon slipped the shoe onto the man’s foot. It was a perfect fit. He hunted through the pile of clothing, but unless the man was a cross dresser, whatever else he'd been wearing was missing. He searched the rest of the room but found nothing. No wallet, no left shoe, and no ID for the dead man. Solomon checked the body, turning it over. It was clean, other than a tattoo on the inside of the right upper arm that read, “Remember, Mama loves you.”
Solomon stepped back, took his phone from his pocket, and snapped a few shots. A white band around the right wrist of the dead man indicated he'd been wearing a watch, and was probably left handed. His nails were clean and manicured. It didn’t look like he’d had rings on any of his fingers.
Solomon tugged the shoe off the man's foot, and frowned. He was a big fan of Santoni, and owned a pair or two of their shoes. They didn't come cheap. A tattoo and a shoe weren't much to go on, but it was all he was going to get.
He covered the body with the pile of clothes. Once he was satisfied everything was back in place, he made his way down the stairs and dropped the shoe where he found it, before making his way to the back door. He was careful to lock up behind him. He stripped off his gloves, and shoved them in his pocket. Safely inside his SUV, he started the engine, and drove away.
The Staff and Flagon pub was close by. Finding bodies gave Solomon an awful thirst. He pulled into the pub car park, smiling when he caught sight of a red VW Beetle parked close to the door.
He strode into the pub, and across to the bar. A glance at his watch revealed it was a little after eleven. Paul wasn't expecting him until twelve thirty, so he had time for a drink to clear the scent of death from his nostrils.
Melanie, the barmaid, looked up and smiled. “Solomon. This is getting to be a habit. Are you thinking of making this your local?”
He leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled of beer and her favorite peach shampoo. Shampoo he'd been forced to use the last time he'd spent the night in her bed. The woman was a dream. Commitment was not in her vocabulary.
Death always made him want to prove he was still living, and nothing made him feel more alive than sex. His near miss with Belinda had left him in desperate need of some horizontal relief, but he’d no plans to try a repeat performance. She might think she wanted a one night stand but he doubted either of them would leave the bed satiated and ready to walk away. Now he had Molly, she needed to be the center of his attention. He had no time for a relationship, but a few hours with a willing warm body was never out of the question. “I was close by, and thought I would check in on my favorite barmaid. I've not forgotten I still owe you one, for lending me your car the other week. It was a life saver.”
“If I recall correctly, you gave me more than one. You're like the energizer bunny.” She leaned on the bar. “Now what can I get you? Guinness?”
“Why not? I'll take a pint, and get something for yourself.”
She wandered away. The sight of her great backside in figure-hugging jeans sent a surge of lust through his veins. He took his wallet from his pocket, and handed her a twenty-pound note when she returned with his drink.
He took a sip, and grunted his appreciation, as the thick dark liquid hit the spot. “I'd very much like to thank you again.”
Melanie smiled. “Sorry. I'm off the market.”
“You are?” Disappointment sent his libido into freefall.
She leaned her elbows on the bar, a dreamy look on her face. “Remember Mick?”
“The lad whose stag party we crashed the night I borrowed your car? It can't be him; he's getting married.”
“Was getting married. His Sonja found out about him visiting the club you got him and the lads into, and went mental. He called the wedding off. He says he needs a more liberally minded woman.”
“Well, you are that. So have you been teaching young Mick a thing or two?”
She smiled. “Wouldn't you like to know? Let's just say my fridge is always full of whipped cream.”
Solomon tugged at his chin, and let out a sigh of disappointment. “I'll miss your desserts.”
“Sorry, darling. The restaurant’s closed.”
“Well good luck to you both. Mick's a lucky man.”
He glanced behind the bar. “Any chance I could use the phone?”
“Don’t you have a mobile?”
“I’d rather the caller not know it’s me.”
“Sounds dodgy. I need this job.”
“I’m wounded that you’d think I’d lose you your job. Please, darlin’, for old time’s sake. You’d be saving my life.”
“Is it an emergency?”
Solomon could tell she was beginning to waver. He shook his head. “Civic duty. If you knew what I knew, you’d be making the call yourself.”
“Are you sure I won’t get into trouble?”
“Positive.”
She placed the pub phone on the bar.
Solomon lifted the handset. “If anyone asks, you never saw me, and you have no idea which of your steady stream of male customers could have reached over and helped himself to a free phone call.”
“I guess I do owe you one, for getting Mick to see sense about Sonja.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow. “One I'm not likely to ever collect.”
Chapter Ten
Daisy pulled the car into the car park at the office, and glanced over her shoulder. Molly slept peacefully in her car seat. There was no sign of the nightmares and fears Solomon said troubled the little girl for most of the night.
Cliff was nowhere to be seen, and she couldn’t leave Molly in the car. She might wake up and think Daisy had disappeared, the same way Lisa had the day before. Daisy’s phone rang, and she grabbed it out of her handbag.
Solomon didn’t bother with a greeting. “How's Molly doing?”
“She's sleeping in the car.”
“You'll call, if she needs me?”
“I already said I would. She'll be fine. How did your secret mission go this morning?”
“Unexpectedly.”
“Why? What happened?”
“If I told you, it wouldn't be very secret now, would it?”
Daisy scowled. “Are you saying I can't be trusted not to blab?”
“I'm saying that it wouldn't be a secret. I'll see you later. Take good care of my little angel.”
“No calling me Princess?”
“Don't tell me you're jealous of my wee girl?”
Daisy snorted. “Of course not. I just never had a nickname before.”
“I thought you hated to be called Princess? I distinctly remember you telling me the name on your T-shirt wasn’t about you. Was it not the name for your boobs?”
“Very funny, Solomon.”
“If you want to be my Princess, darlin’, I’m more than happy to oblige. I might even begin to think you’re softening toward me. Next you’ll be telling me you love me, Princess.”
“I won’t tell you any such thing. And don't tell me you're being a butthead again.”
“Am I not your Irish git today?” She could hear the smile in his voice.
The door to the office opened, and Cliff appeared.
Daisy waved to get Cliff’s attention. “I'
ve got to go. Some of us have a case to solve.”
“Happy poodle chasing.”
Daisy ended the call before she had to listen to him laughing. She tossed the phone back into her bag and climbed from her car. Cliff jogged over. A good night's sleep, a shower and a shave, and a change into some clean clothes had done him the world of good.
“Did you have breakfast?”
He nodded. “I found a block of chocolate and some cookies in a cereal box in the kitchen cupboard. Funny place to keep them.”
Daisy forced a smile. “It’s to fool the mice.”
Solomon had banned junk food from the office, in an attempt to help her get fit. Her secret had been safe, because he would never want to eat sugary breakfast cereal, but apparently Cliff had a sweet tooth.
Cliff kicked at a stone with the toe of his worn-out sneakers. “T'anks for letting me stay the night.” He glanced up, briefly making eye contact. “Are you here to take me back?”
“No, I'm here to put you to work. You do still want to help me with this case, don't you?”
“If you're sure. I'm not good at solving t'ings.”
“But you are good with animals”
He nodded.
“Great. Well then, it looks like the three of us have work to do.”
“T’ree?”
Daisy pointed to the back of the car. He stepped closer, pressed his nose to the window, and then turned and looked at Daisy. “Is she yours?”
“Nope. She's Solomon's, and we get to play baby sitters for the day.”
Cliff sighed. “My sister, Denise, has a baby. Malcolm. Must be at school now. He was lots of fun to play with.”
“Why was? Did something happen to him?”
Cliff shrugged.
“Let me guess. You made him so hysterical with laughter, he wouldn’t sleep, and Uncle Cliff’s been banned for life.”
“Not banned. Just not visiting.” Cliff opened the car door, and flopped into the passenger seat.
Daisy got back behind the wheel, and turned the key. The engine spluttered to life, and she started to reverse as Cliff fumbled with his seatbelt.
