by JL Simpson
Daisy reached for the radio controls. He grasped her arm and entwined his fingers with hers before resting their joined hands on his thigh. She sighed and closed her eyes. If he wasn't driving, he'd be holding her in his arms and giving the support she needed. All she wanted was to be an heir hunter, and yet time and time again, she ended up embroiled in a murder investigation. No wonder Paul wanted her to get a desk job. Solomon would probably feel the same way if she was his wife. But she wasn't his, and he had a feeling she'd not be happy being forced to do a job she didn't want. Better she be given every opportunity to succeed, and then she might be ready to move on to a safer career.
Either way, no matter whether she quit before or after the case for Liam was concluded, she was slap bang in the middle of a murder enquiry. Daisy might be oblivious about what the police were up to, but he'd bet his life the detective had Daisy in his sights. It was only a matter to time before the cops found out that the dead man had been involved in a feud with her. He needed to stay one step ahead of the police if he was going to keep her out of jail.
“Why did you say he's not called Trevor?”
“Mrs. Sidebottom said Trevor died in jail.”
“Who is Mrs. Sidebottom?”
“She's a beneficiary in the last case I was working on. The dead guy signed her up before I could get to her and then he shoved me into the garden.”
“I still don't know why you said he's not Trevor.”
“She's a bit addled, Mrs. Sidebottom. She thought I'd been sleeping with Trevor. The dead man was the only guy around so I thought she meant him until she said Trevor died in jail.”
“So, who is this Trevor?”
Daisy shrugged. “Dunno. Does it matter?”
“No, probably not.”
“Mrs. Sidebottom probably knows who the dead guy is though. He'd have left some paperwork with her about her inheritance.”
“Then we need to visit Mrs. Sidebottom.”
“We're going the wrong way.”
Solomon glanced at Daisy and smiled. “No, we're not.”
* * * * *
Daisy paced up and down Solomon's living room. How long could it take to put on a clean shirt? She downed the last of her medicinal brandy in one large gulp and slammed the empty glass down on the side table. With a sigh of impatience, she climbed the stairs and then pressed her ear to Solomon's bedroom door. If he was in there he must be in Ninja mode. Nothing. No banging of drawers, or screech of sliding coat hangers. No sound at all. As far as she knew there was only one way in and out of his room. Not that she'd paid much attention the last time she'd been in there.
The afternoon was fading fast and they'd discovered nothing that would help her to find Tomas Jenks' sister. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes, she could change her whole outfit, blow dry her hair and put on her makeup. Okay, maybe not, but he was a man with one shirt to put on.
“I'm coming in.”
She listened. No reply.
“Are you decent? If not, you'd better cover up.” She shoved the door open and stood on the threshold. The room was empty. “Solomon?”
His boots stood to attention next to his bed. The Armani jacket he'd been wearing was tossed on the back of a chair. She followed the trail of clothing. Now she was in his room, she could hear the unmistakable sound of running water. She was having a career crisis and he was taking time out for a shower. His black jeans lay in a crumpled heap outside the door to his semi-ensuite bathroom, along with his socks. Either he hadn't been wearing underpants or he'd tossed them aside in the bathroom. Not that she wanted to think about him going commando, or being naked. She knocked on the door but got no response. Bugger it, he needed to get moving. She grasped the handle and pushed the door open a crack. “Solomon?”
“Are you wanting to come and wash my back?”
“Jesus. No. That's disgusting.”
“Then I can only assume you're standing in the doorway of my bathroom because you want to join me so that I can wash your back.”
“I'm not in the doorway. I can't see anything. I don't want to see anything. I also don't want a shower. I just want to get to work on my case.”
The sound of water trickled to a stop and she heard the unmistakable clang of the shower door closing. She took a step back when the bathroom door swung open and she found herself staring at Solomon's naked chest. Her focus slid down his body and she was relieved to discover a white towel wrapped around his waist.
She peeked around his body into the steamy room. “Solomon?”
“Yes?”
She shook her head. No underpants that she could see, but she wasn't going to ask.
He put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. She met his blue-eyed gaze. “Are you okay, Princess?”
“Fine.”
“Why don't you go downstairs and set the whiteboard up in my study.”
“I thought we were going to find more clues.”
“We will once we have an idea of what's going on and have a plan for where best to go looking.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I'll be down in five minutes and we'll review what we have and then brainstorm.”
The man had a good idea. Every other case they'd solved had been done that way. They might as well stick with a winning formula. “Whiteboard.”
He smiled. “Whiteboard.”
Her day had gone to hell, starting with her car going missing. As much as she hated to admit it, having Solomon along had made it all more bearable. If he hadn't been there when she was being questioned by the cops, she'd be rotting in a holding cell right now, and wouldn't that impress Paul. Maybe she needed to be nice to the Irish git. She turned and headed back toward the hall door before glancing over her shoulder. “Solomon?”
“What?”
She smiled. “Thanks for helping me out.”
He gripped the top of his towel, flashed a salacious smile and started to tug it loose. “You're welcome, darlin'.”
She squealed and fled as the soft white material started to slide over his hips. She might be thankful, but not that thankful. His laughter followed her and she ground her teeth. The stupid git had no idea what he was messing with. She was stressed, on edge, and she hadn't had sex for hours, and was unlikely to be getting any for years unless they could come up with a compromise that didn't give Sherman the wrong idea. The male of the species had a lot to answer for, and Solomon might just be the one to pay the price.
Chapter Twelve
The whiteboard was disappointingly empty. Daisy turned as Solomon entered the room. His hair was still damp. He was dressed in a fresh pair of blue jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. A bundle was clasped under one arm as he juggled two mugs of coffee. He handed one to Daisy and she took a sip. Milky and really sweet, just the way she liked it. Once his own cup was safely on the desk, he held out a pale blue cashmere jumper. “I thought this might be more comfortable than my shirt.”
Daisy put her cup down and accepted the top, turning her back to Solomon as she tugged off his shirt and pulled the clean jumper over her head. The soft material caressed her skin. She sniffed the sleeve and inhaled the scent of soap powder and something more. A hint of Solomon's cologne.
“Did you just smell my jumper?”
Daisy turned around and shook her head. “No. Yes. I wanted to make sure it was clean.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow. “I'd never dare get dirty with you.”
“Do I scare you?” Daisy smiled. She was seriously bad arse if Solomon was frightened of her. He'd probably killed grown men with his bare hands.
“Not at all, Princess, but your husband would have my bollocks if I defiled his wife.”
“And yet you've kissed me, more than once.”
“Only when absolutely necessary. Now, shall we get back to work?”
Most women would be insulted to be kissed by Solomon as a matter of duty. Luckily, Daisy wasn’t most women. She hated kissing him. His technique
was superb, but he only did it to shut her up and to piss her off. She mentally shook herself.
“Daisy?”
She slipped around to the back of Solomon's desk and slid into his huge black leather chair. “Why don't you see what you can add to the whiteboard?”
Coffee in hand, she sipped and watched as he got to work.
*
Solomon checked what Daisy had written so far. Down the left side of the board was a list of the companies that Tomas Jenks had bills from or held accounts with. The right-hand side had his interests, which included his frequent visits to the museum and his local branch of the British Legion. Apparently, Daisy had discovered the clue he'd planted.
“Did you find anything else last time you searched the house?”
Daisy grabbed her bag off the floor and began rummaging. She tossed a few envelopes, a photograph and a key on the desk. Solomon lifted the key while she pulled the correspondence out of the envelopes. He watched as she sorted the documents into a pile. Two bank statements, a gas bill, and an assortment of begging letters from charities. Solomon added the bank to the list Daisy had started on the whiteboard of places he held accounts. Maybe that was the account he'd been transferring money to? Funny that Liam didn't have details of it in his file. The gas company was already on the board. He turned his attention to the rest of the correspondence.
“What are you thinking?”
He shifted two of the letters to a new pile on their own. “These two are addressed to him, the others are to the householder.”
“So?”
“So he must have made contact with them in the past. Maybe he gives a regular donation.”
Daisy got to her feet, grabbed the red marker and added the names of the charities to the list. “Anything else?”
Solomon turned the key over in his hand. “Any idea what this opens?”
Daisy shrugged. “I didn’t see anything at the house, but I didn’t get a chance to have a really good look.”
“Does he own a car?”
“Liam never said and there isn’t one listed amongst his assets. Why? That’s not a car key.”
“There’s no garage at the house for him to keep a car in.”
“If he owned a car, the local thugs could have taken it. I bet they all know he's dead. It's a wonder they haven't broken in and trashed the place.”
Solomon frowned. Had the girl he'd been speaking to mentioned anything significant? He turned to the board and added, “Missing parcels and large envelopes” and “nickname, Jack off Jenks.”
“Why did you write that? It's not polite to speak ill of the dead.”
“I'm noting what the girl told me while you were searching the house. She says the kids called him Jack Off Jenks and that he looked furtive. Apparently, he was always collecting parcels and large envelopes from the post office.”
Daisy got to her feet, picked up a marker and added post office with a question mark. “Anything else?”
Solomon smiled. “We've not talked about the dead man you tripped over earlier.”
“That's because we're looking for Tomas Jenks’ heir and leaving the murder to the police.”
“Why was he there?”
“I don't know. Maybe he was a friend of Tomas Jenks.”
“Coincidence?”
“Why not?”
“I don't believe in them. What if he followed you there?”
“He didn't.”
Daisy threw her pen on the desk and started stuffing all of the information she had back into her bag. “Do you mind if I take a picture of the board? It will save me having to recreate it all when I get home.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Do what? Take a picture? With my phone.”
Solomon grabbed her arm and pulled her around to look at him. “I meant get home?”
“Are you planning to hold me hostage?”
“I'm planning to keep you safe.”
Daisy chewed her bottom lip. “Don't tell Paul.”
“About the dead guy?”
Daisy nodded. “He'll definitely want me to quit. It's just a coincidence. You read about these things on the internet all the time. Maybe someone else hired him to find Tomas Jenks' sister.”
“And he was killed for doing it?”
“He could have disturbed a thief.”
Solomon's eyes turned cold as steel. “I'm not buying that, and if you're honest, neither are you. Whatever he was doing at the house, he died because of your investigation. The killer could have been waiting for you.”
“Or the killer could be looking for something we've missed.”
*
Daisy turned back to her bag. Solomon's suggestion that the killer might have been waiting for her had crossed her mind. But how would the murderer know she was even going to be there? She'd had no plans when the day started. Daisy held back a shudder. Solomon might be wrong thinking she was the intended victim, but if she’d arrived at the house a little earlier, she'd be the one who disturbed the burglar and would now be lying in the morgue.
“Princess?” Solomon's voice was laced with worry.
She didn't want sympathy. She didn't want concern. She wanted to get back to work and for Solomon to go back to being his usual annoying self. “Now that we have the board set up what do you think we should do next?”
“Do you not want to call it a day?”
She slung her bag over her shoulder and forced a bright smile. “No. I'm good. So, I was thinking the British Legion?”
Solomon frowned. “Are you sure?”
“About the Legion? Absolutely. Someone there must have spoken to Tomas Jenks. And you know how men get when they've had a few drinks.”
“Horny?” Solomon's mouth kicked up into a lopsided grin.
The git was back. Daisy held in a snort of laughter. “I meant chatty. I bet you've spilled your guts over a pint or two.”
“I've spewed my guts up after ten or twelve. It takes more than drink to make me talk.”
“Pulling your fingernails off with pliers?”
He shook his head.
“Electrodes to the testicles?”
He grimaced. “Not something I've ever experienced.”
“I could arrange it for you if you like?”
“You're already a pain in my arse, Princess. I don't need you to start on my bollocks.”
Daisy stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.
He frowned. “What was that for?”
“For being such a predictable arsehole. Now, can we go?”
Chapter Thirteen
The gravel crunched underfoot as Daisy wandered across the car park toward the Hamworthy branch of the British Legion. She used to visit her local club with Paul when he first left the army, but his membership had lapsed, and he'd not bothered to renew it. Actually, how was this going to work? She could hardly walk in and demand answers from strangers. Even though she was married to an ex-squaddie that didn't mean she'd be allowed in, or that anyone would talk to her.
Solomon grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away. “What are you doing?”
“Do you want in?”
“Of course.”
“Then follow my lead.”
Daisy stepped closer and hissed, “This is my investigation.”
Solomon whispered back, “And I'm your only hope of talking to anyone inside. So, unless you want to go somewhere else?”
She squeezed his hand hard in anger but he didn't even flinch. “Fine.”
He smiled and tugged her toward the front door. Once inside, they were met by a middle-aged lady. Solomon pulled his wallet from his inside pocket and flipped it open. Apparently he was a member. He wrapped his arm around Daisy's waist. “I thought I'd bring my new wife with me to see what it is that you do. She's thinking about becoming a member. She has a real soft spot for men in uniform.”
The middle-aged woman's eyes sparkled with mischief. “Don't we all, major?”
Daisy stared u
p at Solomon. Major? Since when was he a major? Last she heard, he’d quit the army a Sergeant. The only way he could have progressed further up the ranks was if he had served more time. Unless he was lying about his rank to the Legion. Maybe he was faking being a member. The man was unbelievable. Would she ever find out the truth about his life? The designer clothes, expensive car, house hidden behind more security than the Crown jewels, secret contacts—all of it added up to something big, but what?
Solomon held the door to the bar open and ushered her inside. The air was filled with the smell of beer, disinfectant and furniture polish. A few elderly men were sitting in the corner nursing pints of beer. The table in front of them was scattered with the remnants of a forgotten game of dominoes.
A burst of laughter from the back of the room made Daisy turn her head. Three young men were busy playing darts. All of them had regulation haircuts. One of them was on crutches. His left trouser leg hung empty from the knee. As she watched, he attempted to throw a dart, pitching himself forward and losing a crutch in the process. One of the other men grabbed him around the waist and kept him upright. The man on crutches muttered something and they all laughed.
Only one of them appeared to be injured, but maybe they'd all come back from a tour of duty scarred in some way. She was forever thankful Paul had gotten out before he'd had to serve too many tours in places she preferred he never had to go.
She glanced up at Solomon. “Were you ever injured in the line of duty?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Only if you count being shot in the arse by you.”
“Not what I meant.”
He shifted his focus to the men playing darts and then back to Daisy. “Never injured serving my country.”
“You and Paul were lucky.”
Solomon smiled. “Can't argue with that, Princess. How about we get a drink and then circulate.”
“Should we split up?”
“Might look suspicious.”
“It's my case.”
“And you're my new wife.”
