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

by JL Simpson

  “My name's not really Cliff Richards.”

  Daisy glanced at him. “I'm shocked. So I didn’t have breakfast with Elvis, Harry Belafonte, and Shirley Temple at that café in Bournemouth the other day then?”

  “I met Elvis in a homeless shelter. Harry and Shirley were t’ere as well. Elvis said we'd get nowhere in life with drab names, and we should all change them. He picked a new name for each of us.”

  “Can you sing?”

  He shrugged. “Elvis is a big fan of Sir Cliff.”

  “So what is your real name?”

  Cliff leaned forward, and switched on the radio. “Where're we going?”

  Daisy held back a sigh. “Not far. I figured we'd start with the closest, and work our way to the farthest away, if we didn't have any luck.”

  “Where's the farthest away?”

  “Scotland.”

  “I've never been to Scotland.”

  “So where have you been, Cliff?”

  He turned down the volume of the radio before checking the back seat. “She's pretty.”

  “She is. So you never said where you've been.”

  Cliff snorted with laughter. “Are you really a private detective?”

  “Heir hunter. Why?”

  “Because if you wanna find out about people, you need to be a bit more subtle.”

  Daisy smiled. “Solomon keeps telling me the same thing. Fingers crossed dog breeders are a little more forthcoming than you.”

  They continued the journey in silence. Cliff seemed happy enough, tapping his hands to the beat of the music, Molly slept peacefully, and Daisy went over the case in her head. Cliff was right. If she barged in to the kennels on her list, demanding to know if they had Candy Mars' prize stud poodle, she'd get nowhere.

  She slowed the car, and pulled off the main road and onto a narrow country lane.

  When she turned left and stopped at the wide farm gate, Cliff jumped out. Once he unlatched and pushed it open she drove through, and waited for him to close it and climb back in, before she maneuvered her car down the bumpy and rutted dirt track, toward a collection of dilapidated buildings. Next time she went poodle hunting with Molly, she would take Solomon's SUV.

  She slowed as she pulled into a wide flat area, in front of an old stone house. The paint was peeling off the window frames, and the glass was dull with dirt. Donald Randall obviously didn't include cleaning and maintenance on his list of chores, but then, if he owned dozens of dogs, he might not have the time or the money. Daisy’s heart beat faster, and she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady in an effort to shift her focus to something other than the dogs inside.

  A soft moan sounded, and Daisy glanced at Cliff. “Someone’s awake.”

  She undid her belt, and turned to look into the back of the car. Molly fidgeted in her seat, and tugged at the straps that kept her safe. Poor little thing was probably wondering where she was. Her agitation became apparent, as her moans turned to the precursor of a full-out crying fit.

  “Hey, pretty girl. You want to come with Aunty Daisy and Cliff, and look at some puppy dogs?” Daisy asked.

  Molly stared at her.

  Cliff knelt on his seat, and smiled at Molly. “Hey. I t’ought you'd never wake up. Let's go puppy hunting.”

  The little girl gave a wide smile, and held her arms out to him.

  Daisy snorted. “Looks like you're the chosen one. So much for turning on my motherly charm.” She climbed from the car, opened the back door, and fumbled to undo the restraints that held Molly. The little girl wrapped her arms around Daisy’s neck, and Daisy pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket, patted Molly’s tear stained cheeks, and wiped her nose.

  “Daisy?”

  She glanced at Cliff, who was still in the front seat. “What?”

  “I t’ink we've got a problem.”

  Cliff pointed toward the collection of buildings. Daisy held on to Molly and eased out of the car to see what he was talking about. A hulking middle-aged man strode across the gravel with a shotgun aimed at the front of Daisy's car.

  “Fu…dge.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Daisy hoped someone who devoted his life to raising poodles wouldn't be heartless enough to shoot a woman and child. She shifted Molly to her other hip, and turned enough that the little girl was shielded from any shotgun pellets, if the man decided to let rip. Daisy would give anything to still have Solomon's gun. It might be illegal to carry a handgun, and her aim wasn't the best—as Solomon liked to remind her at every opportunity—but a girl needed to be able to protect herself and those in her care. Not that she figured she'd need to shoot anyone when she was hunting for a stolen dog. Clearly the pointy-faced fluffy beasts stirred up a lot of passion.

  Cliff clambered into the driver's seat, and turned on the engine. If needs be, she could dive in the back and hold on tight until Cliff got them to safety.

  “Mr. Randall?”

  The gun didn't waver. “Who wants to know?”

  Daisy’s heart pounded. “I'm Daisy Dunlop. I want to buy a puppy for my niece.” She fought hard to keep her voice calm, but it still wavered with barely contained panic.

  “I haven't advertised any puppies for sale.”

  “If you don't have any, then we'll go and leave you in peace.” Daisy turned to put Molly in the car. She would come back another day, and talk to Randall. Hopefully when he wasn’t in a gun-toting mood.

  His booming voice carried a hint of suspicion. “I didn't say that.”

  Daisy glanced over her shoulder. “So, you do have puppies?”

  “Who sent you?”

  If she answered that question, he might just pull the trigger. Not that asking about a missing poodle warranted being peppered with shotgun pellets. Taking the case had been a mistake. She might need the money, but she didn’t need to deal with this sort of shit. She left Molly in her car seat, and stood to face Randall. Hands on hips, she glared at him. “Are you always this welcoming to potential customers? Do you think it makes good business sense to threaten buyers with a gun? I suppose you think having a shotgun makes you a big man, Mr. Randall. Are you proud of yourself, waving that thing at people who have no means of defending themselves?”

  “I'm protecting what's mine.”

  “Do I look like a threat to you?” She shifted her attention to the child, who was fiddling with the straps on her car seat. “Molly, are you packing heat?”

  The man continued to stare at them. As well as a bad attitude, he clearly had no sense of humor.

  “I obviously made a mistake. I'm sure Chris Tatum will be happy to sell me a dog.”

  Randall moved the gun so that the muzzle pointed at the ground, and Daisy’s shoulders slumped with relief.

  “You don't want a dog from him.” He took a step closer.

  “Why not?”

  “Are you really here to buy a dog?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He stared at her for a moment, and then turned and strode back toward the decrepit buildings. “Come on.”

  Daisy hesitated. What if they followed him inside, and he decided to shoot them after all? Cliff switched off the engine, and climbed from the car. He slammed the door, before giving Daisy the keys.

  Daisy handed them back. “I think you should stay out here with Molly. If you hear any shots, get her to safety and call the cops.”

  “If you’re here to buy Molly a puppy, won’t it look a bit odd if you don’t take her inside to choose one?”

  “I can bluff my way around it. You just concentrate on getting her to safety.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I never learned to drive.”

  * * * * *

  Solomon's phone vibrated. The soccer match was well under way, and the fans chanted and sang in celebration of the home team's goal. Solomon accepted the call, and put the phone to his left ear. “Hello?”

  The swell of voices around him drowned out the caller's response. He cupped his hand aroun
d the phone. “Just a moment.”

  Solomon edged through the throng of bodies, and found a quieter spot near the back of the stand. “Sorry, Dan. What did you say?”

  “Did you call and leave the tip off about the dead body?”

  “What dead body?”

  “You really don't want to play this game with me.”

  “What game?”

  “Fine. Whatever. There was a man at Lisa's house.”

  “Dead?”

  “Of course he was bloody dead. I just said so, didn't I?”

  One side of Solomon’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “And why are you telling me this?”

  “Stay away from this investigation, Solomon.”

  “If you don't want my involvement, why call and update me?”

  “This is a warning.”

  “Was there a note pinned to him, saying I should keep my distance?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is a dead body at Lisa's a warning for me to stay away?”

  “You're starting to piss me off now. I know it was you who called it in. Am I likely to find a gun in your possession that has bullets matching the one lodged in Leo Thompson's chest?”

  “Not at all. As you know, Detective, the only gun I owned was confiscated, after Daisy used it to drill me a temporary second arsehole.”

  “Stay away from the investigation.”

  “You know where I am, if you need my help.”

  “At the Southampton game. Stay there, and enjoy the match.”

  Solomon turned his attention back to the soccer pitch, as the crowd around him roared. “Will do. Now if you'll excuse me, I think we scored another goal.”

  He ended the call, and checked his messages. Nothing from Daisy. He typed her a quick text, and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket before struggling back through the crowd to rejoin Paul, Sherman, and Ben. Dan might claim to know Solomon called the body in, but he’d never be able to prove it. The same as he couldn’t prove Solomon was sticking his nose into the investigation, unless Solomon made his activities too obvious.

  Solomon had never heard of a Leo Thompson. Lisa never mentioned him. Was he her dealer? The game only had another fifteen minutes to go, and he didn’t want to disappoint Sherman by ducking out early.

  Paul frowned at him. “Trouble?”

  “No nothing for you to be worrying about.”

  “It's not Daisy, is it?”

  Solomon shook his head. “Not this time. Now what's the score?”

  * * * * *

  Daisy was amazed. The house might be in a state of disrepair, but Mr. Randall's dogs lived the life of luxury. Each kennel was clean and warm, and the dogs seemed to be genuinely happy, if their doggie grins were any indication. A large black poodle that roamed free licked her. She squealed and backed away from it, as she shoved her slobbery hand in her jacket pocket. Heart pounding, she let out a sigh of relief when the dog wandered over to sniff at Cliff.

  Giving Molly over to Cliff had been the right decision. If they needed to escape, he would be the faster runner, even with the little girl in his arms. Not only that, but he was a calming influence in a situation that had Daisy sweating and fighting to slow her erratic heartbeat. Cliff was clearly in his element. He squatted next to the beast that had tasted Daisy’s hand. Molly stroked it, and Cliff crooned. Daisy wasn't sure if he was whispering to Molly or the dog.

  “Are you scared of dogs, Mrs. Dunlop?”

  Daisy glanced at Mr. Randall. He'd stowed the gun when they entered the building, and was no longer a threat. The dogs were the only thing to fear now. If she admitted she was a little apprehensive, he might find it odd she was interested in buying a pet.

  “Please call me Daisy. And no, I'm not scared. Your dog's tongue tickled.”

  He frowned. “Most people laugh when they're tickled.”

  “I'm not most people.”

  “Your husband has a way with animals. Monty usually ignores visitors.” He nodded toward the black poodle that happily sat next to Cliff and let Molly pet his big fluffy pom-pom head.

  “Cliff isn't my husband. He's just a friend. And you're right. He does have a way with animals, which is why I brought him along. I figured he'd be perfect to help Molly pick a pet. So is Monty your stud poodle?”

  Randall barked out a laugh. “Monty?”

  “Why's that so funny?”

  “He's got no bollocks. Poor bastard can't even get lucky with his dog blanket—not that he doesn’t try.”

  Daisy shuddered. She might not own a pair of testicles, but the thought of any male being castrated made her stomach heave. She'd even bailed on agreeing to Paul getting the snip. “Oh, that's a bit inhumane, isn't it?”

  “News flash, Mrs. Dunlop. Monty's not human. Now do you want to see the puppies or not?”

  “Of course.”

  He continued down the walkway between the kennels, and she followed with Cliff and Molly. Their procession was met with a chorus of snarls, barking, and howls. Daisy's palms and armpits were sweaty. She took long slow breaths, and chanted a calming mantra in her head. They're locked up. They're locked up. She needed to move things along, and get outside in the fresh air. “I hear it's very competitive.”

  He glanced at her. “What is?”

  “The dog breeding and showing thing. Someone told me you're made for life, if you breed a champion.”

  He snorted. “I've bred a champion. Do I look like I'm made for life?'

  “You did?”

  “Monty's father was best of breed at Crufts last year. Lot of good it did me. All the dog food adverts were offered to the little fluffy dogs, and the money from his stud duties never amounted to much. They won’t amount to anything, now he’s dead.”

  “Oh, that's a real shame. What did he die of? Old age?”

  He shook his head. “He was only four.”

  “A disease?”

  “An accident. John Adams, the knob who worked for me, left his enclosure open, and he got out. He got hit by a truck.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “It happens. The neighbor's dog was in heat, and his nuts took over control of his body.”

  “I guess you're desperate to breed another.”

  “I'm desperate to make a living, so that I can keep my dogs fed.”

  “But you do show your dogs?”

  “For a woman who is only here to buy a pet, you're very nosy.”

  “I've got an inquisitive mind.”

  Randall stopped halfway down the building, grabbed a handle, and pulled open the wire door to one of the enclosures. “Mind yourselves. Herculia can be a bit protective of her babies. Best not to touch them, until I get her settled.”

  Daisy’s hands were trembling. She shoved them in her pockets, and stepped back next to Cliff. “Keep a tight hold on Molly.”

  The little girl sat on Cliff’s hip, her arms wrapped around his neck.

  Cliff frowned. “You all right?”

  Daisy forced a smile. “Fine.”

  She turned her attention back to Randall, as half a dozen yapping apricot balls of wool bounded out of the enclosure, followed by a huge snarling orange beast. Daisy's chest ached, as she fought for air. With a whimper, she edged further away. The balls bounced toward her along with their mother. Daisy was back in Primary School. She could hear Colin Matterson laughing, as he let his boxer dog off the lead and sent it to chase Daisy. Its hot fetid breath had warmed her face, and she’d shrieked at the sharp pain of its teeth sinking into her left arm, as she tried to shove it away.

  She met the mother poodle’s gaze, and it stared back. The dog took a step closer. Daisy growled at it and bared her teeth, figuring she would scare it off. It took a pace closer, and Daisy turned and ran.

  Chapter Twelve

  The dog was catching up. Was that hot breath on the back of her neck? She stumbled in her ridiculous heels, before regaining her balance. She should have stuck with Solomon, and his stupid gym case. They hadn’t gone very far into the building,
but the door seemed to be getting further away. Loud footsteps pursued them both.

  Cliff yelled, “Daisy, stop running, and it’ll stop chasing.” Easy for him to say.

  Molly started to cry, and beg to touch the doggies.

  Mr. Randall called, “Herculia! Heel, girl.”

  Heel? Like that would stop the thing. Two more steps, and Daisy would be at the gun rack. She hurled herself forward, and grabbed Mr. Randall’s shotgun. She spun around and lifted it to point the barrel at the ceiling. One shot should scare the thing back. The dog barked and jumped at her, as Mr. Randall slid to a halt. Daisy pulled the trigger, but the expected explosion never happened. She tried again. Nothing. In a final ditch effort to save herself, she threw the weapon at the dog and scrambled up on top of a large cabinet.

  The whole thing swayed, and Daisy whimpered. Mr. Randall stood with his hands on his hips as Cliff sauntered over with Molly. The little girl giggled as she pointed at Daisy.

  “I told you to stop running.”

  “I have stopped running.”

  Mr. Randall lifted his gaze to Daisy, who was still kneeling on top of the cabinet. Now she was up there, she wasn't sure how to get back down. The thing lurched side to side with any tiny movement. She could see herself being tossed unceremoniously to the concrete floor below.

  Mr. Randall stepped closer, and roared at her, “What the hell did you think you were doing, shooting at my dog?”

  “I was shooting at the ceiling. Besides, the gun wasn’t loaded.”

  “You didn’t know that.”

  “That thing was going to maul me.”

  He growled in apparent frustration. “She was playing with you. You said you weren’t afraid of dogs.”

  “I'm not scared. If I was, why would I be volunteering to visit kennels and buy Molly a puppy?” Daisy stared at him defiantly.

  Cliff frowned. “If you’re not scared, why’d you run? And what are you doin’ on top of that cabinet?”

  Daisy glared at him. “You’re not helping, Cliff.”

  Mr. Randall shook his head. “I was wondering the same thing myself. What are you really here for?”