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

by JL Simpson

  “I was intent on getting information out of you. I've no doubt you're putting on this little display for the same reason.”

  Mavis glared at him. “You think I'd sleep with you, to find out what you know?”

  “Why not? I would.”

  She took a step toward him. “So you do want to sleep with me?”

  Everything below his belt reacted favorably to the offer. Everything above his belt screamed that it would be a mistake. “I'd be stupid to say no, but no all the same.”

  She pouted, and looked up at him through her lashes. Mavis was making turning her down more difficult by the minute.

  Solomon frowned. “Where's your car?”

  As she shrugged, her bra strap slipped off her left shoulder, revealing more of her soft curves. He shifted his focus from her breast to her face, crossed the room, picked up her dress, and threw it at her.

  She let it fall to the floor. “Someone dropped me off.”

  “Dan?”

  She smiled, reached behind her back, and unhooked her bra. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters. Put your clothes on. I'm taking you home.”

  “And wake up Molly?”

  All ideas of sex with Mavis were swept away on a tide of anger. He had responsibilities, and he needed to focus on the one thing in life that truly mattered to him. “Like you even considered her, before you broke in and set yourself up in my bed.”

  Mavis’s smile faded as she peeked around Solomon. “Where is she?”

  “Safe with Daisy.”

  She shifted her focus back to him. “Drunk Daisy?”

  He curled his lips in a smile, despite his darkening mood. “Aye, drunk Daisy.”

  “And Nobby?”

  So at last, she’d shown her hand. “I've no idea.”

  “It wouldn't go any further.” She did a slow, sensuous spin, and he sucked in a breath. The girl had a wonderful bum. “I'm not wearing a wire.”

  “So I can see.”

  She let her bra drop to the floor. “And it's late.”

  A powerful urge to take what she offered roared through his body, but he pushed it back. “I know.”

  “So why not put down your illegal firearm, and come over here?” She crooked a finger at him.

  He blew out a breath. She could arrest him for the gun, and he had no desire to spend the night in a cell. If he drove her home, he was at least an hour away from getting some sleep. If he climbed into bed with her, he was probably still an hour away from getting some sleep, but it would be an hour well spent.

  This was what he'd wanted. Not the sex, necessarily, but the chance to find out what the cops were up to. Now he had the opportunity, he knew the price was too high. He put the safety on his gun, and dropped it on the top of his dresser, before slipping his jacket off.

  Mavis’s breasts jiggled, as she sauntered across the room like a catwalk model, tugged off his tie, and began unfastening his shirt buttons. “Did you have fun playing waiter?”

  Solomon ran his fingers down her spine, and cupped her backside. “I've no idea what you're talking about.”

  She reached up and scuffed his chin. “Nice beard.”

  Solomon rolled his eyes. Bollocks, so much for his disguise. He pressed her against his body, and eased her back across the room until her knees hit the edge of the bed and she fell backward. He went with her, pressing her into the mattress. Her body was warm and pliable as he lowered his lips to hers and plundered her mouth with his tongue. She grabbed his shoulders. When he broke free, she whimpered.

  He dipped his head to her ear, and whispered, “Close your eyes.”

  She smiled. “Why? What have you got you don’t want me to see?”

  “Would you believe me, if I told you I was shy?”

  “Not a chance.” She giggled.

  He nibbled her ear lobe. “What if I said I would make shutting your eyes worthwhile?”

  She let out a soft sigh, and closed her eyes. He leaned over, and slipped the top drawer of the bedside cupboard open. Moving her arms above her head was easier than he’d imagined. Mavis was ready to do anything to please him—or appeared to be. He moved to attach one end of the cuff around a slat in the bedhead, and fastened the other around her left wrist.

  Her eyes flew open, and she smiled. “Kinky.” Her voice sounded like a purr.

  Solomon shook his head, and then pushed to his feet. “Tired.” He crossed the room, and flicked off the CD player.

  The bed rattled, as Mavis tugged at the handcuff. “Solomon.” Her voice rose in anger. “Where are you going?”

  He stopped in the doorway, and glanced back at her. “Bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “You can’t leave me like this.”

  Solomon flashed a smile. “No, you’re right. What was I thinking?”

  He walked back to the bed, lifted the quilt, and threw it over her semi-naked body. “Night, then.”

  Her yells of protest followed him down the hall and into the spare bedroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Daisy closed her eyes, and rested her head on the steering wheel, wishing the pounding inside her skull would go away. She'd put on a great act of being hangover-free for Paul and Sherman’s benefit, and had even forced down some of the fried breakfast Paul had cooked for her.

  Molly had begun sobbing for her da just as the inquisition started. The little girl gave Daisy the perfect excuse to get away before Paul broke out the pliers and began removing her fingernails. Okay, maybe not her fingernails. He did, however, want answers she wasn't able to give without dropping Solomon in it up to his neck. As much as she wanted to know what Nobby, Solomon, and Paul did together in Morocco, she had a feeling telling Paul she was working a case with his two old mates wouldn't be greeted with cheers and party poppers.

  A horn blared, and Molly started to cry in earnest. Daisy looked up at the green light, and held back a curse as she slipped the car into gear and pulled away. According to Paul, she'd already taught Sherman more bad words than were known by a drunken sailor. Best not to do the same to Molly. It wouldn't be funny if she got frustrated with her dad, and told him to F off.

  Daisy chuckled. Actually it would be funny as hell, but she wouldn't do that to Molly. She drove into the office car park, and turned to Molly. “Shall we go and see if Uncle Cliff is ready for work?”

  Daisy climbed out of the car, and then unbuckled and lifted Molly out of her booster seat. The little girl wrapped her arms around Daisy, and buried her face in Daisy's neck. Her sobs had subsided to snuffling. Solomon really needed to get the mess Lisa had created sorted out, and spend more time with his daughter. She needed love and stability.

  Daisy descended the steps to the office door. A security light flicked on, as she slipped the key in the lock. The place was in darkness. No doubt Cliff was still in bed. She couldn't begrudge the man a lie in. If she'd spent months, or possibly even years, sleeping on a park bench, she'd want a lie in too. She put Molly down, closed the office door, and switched on the light. Molly toddled off to Solomon's desk, and Daisy let her go. She doubted there was anything she could hurt herself on. Mr. Anal-Retentive kept his desk so tidy you'd never guess anyone ever used it.

  Daisy strode down the hall, and tapped lightly on the bedroom door. There were no sounds of life. She sighed. Maybe Cliff had gone out early. He was at the office the night before, when she left to get ready for her date.

  She grabbed the door handle, and it moved under her hand. Light filtered through the crack she made. Uncertain about exactly what constituted pajamas for Cliff, she pushed the door open just wide enough for her to peek around the edge.

  She was met by the vision of a naked bum. She gasped. A naked bum attached to a male body, with lily-white legs wrapped around his waist. She slammed the door, and headed back to the office. Jesus, they should hire out the room by the hour. How many more people was she going to interrupt getting it on in there?

  The bedroom door opened, and Daisy turned and d
id her best to smile innocently at Cliff, as he approached with a bed sheet wrapped around his middle.

  “I didn't see anything…much. Who's the lucky lady?”

  Cliff scratched his head. “Mornin’, Daisy.” He wandered across to Molly, and ruffled her hair. “Mornin’, Molly.”

  “So, anyway”—Daisy shoved her hands in her coat pockets—“I was on my way to take Molly home, and thought I could give you a lift to work on the way.”

  “He's not going to work.”

  Daisy spun around. “Poppy?”

  The girl leaned against the door frame, twirling a curl of her hair around her finger, her tiny figure swamped by one of Cliff's T-shirts.

  “Nice to see you again. You look…well,” Daisy said.

  Poppy glanced at Cliff. “She’s nothing like you told me.”

  Daisy frowned. “What did you tell her?”

  “That you could help us.”

  * * * * *

  Solomon woke to the sensation of something warm tickling his chest. He lay with his eyes closed, and smiled. Mavis must have gotten out of the handcuffs, and found him. Maybe he’d been a bit harsh, when he’d decided to refuse her offer. She was a sexy girl, and he was only human.

  Then again, anything she found out from him would go right back to Dan Maloney. He’d assumed she wanted to know what he was up to, so she could help with the police investigation, but perhaps he’d read her wrong. Maybe she simply found him irresistible, and wanted him for his body and not his secrets. He chuckled. Not likely. Of course, the third option was that she was somehow involved in the same thing that had Lisa scared to death.

  He was best off keeping his distance. The itch that Belinda had given him would have to wait to be scratched another day. His brain conjuring up a vision of Belinda bent over the desk in his office, wearing her gym outfit, had his libido roaring to life.

  Something warm and wet dribbled over his stomach, and he yelped. He hadn’t had a wet dream since his teens, and he wasn’t having one now.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Daisy sipped her coffee. She was thankful that both Poppy and Cliff were now fully dressed. Cliff sat on the floor, amusing Molly. Apparently the child was in love with Uncle Cliff, who had turned her tears into giggles of delight.

  “He's the same with animals.”

  Daisy shifted her focus to Poppy, who sat across the desk from her, head resting on her hand as she smiled at Cliff.

  “Does Cliff's Dr. Dolittle impression have something to do with the help you need?”

  “Not really. Not directly. Sort of.”

  “Poppy, I'm tired. I've got a hangover from hell, and a partner who is likely to kick my arse when I finally catch up with him. Can you please just cut to the chase?”

  “Cliff isn't who he says he is.”

  Daisy couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. She dropped her forehead to the desk, and started banging it.

  “Daisy?”

  She turned her head and glanced at Cliff.

  “What are you doin’?”

  “New diet plan. Banging your head against a wall burns calories, but I'm too tired to stand up.”

  Poppy got to her feet. “This is a waste of time. Your friend's a fruit loop.”

  “She's not.” Cliff frowned at Daisy. “You're not. Are you, Daisy?” He turned his attention back to Poppy. “She's eccentric.”

  Daisy leapt to her feet and grabbed her head, regretting making such a hasty move. “I'm eccentric, crazy, mental, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and you two need to tell me what the freakin’ fishhooks you want, or I’m taking Molly home right this minute. News flash, Poppy—I know Cliff's not really called Cliff Richards. What I don't know is who he really is, and what he's doing in bed with you, or why you think you need my help.”

  “His name’s—”

  Daisy held her hand up. Now she thought about it she didn’t need Poppy to tell her. “Let me guess. He’s your ex-boyfriend, Evan. The one who stole one of your dogs, and disappeared into the night.”

  Cliff grinned. “Told you she was good. “How’d you work that out, Daisy?”

  “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

  Poppy frowned. “Who’s Watson?”

  Daisy sighed. “Never mind. I worked it out because not half an hour ago you were intent on getting to know Poppy on a very intimate level, and you don’t strike me as the sort to trust anyone you don’t know. I had to spend ages convincing you to have dinner with me, when I found you in Christchurch. You changed your mind about helping me once you took a look at the list of kennel owners I planned to talk to. You must have wanted to go somewhere I intended to visit. Mr. Randall told me Poppy’s boyfriend ran off six months ago with her prize poodle, so I wouldn’t imagine she’d be quick to jump into a relationship with someone she barely knew, especially if he was homeless and cagey about his real identity. That means she must have known you before.”

  Poppy snorted. “That doesn’t mean he’s Evan, though.”

  “Mr. Randall told me Cliff looked like Evan. Although he said Evan had long dreadlocks and was fatter, better dressed, and better spoken. What I don’t understand is why you’ve been pretending not to know each other, and why Cliff, Evan, needed me as an excuse to see you.”

  Cliff clapped his hands. “I told you she was a genius. I’m Evan. When you took me to the kennels I told Poppy to act like we just met. I had to work out what to do.”

  “And what exactly have you worked out?”

  “To trust you with my real identity, but you can’t tell anyone else.”

  “Why not?”

  Poppy chewed her bottom lip. “If they find out where he is, they’ll kill him.”

  “Who? Who’ll kill him?”

  “Candy Mars and her son, Chester.”

  Daisy let out a groan. God save her. How had a case of a missing stud poodle gotten so out of hand? She couldn’t deal with this. Not now, not ever, and not with her brain trying to hammer its way out of her skull.

  She picked up her bag. “Let’s go.”

  Poppy shook her head. “No. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the story you’re about to tell me long and convoluted?”

  Evan shrugged. “I guess it might be.”

  “Then I don’t want to have to repeat it all.”

  Evan frowned. “Who are we repeating it to?”

  Daisy crossed the room and scooped Molly into her arms. “To Solomon. You might think I’m a genius, Cliff—Evan, whatever—but I’m really not. I get lucky, and on occasion I pull off the miraculous and scare myself, but right now I don’t think I can do either. If someone is planning murder, we need professional help.”

  Poppy grabbed Evan’s arm. “Not the police?”

  Daisy shook her head. “Not the police. Solomon. If you want my help, you have to let Solomon in on this.”

  Poppy glanced at Evan, and he nodded. “Solomon’s all right.”

  “Okay. We’ll speak to Mr. Solomon.”

  Daisy opened the office door, and waited for them to step outside, before slamming it shut and locking it. “His name’s just Solomon. Like the king.”

  Poppy looked puzzled. “What king?”

  It took all the self-control Daisy had left to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

  * * * * *

  Solomon picked Rosebud up, and put him back in his box in the corner of the kitchen. “Stay, you little bugger.” The dog wagged his tail, and Solomon sighed.

  A soiled bed was enough damage for one day. He didn’t need the little monster to trip him up when he was carrying a hot cup of coffee. If he broke a leg, he’d be stuck incapacitated on the floor until his cleaner, Mrs. Brown, showed up. She’d be more horrified at the extra laundry the dog had created, and at finding Mavis handcuffed to his bed, than she would be about him needing medical attention again. The woman was a wizard when it came to first aid, but a busted leg would probably
be beyond her.

  Solomon gave the dog what Daisy called his CIA-Interrogator face, in the hope it would quake in fear, but instead the mutt wagged his tail so hard he fell over.

  The little thing was endearing, in a pathetic, helpless way. Solomon didn’t have the heart to tell him off for peeing the bed, or even for chewing the bathmat while he sat on the floor waiting for Solomon to shower and dress. Nevertheless, the little beast needed to learn to do as he was told.

  Solomon’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Dan. He should have guessed. “Morning, Detective.”

  “Where’s Nobby?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Liar. Let’s try another. Why were those men shooting blanks at you?”

  “They were blanks?”

  “So you admit someone shot at you?”

  “I admit nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So that wasn’t you, driving off in a black SUV last night.”

  “Correct.”

  “And PC Mills was mistaken, when she said the bearded waiter looked just like you.”

  “He might well have looked like me, but lots of people do. How is Mavis?”

  Dan snorted. “Not here.”

  “Is she not?”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “Why is it you assume I know where all the people you’ve mislaid are?”

  “I could bring you in for questioning.”

  “And I could refuse to answer.”

  “Like you are now.”

  “Is there anything more I can help you with, Detective?”

  “I’m going to call Daisy, and see if she’s in the mood to talk.”

  “Good luck with that. I hear she’s a little under the weather.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Unlike your good self, I don’t lose the people in my care.”

  “Sod off, Solomon, and stay out of my case.” Dan terminated the call.

  Solomon slipped the phone back in his pocket, filled a mug with steaming hot coffee, and added two sugars. Without a backward glance, he left Rosebud behind and headed upstairs to free his houseguest. Maybe after a night to consider things, Mavis would be willing to tell him the truth about what she’d been hoping to achieve when she crept naked into his bed. He smiled as the sound of Mavis’s voice floated down the corridor.