Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1)

by JL Simpson

  The sound of the key in the front door gave her a start. She dived through the kitchen door and came to a stop. A short, plump, middle-aged woman with gray hair that surrounded her face like a halo of wire-wool closed the front door and smiled at her.

  “You must be Daisy. Solomon said you were staying.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. I’m Mrs. Brown.”

  “Sorry. He never mentioned you.”

  “No reason he should.”

  Daisy watched the woman take off her coat and hang it on a peg. She seemed very comfortable in Solomon’s home so she was unlikely to be a threat. Besides she seemed to have got through security without a hitch. “Are you a relative of his?”

  She laughed. “No, poppet. I’m his cleaning lady.”

  Daisy smiled. Of course. The git said he had a cleaning lady. In fact, it was a wonder he didn’t have a butler and chauffeur as well. “Do you have a key to his study?”

  “I’ve got a key to everything.”

  Daisy could kiss her. “Awesome. I need to use the four-wheel drive, but he forgot to give me the spare key. I’ve hunted the house top to bottom and can’t find it.”

  “Do you want me to call him and ask where it is?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No. I tried. He’s not answering. He had a date last night, and I guess he’s not in the mood to talk right now.”

  The cleaner chuckled. “He’s quite the heartbreaker. If I was twenty years younger I’d take him for a trot around the paddock.”

  “Really? I can’t see the attraction myself.”

  Mrs. Brown’s chubby face wrinkled when she smiled. “Solomon talks about you a lot. He seems to be very fond of you.”

  “He’s too in love with himself to care about anyone else, and I am sure most of his comments about me are peppered with rude words. Solomon only puts up with me because I’m married to his best mate.”

  “Ah, that would be Paul. He seems very fond of him too.”

  “Keys?”

  “Righto. I guess he won’t mind. You do work together after all, so I guess you have no secrets from each other.”

  Secrets. He had dozens, which could explain why he kept the room locked up tight. Once the door was open she assured Mrs. Brown she was fine to look for the car keys by herself. The cleaner headed upstairs to start stripping the beds, and Daisy closed the study door behind her.

  She crossed to the desk and opened the drawers. She emptied each of them in turn and then shoved everything back inside as best she could. The third drawer held the missing car keys and a metal box. She slipped the box onto the desk top and opened it. Bingo. Solomon’s gun lay inside, along with a box of bullets. She pulled it out and dropped the magazine into the palm of her hand the way Paul had shown her when he had a pistol. Tut-tut. Keeping a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer was a definite no-no. Mind you, even owning the gun was illegal in the UK. Taking it with her was probably a bad idea, but then most of the things she did were bad ideas. She shoved the magazine back in place, dropped the gun into her bag, and put the box back.

  Now she had the keys she should leave everything else alone. Solomon liked his privacy. However, there might be something else that would help her. No harm in taking a quick look. She opened the last drawer and pulled out a thick folder. After checking to make sure Mrs. Brown was still busy elsewhere she flicked it open. Shit. It was full of photos of Paul. Dozens of them going right back to when Paul was in basic training, along with a copy of Paul’s birth certificate and their marriage certificate. What the hell was Solomon doing? Lisa said he had an obsession with a man but Paul? She’d obviously jumped to the conclusion the interest was something sexual.

  Daisy hunted through all the photos until she found one of Solomon and Paul together. There was a definite resemblance. Daisy had a feeling the reason for Solomon’s collection of memorabilia had nothing to do with sexual attraction, but with something that would have a far more traumatic effect on Paul if he found out. Solomon could well be his older half-brother. She couldn’t imagine Paul’s dad having an affair, but she only knew him as a staid middle-aged man. He could have been wild in his younger days.

  Solomon had obviously had a difficult childhood growing up with only his mother to care for him. No matter who his dad was, the man should have stepped up and taken responsibility. However that didn’t explain why Solomon would seek out Paul and never tell him? Did he have some horrible plan to harm Paul in some way, to punish his parents? Sins of the father, and all that. Was that what was behind the bullet in the arse Paul took for him? The whole story about the girl and the enraged father had played to Daisy’s romantic inclinations, but it could be so much bullshit. He might have planned the whole thing to make Paul suffer.

  Either Solomon told Paul the truth or she would. Once she had Solomon’s birth certificate showing his father’s name she’d confront the git and sort the whole mess out. Knowledge was power. Once Paul knew who Solomon really was he couldn’t do anything to hurt him.

  The loud boppy sound of her phone’s ringtone, made Daisy jump. She shoved everything but the picture of Paul and Solomon back in the drawer with one hand as she pulled her phone from her bag with the other. Caller ID flashed the caller’s name, and her heart rate lifted. She needed to keep her tone light.

  “Paul. Did you make it all right?”

  “I did. Sherman’s still sleeping, and I might get my head down for a couple of hours before we head into Manchester.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Did Solomon show up?”

  “No, not yet. I guess he got lucky like you said.”

  “So, what are you going to do with yourself?”

  She shrugged and blew out a breath. “Wait around, I guess.”

  “Good idea. Stay safe.”

  “I will. Now go and sleep.”

  “Love you, beautiful.”

  “Love you too.”

  She hung up, shoved the phone and photo in her bag, grabbed the car keys off the desk, and headed out the front door.

  * * * *

  Once she’d mastered how to activate the front gate with the remote hanging on the key ring, the drive to Bournemouth had been uneventful. Her idea to start looking where Solomon was last supposed to be had been truly inspired. Okay, maybe it had been inspired by a voracious appetite for bad detective shows on TV, but it had been her only idea.

  There had been no sign of his car in the hotel’s car park, but she’d struck lucky when she headed inside. The receptionist from the night before was on duty and remembered seeing Solomon leave. He’d been accompanied by two other men who were holding him up. They explained he’d over indulged. Bullshit. There were some holes in her knowledge of Solomon, but one thing she did know for sure was that he was a professional and getting drunk when he was working would be completely out of character.

  Back in the SUV she pondered her next move. The hotel refused to give her any details of the function’s organizers. If she called the charity or Clive she might tip them off that she was on to whatever they were doing. So far she had nothing that would interest the police. Solomon had never found out if Maureen had set them up when she asked them to search for Zut, but she might be the only option left. Her number was in Solomon’s old phone. If he hadn’t had a chance to check out the car park there was a possibility it was still there. She fired the engine to life and set off, weaving in and out of the rush-hour traffic.

  The big vehicle was difficult to maneuver, and she cursed as she scraped the front corner on a bollard at the entrance to the multistory. She wound down the window and collected her ticket before negotiating the tight turns and steep ramps. The car park was filling up, and she sighed with relief when she finally had the SUV neatly parked between a pillar and a small hatchback. She was on the fifth floor, and the explosion had been on the fourth. The only evidence she’d seen as she passed the scene was some soot on the roof. If the police were investigating they had obviously found all they needed, and it w
as back to business as usual.

  Daisy opened the door, climbed out, and locked the SUV, before heading to the stairwell. The stench hadn’t improved any since she had been there with Solomon. She jogged down the stairs, pleased that she’d chosen to wear jeans and relatively flat boots. If the bad guys came after her she would be able to run; her footwear would be no impediment to her escape—her fitness was another matter altogether.

  Once she was on the fourth floor she took a moment to orient herself, and then strode with a sense of purpose. Her heart raced. If the phone wasn’t there, she had no plan B. Even if it was, someone could have driven over it, or it could have been smashed when Solomon dove for cover.

  They’d been behind an SUV parked next to the third pillar on the left. The phone could have gone in any direction. She squatted and tipped her head to look beneath the vehicles parked in the vicinity. Something caught her eye and she waddled along the row and up the side of a dark blue sedan. She dropped to her hands and knees and took a closer look.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Solomon sat with his back against the wall and pretended to doze. Toby paced around and around the room. Other than mumbling that they’d be rescued, he’d been less than forthcoming. Solomon wasn’t giving up, though. He figured they’d brought Toby back about three hours ago.

  He opened his eyes and shifted position. “Who did you have to call?”

  Toby glanced at him and shook his head. “No one.”

  “Maureen asked me to try and find you. She’s a brave girl.”

  “Leave her out of it.”

  “Do you think she’ll stop looking for you? Do you even know how much she loves your sorry, uptight, upper-crust arse? She has absolutely no idea who you really are, and yet she’s prepared to risk everything to get you back. Most women wouldn’t give a toss about a man who claimed to be homeless and had a history like the bullshit you and your government puppet masters made up to hide your real identity.”

  Toby stopped pacing and stared at him. “I was homeless, and I did have a drug problem.”

  “But you’re not denying someone’s pulling your strings. So, who did you call?”

  “Maureen. Told her I was fine and doing some work with Jason on my debut album. I thanked her for her help and wished her a happy life.”

  “She believed you?”

  He shrugged. “Jason just signed on as my manager so I could be in the studio.”

  “She’d never buy you dumping her. She told me about the baby and the proposal. Does Jason know?”

  Toby shook his head. “No. He suspects I’m the one who got her pregnant, but either way he doesn’t care as long as I’m out of the picture.”

  “Did you mean it when you told her you wanted to get married? Because if you didn’t I might feel compelled to punch your teeth down your throat.”

  Toby leaned with his back against the wall, shoved his hands in his pockets, and let his chin drop to his chest. “I meant every word. What a fucking mess.”

  Solomon sighed. No point in arguing with the truth. “Any idea what time it is?”

  “Sorry, never saw a clock or even daylight.”

  “How long have they had you down here?”

  “Two or three days.”

  Solomon chuckled. “And yet so far no one has come looking for you. Are you sure you’re going to be saved by the cavalry?”

  “I’ve got a meeting on Sunday, and when I don’t show they’ll start looking.”

  “Sunday? I was nabbed Thursday night. By my reckoning today is Friday. We could be dead before they even notice you’re gone. It’s not like these thugs haven’t killed before. What are two more dead bodies added to the pile they’ve got so far?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Solomon. Private investigator hired by an insurance company to look into suspected life insurance fraud. However, instead of finding apparent dead guys still alive and well, I keep finding more dead bodies. Maybe if we swapped notes we could work out what we’ve stepped into and then come up with a way to get out of here.”

  Toby slid down the wall and stared at him. “You could be a plant. I might have signed my death warrant by even admitting I had a meeting on Sunday.”

  “Did they toss you in here because they suspect you’re undercover?”

  Toby shook his head. “No, I told you, Jason suspects I’m involved with Maureen. He figures she’ll turn to him for comfort when it becomes apparent I’m a scumbag. He’ll use his position to persuade her to have an abortion and get back to her career and into his bed.”

  “Jason knows I’m investigating insurance fraud, but I doubt he thinks I’ve found out anything useful. My guess is I was brought here because I was asking too many questions about you. My partner Daisy will be very disappointed to discover she had a drink with the infamous missing heir she’s been hunting all week. You know your brother has someone posing as you?”

  “The whole reward thing was making life difficult. Daisy was the only one who got close, but I couldn’t risk being exposed. My superiors called Elliott and filled him in. Told him keeping me hidden was a matter of national security. He probably thinks I’m some kind of secret agent. When he discovers the truth he’ll be sadly disappointed.”

  “Why was he looking for you?”

  Toby scratched his stubbly chin. “Loves me, I guess. He never accepted the old man cutting me off. Now the old bastard’s dead he wanted me to come back into the family fold and retake my rightful position.”

  “And you?”

  “I thought I wanted to make a difference, which is how I ended up joining the police and becoming Zut.”

  “But?”

  “I’ve got responsibilities. I could do a lot of good with my inheritance. Help the homeless and the down-and-outs. There’s a lot of talent on the streets. Maybe I’ll start my own record label.”

  Solomon sighed. “A veritable Simon Cowell.”

  * * * *

  Daisy couldn’t bring herself to move. Bum in the air, head in her hands, she considered what to do next. Solomon would know.

  “Excuse me.”

  She squealed and looked over her shoulder. A man in a tatty, stained overcoat and squashed fedora smiled, flashing more gum than teeth. “Are you all right, miss?”

  Daisy climbed to her feet, swaying as blood rushed from her head. “Fine.”

  The stranger grabbed her arm and steadied her. “Thought you might be hurt.”

  “No, I was looking for something. I lost it the other day.”

  “I might be able to help.”

  Daisy sighed. “I’m not sure anyone can help but thanks anyway.”

  He moved closer, his whiskey-scented breath filled her nose. “No one sees me, but I see a lot of things around here.”

  “Really?” The poor old sod could be the man using the staircase as a urinal. He probably called the car park home. She hunted through her bag and pulled out her purse. “Why don’t I give you something for your kindness?”

  “A cup of tea?”

  “Sure.” She took a fiver out of her purse and offered it to him. He shoved her hand away.

  “I’m not looking for a handout. I want you to have a cup of tea with me. Don’t get to talk to pretty girls very often anymore.”

  “I would love to, but I really have to get going.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “A phone. I guess I must have left it somewhere else.”

  He smiled. “Cup a tea and I might be able to scare up your missing phone.”

  He could be full of bullshit, but he was the only hope she had. Besides, she’d skipped breakfast and could murder a cup of tea and a sticky bun. She smiled back and nodded. “Sure, why not. I know a great café around the corner that does a great bacon sarnie.”

  “Elvis.” He held out his dirty hand.

  “Daisy.” She shook his hand and offered no objection when he linked arms with her and led the way to the stairs.

  They walked
to the cafe in silence and chose to sit at a table by the window. The waitress took their order without protest. Elvis must be a regular customer.

  The waitress came back with two mugs of tea and an iced bun for Daisy.

  “Sandwich won’t be long, Elvis.”

  He smiled up at the skinny woman. “Thanks, Flora. Don’t suppose you’ve seen Harry today, have you?”

  “No.” The waitress glanced at the wall clock. “Bit early yet. Give him ten minutes and he should be along. Regular as clockwork is our Harry.”

  Daisy added milk to her tea and stirred it. “Who’s Harry? Does he have my phone?”

  Elvis slurped and gulped a mouthful of tea before looking at her. “No. Harry’s not one for the lost and found. Harry Belafonte’s too good to be dealing with other people’s rubbish.”

  “I don’t begrudge you a free feed, Elvis, but if you can’t help with the phone I should get going.”

  “Trouble with you youngsters, always in a rush to get to the next thing on your list. You need to learn to relax. Harry doesn’t deal with phones, but he’ll know someone who does.”

  Elvis smiled and rubbed his hands with glee when his sandwich arrived. Daisy munched on her bun and sipped her tea as Elvis made short work of his breakfast. Her mug was empty by the time the door to the café opened again. A short, bald, white man carrying a cane stepped inside. His diminutive body was swamped by a pinstriped suit designed for a much taller man. A woman of Amazonian stature followed along. Daisy frowned as she looked at the odd couple.

  The waitress smiled at her new customers. “Your usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Elvis pushed to his feet and waved at the short man. “Harry, over here.”

  The man crossed to their table and accepted Elvis’s invitation to take a seat. The woman he was with followed. Harry slipped into the booth next to Elvis, and Daisy shuffled closer to the window to give his companion room. She sat and smiled at Daisy.

  Daisy smiled back. Now they were eyeball to eyeball she realized why the woman was so tall. She was a he. A beautifully dressed and made up he, but a he nonetheless.

  “Harry, this is Daisy.”

  Harry held out a hand, and she shook it. He nodded at her seat companion. “Daisy, this is Shirley, Shirley Temple.”