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

by JL Simpson

  “Coincidence?”

  Daisy frowned. “Isn't it?”

  “I don't believe in coincidences.”

  “What do you think then?”

  Solomon slowed for a red light. “I think we'll head back to the office and consider our options.”

  Daisy folded her arms. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

  “What's that, darlin'?”

  “This is my case and I make the decisions.”

  “So what have you decided?”

  “I've decided we'll go back to the office and consider our options.”

  Solomon smiled.

  “But only after we stop at the bakery so that I can grab a coffee.”

  “Do you not want cake?”

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “Is the Pope a Catholic?”

  * * * * *

  Daisy sipped her coffee and marveled at the change to the office since she'd last visited. Solomon had not only rearranged the furniture, he'd also traded her old desk and computer in for shiny new ones. His desk faced the window and the new one faced the door. The whiteboard stood in the corner and Solomon was busy scribbling away on it.

  “What's with the new desk and computer?”

  Solomon didn't even look up from what he was doing. “Time to upgrade.”

  “If you're working alone, why do you need to upgrade?”

  “I'm thinking I might need to expand the business.”

  “Really?” Daisy held back a sigh. Apparently he planned to replace her with a new model. They hadn't exactly been the dream team to begin with, but Daisy thought they had genuinely forged a bond. Or she had until he kicked her to the curb. She shoveled the last of the chocolate cake in her mouth and sucked the sweet, sticky frosting off her fingers. She shifted her focus and met Solomon's blue-eyed stare. She pulled her fingers from her mouth, balled the paper bag from the bakery and tossed it in the bin.

  After pushing to her feet, she crossed the room. “Why don't you show me what you've got?”

  Solomon's chuckle was deep and dirty. She resisted the urge to pick up a folder from Solomon's desk and hit him over the head with it. “You're not funny.”

  “Am I not?” He held the pen out toward her. Using a picture from his phone, he’d duplicated the information they had written on the whiteboard in his home office. “Why don't you see what you can add?”

  She took the pen and stepped up to the whiteboard. Solomon hovered so close his breath warmed her cheek. If he was trying to intimidate her, he was about to fail. She stepped back, deliberately stabbing him in the foot with her stiletto heel. He yelped in pain and she stepped off before turning around.

  He glared at her. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Did what?”

  “Broke my feckin' foot.”

  Daisy glanced down. She'd forgotten he'd taken his boots off. Blood was oozing into the top of his white sock. Her stomach flipped and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was just blood. There was nothing to freak out about. She'd seen worse. She'd seen people with their heads blown open. God that thought conjured up a picture that really wasn't helping. A wave of heat swept her body and the chocolate cake she'd just consumed threatened to make a comeback.

  “Breathe, Princess.”

  A warm hand massaged the back of her neck.

  “In. Out. In. Out.”

  She followed Solomon's instructions.

  “Okay now?”

  Daisy nodded. “Fine.”

  *

  Solomon's foot throbbed. He'd been joking when he said Daisy had broken it but it was badly bruised. A Band-Aid alone wasn't going to fix the problem. The icepack was going some way toward relieving the pain.

  He shifted his foot on the desk and turned his attention to the whiteboard. Daisy was staring at it, pen in hand.

  “You need to include the details of your mystery dead body, Princess.”

  She crossed the room and tugged a wad of papers from her handbag and gave them a cursory glance. “His name was Marcus Matthews. No name of a company that he worked for. No address, just a mobile phone number.” She tossed the documents on Solomon's desk. “Why don't you read through those and tell me what you think is relevant.”

  “I thought this was your case?”

  “It is. I'm delegating.”

  “And what is it that you'll be doing?”

  “I'll be working out how much of what we know is true, and how much is a lie.”

  “A lie?”

  Daisy tapped the pen against her cheek. He decided not to mention the cap was off and she was giving herself blue freckles. She crossed to the whiteboard and drew a line through Tomas Jenks' name. “I have no idea who Liam's client is but I am positive his name's not Tomas Jenks.”

  Solomon smiled. His girl was learning. “Why is he not Tomas Jenks?”

  “His whole life is bullshit. Did you notice the deed to the house shows he only bought it two years ago? He has no bank loan. There are no photos or personal mementos at his house. The man is hiding from something or someone.” She frowned. “Do you think he was in witness protection?”

  “If he were, why would Liam not have been informed? No one can get to him now that he's dead.”

  “Good point.”

  “Do you think everything we know is a lie?”

  Daisy leaned her hands on Solomon's desk, giving him a great view of her cleavage, not that he was looking, much.

  “Paul told me that when soldiers went AWOL and took up a new identity, most of them didn't stray far from the truth. For example, using their mother's maiden name.”

  “And Mr. Jenks?”

  Daisy turned back to the whiteboard. “Could be Mr. Tomas. Or Jenkins. Or...” She shrugged.

  “Why don't we start with what we do know?”

  She ticked a dot point Solomon had added halfway down the board. “I believe he was in the army.”

  “I agree.”

  She ticked another. “And he's Scottish. Accents stick. Even if you try to hide them a few drinks bring them out.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “Why do I need to change my accent? I'm proud of my northern roots.”

  “What if you wanted to go undercover?”

  “As an heir hunter?”

  Solomon shrugged. “You never know when you might need to be someone else.”

  “Can you lose your accent?”

  “If I want.”

  “So why keep it then?”

  Solomon smiled. “Because the ladies can't resist my mother tongue.”

  “Filthy tongue, more like.”

  Solomon flashed a lopsided smile. “We appear to have wandered off track.”

  “We don't know anything else.”

  “Do we not? Why not make a list of the loose ends?”

  “Like?”

  “The missing bank account.”

  Daisy scribbled it on the board with her pen poised to add more.

  Solomon continued. “Why he was at the museum so much? What does the key open? What was being delivered to the post office for him?”

  Daisy continued adding things to the list she'd created on the empty right hand side of the board. She glanced over her shoulder at Solomon. “If he was getting stuff delivered, he had to have ordered them. I don't remember seeing a phone at his house or in the stuff Liam had. And what about a computer? Who doesn't have a computer these days?”

  Solomon took the icepack off his bruised foot and tossed it aside before picking up the papers Daisy had stolen from Maura Sidebottom's house. “Some of these questions could be answered if you knew who to ask.”

  “Your friend?”

  “Acquaintance. And if you plan to call him, I suggest you work out what it is you want to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he's a business man, Princess, and you've a very small budget.”

  She snorted. “Try no budget.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Perched on the edge of her chair, Daisy
waited for Solomon's contact to answer his phone. Solomon was busy tapping away on his computer. She had no idea what he was doing. The phone rang half-a-dozen times before a deep male voice sounded in her ear.

  “Sup?”

  Daisy raised an eyebrow, interesting greeting. “Hi. Is this Jerome Fletcher?”

  “Who wants to know?” The man's accent was American. If Daisy had to guess she'd say Californian, but most US accents sounded the same to her.

  “My name's Daisy Dunlop.”

  “Do I know you, Daisy Dunlop?”

  “No. Solomon gave me your number.”

  “Solomon?”

  The man took suspicious to a whole new level. “Solomon Liffey, AKA Ronan Liffey. Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Irish.”

  “I know Solomon.”

  “I'm glad.”

  “What can I do for you, Daisy Dunlop?”

  “I'm working on a case and I need some information. Solomon thought you might be able to help me out.”

  “I don't do favors.”

  “Not asking for a favor.”

  “Are you a PI?”

  “Heir hunter.”

  “A what?”

  “I find people who are entitled to the money from wills.”

  “From dead people?”

  “That's how it usually works.”

  “Are you the redhead?”

  Daisy frowned, not sure what her hair color had to do with anything. “Strawberry blonde.”

  “Meet me at Temptations.”

  “The nightclub?”

  “You know it?”

  Daisy had heard of it but she'd never been. She’d thought her nightclubbing days were way behind her, but apparently not. “I do. What time?”

  “Ten tonight. Tell the doorman your name and he'll give you directions. Oh, and be sure to wear your dancing shoes. The club has a dress code.”

  “Why can't I just tell you what I need to know now?”

  “Because I don't do business over the phone.”

  Before Daisy could ask anything more, the man hung up on her.

  She tossed her phone on the desk with an exasperated sigh. Unless she wanted to call Liam and tell him she was nowhere close to finding his missing heirs, she needed to get things moving. Wasting time bumping and grinding the night away at a club wasn't her idea of running an efficient investigation. Solomon looked up from his computer. “How did you go?”

  “Did you know he doesn't do business over the phone?”

  “Fletch likes to be cautious. So when and where are you meeting him?”

  “Tonight, Temptations at ten.”

  “I'll pick you up at nine.”

  “Don't you trust me to do this on my own?”

  “It's not you I'm worried about.”

  “You think I might do something to, what did you call him, Fletch?”

  Solomon frowned. “I think Fletch might try to do something to you.”

  “Like what? Who is this guy, anyway?”

  Solomon shrugged. “He's just a contact. I'll pick you up at nine.”

  Daisy sighed. If she didn't agree, Solomon would probably show up anyway. “Whatever.”

  “Bring a change of dark clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we need to take another look around Tomas Jenks' house and I prefer not to ask the cops for permission.”

  “I thought you liked to do breaking and entering on your own?”

  “You've got a key, Princess, so there will be no breaking and entering, and I thought this was your case?”

  Daisy could hardly argue with his logic. The idea of being trusted to help him do something that was probably just a little bit illegal sent a thrill through her. She was really starting to feel like they were a team again. With Solomon helping out, there was every possibility she could really solve this thing and finally make some decent money, and so far, she hadn't even seen a gun, never mind been shot at.

  *

  Solomon shifted his attention back to his computer screen. “Did you speak to Marcus Matthews when you crossed paths?”

  “No. Why?”

  He turned his head and glanced at Daisy, who was on her way across the room. “He's Scottish.”

  “Bullshit. I heard him speak to Maura Sidebottom and he didn't have a Scottish accent.”

  “Google doesn't lie, Princess.”

  “There must be hundreds of Marcus Matthews on the internet.”

  Solomon swiveled his computer monitor toward her, leaning back to admire the view as she perched on the edge of his desk, flashing a considerable amount of thigh. The woman needed to wear more clothing if she was going to drape herself over his office furniture.

  “That's him.” She leaned closer to the screen, her skirt inching higher up her leg. “The website has only been going for three months. Says he has years of experience in the legal field, but it doesn't say what he was doing.”

  “Says he's a PI now.”

  “Not an heir hunter?”

  Solomon shrugged. “What does it matter? You've no need for formal qualifications to be an heir hunter.”

  “Do you need qualifications to be a PI?”

  “Only for some activities, although that's about to change.”

  “Could he work as a PI without a license?”

  “Princess, you can do anything without a license, if you don't mind taking the risk of being caught.”

  “But you'd hardly have a swanky website if you were working illegally.” Daisy turned her head. “Do you have a website?”

  “I've no need for such a thing.”

  “How do you get work then?”

  “Contacts. Recommendations.”

  “Do you have a license?”

  Solomon smiled. It was a wonder she ever solved anything. Her mind never stayed on a subject long enough to get to the truth. This topic would be just as flighty as the last. “We're not talking about me, Princess. Keep reading your man's website and tell me what facts we should be adding to the board.”

  She slid off the desk and into the chair he had just vacated.

  *

  Daisy read the details of the man she now knew to be Marcus Matthews. As well as a list of the services he offered, there was some client feedback. Mr. X loved the speed and efficiency, and Miss Y loved the discretion and attention to detail. Daisy would bet her life there were more than a few women who would say the same thing about Solomon. Apparently Matthews did just about anything you could ask of a PI. Security, guard work, cheating spouses, checking on employees, background checks and missing persons. Nowhere did it mention heir hunting. So why was he following Daisy around and signing up her heirs before she could?

  She clicked on the man's bio. “Says he came from Linlithgow in Scotland. That's odd.”

  “Why?”

  Daisy crossed the room and tugged her laptop out of its carry case. “What are you doing, Princess?”

  Happy the laptop was booting up, Daisy crossed the room to the whiteboard. She wrote Linlithgow in big letters and scrawled a circle around it. She drew an arrow from the circle to Marcus Matthews and another to Maura Sidebottom's name. “I need to check my notes, but I'm almost positive Maura Sidebottom was from Linlithgow. She moved down here with her English husband after they were married.”

  Solomon scrubbed the back of his hand under his chin. “Coincidence? Or something more sinister?”

  Daisy shrugged. “Coincidence, unless...” She frowned.

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless Tomas Jenks was from the same place.”

  Solomon hobbled to the whiteboard and drew an arrow from Linlithgow to Tomas Jenks's name and added a question mark.

  A few clicks later Daisy slammed her laptop lid shut. “Maura was born in Linlithgow. It looks like we have a connection.”

  “So, what do we have to work on?”

  Daisy took a deep breath. The whiteboard was full of information but nothing that made any sense. “We've got money being transferred to a missin
g bank account. Parcels being delivered with God knows what in them. A key to something, and now a dead guy and a missing woman who might both come from the same place as Tomas Jenks.”

  “What are you planning to ask Fletch to do?”

  “Find the missing bank account. Jenks could have been transferring money to his sister.”

  “True enough. Do you want me to see what more I can find out about Marcus Matthews?”

  “Do you think you can find out what he did for a living before he became a PI?”

  “Sure, I'll do my best. And what is it that you plan to do?”

  “I'm going to search the People of Scotland website to find out about his family.”

  “Are you thinking they're related?”

  Daisy shrugged. “No idea. Even if they're not, we might be able to talk to Matthews' family and find out if he knew Maura Sidebottom before he signed her up as a beneficiary.”

  Solomon scratched his head. “Who was she a beneficiary of?”

  “A man called Douglas Jameson died without a will. The only living heirs are his great niece and nephews. Maura is the niece.”

  Solomon added the name Douglas Jameson to the board.

  After thinking they had nothing to work with, Daisy was amazed at the amount of information the board contained. Who knew if any of it was relevant? Who cared if any of it was relevant? She was doing it. She was working a case and she was making connections. Solomon leaned his butt against his desk and smiled at her. “You're looking mighty pleased with yourself.”

  Daisy grabbed Solomon, wrapped her arms around his middle and gave him a squeeze. He slid his hands down her body, brushing his fingers across the top of her butt. She squealed and wriggled out of his embrace. In her haste, she tripped over his bare feet. Solomon roared enough bad words to completely fill her swear jar with money as he bent over in pain.

  “It's your own fault. You shouldn't have grabbed my arse.”

  His blue eyes drilled into her. “I didn't grab anything. I barely touched you. Besides most women just slap a man for taking liberties.”

  “I didn't hurt you on purpose.”

  “Did you not?”

  “Will you still look into Matthews for me?”