by JL Simpson
The car vibrated as he traversed a cattle crossing designed to keep the wildlife from the enclave of houses ahead, and then they were swallowed up by a tunnel of oak and beech trees. Leaves danced in the headlights as the hint of autumn began to tug the trees’ summer coats free.
She chewed her bottom lip, determined not to cry. If she went back and told Paul she’d give in to his demands, then she lost more than a job. She wanted to prove to Paul that for once in her life she could succeed at something. Solomon was right; the man loved her, perhaps too much. She had to do this, not only for herself but for their future. The last few days had allowed her to see that she could grow to love investigating things, and she had a feeling, given a chance, she could be good at it.
“You doing okay over there?”
She glanced at Solomon and attempted a smile. “Fine.”
“Good. We’re almost home. Perhaps I should pull over and blindfold you so that you won’t ever be able to find your way back.”
“Blindfold women a lot do you?”
He chuckled. “Now that would be telling, Princess.”
They turned off the main road and followed a narrow lane that snaked between the trees. The tall oaks thinned out before finally giving way to grass. A tiny hamlet of white-walled, thatch-roofed cottages stood in the clearing. If she didn’t know better she would swear she’d stepped out of real life and into the pages of a fairytale. She wondered which one was Solomon’s. As the SUV drove on it appeared none of them. Just beyond the last cottage they slowed down and took a hard right, pulling onto a hidden driveway. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The headlights pierced the thickening shroud of night as they were once again swallowed up by the trees.
A flash of metal caught her attention, and she sat forward, agog, as a steel gate slid open to allow entrance through a high stone wall that disappeared into the darkness in both directions. Paul hadn’t been wrong about Solomon’s home being like Fort Knox. How on earth did he get permission to build his very own gated community in the middle of a National Park?
Solomon glanced at her. “It used to belong to a man of mystery.”
“007?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge who it was that needed such security. However, fortunately for me, he found new accommodations.”
“Why do you need so much security?”
“Keeps me from having nightmares.”
Daisy turned her head and stared at the dwelling Solomon called home. After such a grand and imposing entrance she’d imagined a castle, or a stately home, but instead she was looking at a two-story black-and-white Tudor house like dozens of others dotted around the countryside. He pulled the SUV to a stop outside the front door.
“Is that it?”
“Is that what?”
“Is that the lair?”
“Are you not impressed?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed after you’ve been so desperate to see it.”
“Are we still talking about your house?”
Solomon chuckled. “It’s good to see you bouncing back. Now how about I show you to your room and introduce you to the delights of my spa bath. You can soak until you’re a prune while I make dinner.”
“Paul made dinner.”
“That he did, Princess.”
Daisy swallowed the lump that filled her throat. She refused to start crying. She’d have a bath, and then she’d call Paul. They had a rule that they didn’t go to bed on an argument. Besides, she needed to know he’d arranged somewhere safe for Sherman to stay, and that he was all right.
“What if the murderer goes to my house and I’m not there? They might kill Paul.”
“Now he knows what he’s up against it’s not going to happen, Princess. Your old man is one of the best. I should know. I trained him. Now let’s get inside and get you comfortable.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Daisy climbed from the spa bath and patted her skin dry with a warm, fluffy white towel. For a man who used to enjoy living in trenches, and crawling through God knew what on his stomach, Solomon certainly embraced luxury. The tour so far had only included a double bedroom, decorated in warm creams and browns, that she could call her own while she stayed, and this salubrious bathroom. There were two doors into the room, one from the corridor and the other from Solomon’s bedroom. He’d warned her to stay out of his room. Would he believe her if she said she got confused? She tugged on the navy blue bathrobe he’d given her and wrapped it around herself, fastening the belt with a big bow. The sleeves dangled past her hands, and the bottom of the robe hit the ground. The fabric had the faint warm musky scent that was uniquely Solomon.
She opened the door and glanced down the hall. No sign of Solomon. As much as she wanted to have a snoop, she also wanted to put some clothes on. No way did she plan to flash her body at Solomon. Even if he had no sense of propriety, she didn’t intend to sink to his level. She picked up her pile of dirty clothes and headed out the door that opened into the corridor. Her toes sank into the deep pile of the charcoal gray carpet as she made her way back to the room he’d given her.
Solomon had delivered her suitcase and left it in the middle of the bed. She undid the zip and opened it up. After a quick rummage through what she’d packed she came to the conclusion she should have taken a little more care. Apparently angry Daisy had no sense of fashion or style. Nothing matched, and even worse, she’d forgotten underwear. The bra she could recycle until she got a chance to duck home and grab some more clothes, but she had no intention of doing that with her panties. Men might claim to be able to wear the same pair four days running by turning them inside out and wearing them back to front, but real women wore clean underwear at all times, ready for any situation that may arise. Not that any situation requiring her to be encased in fine silk and lace was likely to come up with her and Paul at loggerheads and in different houses. A few minutes later she was dressed in red track pants, a yellow T-shirt, and a purple sweater. Her feet were bare because four-inch heels really would do nothing to improve the hideous look she was going for.
Her hair was damp so she pulled it back into a ponytail and glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Yep, revolting. She wiggled and tugged at the back of her sweatpants. They must have shrunk in the wash because they were no longer the comfortable lounging about wear they used to be. In fact they were tight in all the wrong places. Now she looked closer she realized they used to be Sherman’s before he grew out of them. No wonder they didn’t fit. However, they would have to do. They were the only pants she’d packed, and she wasn’t going to walk around in a skirt, sans underwear.
Daisy exited her room and wandered the corridor with every intention of making her way downstairs. The house was bigger than it looked from the outside. From the number of doors she passed she guessed it had four bedrooms as well as the bathroom. One of the doors stood ajar, and she nudged it with her foot. It swung open to reveal a room decorated in pale pink. A mural straight from a fairytale covered one wall. The room was furnished with a white bed, matching desk, book shelf, chest of drawers, and full-length mirror. A doll’s house was on top of the drawers, and a pink toy box was pushed up against one wall.
Daisy stepped inside the room and smiled. Solomon had a lot of explaining to do, although she had a fair idea who the set up was for. The man of mystery really wasn’t who she thought he was. Did Paul know? A book lay face down on the bedside cabinet. Daisy picked it up. The Cat in the Hat. Dr. Seuss. She used to read the same book to Sherman when he was little. She sat on the edge of the bed and flicked through the pages.
*
Solomon turned the heat off under the pan. The house was filled with the delicious spicy aroma of Paul’s beef curry. He used to make it when they were in the army. Solomon was transported back to poker night at Johnno Johnson’s house. His wife went to her sister’s once a month, and Johnno used to open his home up to his army buddies. Paul us
ed to be head chef, Solomon brought the booze, and Johnno invariably lost his shirt. That was where Paul had first told him about Daisy.
He’d just got back in on the late afternoon train from Manchester. For the first time ever Paul had been the one to lose. Every hand. Every game. Paul was completely away with the fairies. When he’d shown Solomon her photo he could see why. Daisy had many failings, but she’d been a pretty girl and had grown into a beautiful woman. Her looks were far from what some would call classical, but the light red hair, upturned nose, and green eyes that could flash with anger, along with an overly generous mouth, made her strangely hypnotic and uniquely Daisy.
Solomon sighed. Paul was a lucky man, or he had been until this mess blew up. Solomon might have no idea about relationships, but he did know Paul would be hurting. There was still no sign of Daisy. She must have slipped in the bath and drowned. He wandered through to the living room. All evidence of his personal life was gone. The most damning photos were now stored in a drawer in his office, and the door to his inner sanctuary was firmly secured. There was nothing for Daisy to find. When she discovered the locked door it would drive her nuts. He grinned.
Solomon took the stairs and stood on the landing, hands on hips. The door to the bathroom stood open, as did the door to the third bedroom. Apparently being miserable didn’t prevent Daisy sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. He marched down the corridor and came to a halt in the doorway,
“Daisy?”
She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. “I used to read this to Sherman when he was little. It was his favorite.”
Solomon crossed the room and sat next to her. “My ma used to read it to me. No childhood would be complete without Dr. Seuss. I remember her sitting on my bed, her eyes full of fun.”
“Do you look like her? Your mam?”
Solomon shook his head. “Not so much.”
“Then you must look like your dad?”
“Ma always thought so.”
“But you don’t?”
“We never met.”
“Oh, Solomon. Sorry. That’s terrible.”
“You can’t miss what you never had, Princess.”
“Does Molly look like you?”
“Molly?”
“Lisa said it was your turn to have her this weekend. You can’t possibly be trying to pretend she doesn’t exist.”
He gave in with a sigh and tugged his wallet from his back pocket. Once he had it open he pulled out a photograph and handed it to Daisy.
She peered at the color picture and then at him, before holding it up so she could see him and the picture at the same time.
“She’s got brown eyes?”
“That she has.”
“You and Lisa have blue eyes?”
“That we do.” Solomon was no scientist, but the fact the child had dark brown eyes and olive skin when both of her apparent parents were blue-eyed and pale wasn’t lost on him. His name was on Molly’s birth certificate. He might not be her biological father, but she was his in all the ways that mattered. Every child needed a parent to rely on, and Solomon had gladly taken on that role. The tiny scrap of innocence had stolen his heart the moment he laid eyes on her, and nothing would ever change that.
“She’s pretty, but I can’t see any resemblance. How old is she?”
“Three. Now are you ready to eat?”
Daisy nodded and handed the picture back. “I would love to meet her. I’m sure Paul would too.” She sniffed, and Solomon passed her a tissue from the box next to the bed. “Assuming he ever wants to see either of us again.”
“Of course he will. I bet you he’ll be over before the night’s done.”
“Bullshit.”
“Want to put your money where your mouth is?”
Daisy chewed her bottom lip, tears clung to her eyelashes. “No. My heart wouldn’t be in it.”
Solomon wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Come on, Princess, let’s go and eat. I might even regale you with tales from Paul’s younger days that you can use against him when he finally comes to his senses.”
Daisy smiled. “You two used to be inseparable, didn’t you?”
“That we did.”
“Anyone would think you were brothers. Why do you get along so well together?”
“You mean how could Paul put up with an arsehole like me? I used to ask myself the same question all the time. Now come on.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. As they made their way along the hallway toward the stairs Solomon’s phone started to ring. He tugged it from his jeans pocket and glanced at the caller ID.
“It’s Dan Maloney.”
“Is he calling about Paul? Did something happen to him?” Daisy’s fingers bit into his flesh as she gripped his upper arm.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Daisy had the meal dished up by the time Solomon got off the phone. The only thing she could tell from the one-sided conversation she could hear was that they were talking about Zut not Paul.
She opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of lager, hunted the drawers and found a bottle opener, and popped the tops before placing them on the table. Solomon’s kitchen was super organized. Apparently his tidy gene extended to every corner of his life. She’d had no trouble finding cutlery and plates. He even had proper linen napkins.
With a final good-bye, Solomon hung up.
“Well?”
“Sit. Eat.”
Daisy sat and lifted a fork, but she wasn’t really hungry.
Solomon took the seat across the table, unfolded his napkin and laid it across his knee before taking a swallow of beer.
“Well?”
“Eat.”
She scooped up a forkful of curry and shoveled it into her mouth. Now her mouth was full she couldn’t ask him again.
“Dan looked into Zut.”
She swallowed. “And?”
Solomon took a mouthful of dinner and chewed slowly.
“Do I have to waterboard you to make you tell me?”
Solomon swallowed and then smiled. “I’ve been trained to resist torture.”
“How about if I stick electrodes on your testicles?”
“I might just enjoy that.”
“Ew. You’re disgusting. I don’t even want to think about your man bits.”
“You brought them up, Princess.”
“I want to know what’s going on.”
“He’s dead.”
“Zut? When? How?”
“Suetonius Ackroyd-Smyth died three years ago in a surfing accident in Australia.”
Daisy frowned. “But I met him.”
“You met a man called Zut, and we assumed it was Suetonious.”
“What about his band? And the website?”
“Apparently the Zut we know is a musician, but other than that we know nothing.”
“Are we sure our Zut isn’t pretending to be Suetonious? But then why would someone pretend to be a dead man?”
“No idea, Princess.”
“Is he really dead?”
“The Aussies did a DNA test to confirm what they found was Suetonious.”
“What they found?”
“Eat up, Daisy.”
She wasn’t really hungry, but apparently he was withholding information until she finished dinner. They ate in silence. As soon as she finished her last mouthful she dropped her fork on her plate.
“All done. Now will you please tell me what’s going on?”
Solomon was in no rush to finish dinner so Daisy sat and waited. Eventually he leaned back and patted his stomach. “Doughnut still makes a mean curry.”
“Paul!” Her mind had been so full of speculation about Zut she’d forgotten she was going to call him. “I need my phone.”
“You go and call him, and I’ll do the dishes, and then we can go back over what we know and plan where we go from here.”
“You want me to help you plan?”
H
e lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t want to help?”
“Yes. Yes. But I figured you knew what you were doing.”
“I do, Princess, but I thought we were partners in this.”
“Partners?” She smiled as she pushed to her feet and rounded the table. Finally someone thought she could actually make a difference. Although maybe Solomon was playing her. She decided to take him at his word and offered him a hand. “Partners.”
He grabbed it and pulled her closer, wrapping her in a hug. She wasn’t sure how to react. Finally she gave in and hugged him back. He let her go but not before grabbing her face in his hands and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Now off you go and call Doughnut. I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.”
She stared at him for a moment. Who was this man? Where had the surly git she knew gone? In the last twenty-four hours her world had been turned on its head, and Solomon’s change of character was only the half of it. Had she gone to bed last night and woken in an alternate universe?
*
Solomon watched her stroll from the room. What the feck was wrong with him? Not only had he told more than he intended about Molly, he’d hugged Daisy. She’d looked so pathetically happy when he said they were partners, and her horrendous outfit had added a sense of pathos to the disastrous evening. Telling Daisy she was on ice until the investigation was over would be like kicking a puppy. Hopefully Paul had come to his senses, and Solomon could get back to doing what he did best with Daisy, pissing her off. This change in their relationship was disturbing.
He got to his feet and loaded the dishwasher. Once the kitchen had been restored to order he made his way to the living room. No sign of Daisy, so he risked unlocking his office. He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder before retrieving a whiteboard that was leaning against the wall and some markers. With his hands full he’d have to come back for the whiteboard stand.
He turned and groaned. “Daisy.”
“Is this the inner sanctum, like the bat cave?”
“It’s an office. Make yourself useful and grab the stand.”
She crossed the room and lifted a photo off the bookshelf. “I remember this picture.”