by JL Simpson
Daisy smiled at Solomon. “Paul, I would never sleep with Solomon, because he’s your brother.”
“He’s what?”
“Your dad got his mam in the family way, when he was in the Royal Engineers, doing a tour of Northern Ireland.”
Jeysus. Solomon put his hands over his face, and waited for the inevitable outrage at the years of deception and lies he had spun to get close to the man who now knew he was his brothers.
Paul laughed. “Really?”
Solomon glanced up at Paul. “Are you not angry that your da cheated on your ma.”
Paul leaned over, and placed a hand on Solomon’s shoulder. “I would be, if it were true. My dad never served in Northern Ireland. He injured his knee, and was kept on camp in Dover the whole time his squadron was over there.”
Solomon let the revelation sink in. For years he’d carried the secret, and wished Paul could be a real brother to him, before finding peace in the knowledge it could never happen, and accepting him as a friend. All the hours of doubt and fear and angst about what would happen if Paul knew who he really was had been time wasted on a lie. Daisy telling Paul Solomon’s secret might have lost him the comfort of knowing he had a brother, but he’d kept a friend. Best of all he was finally free from being blackmailed into working with Daisy. Not all losses were worth shedding a tear over. “Really? Well you know what that means don’t you?”
Daisy shrugged. “That someone pretended to be Paul’s dad, and lied to your mam and now I have to start over to find out who you really are?”
Solomon shook his head. “No, Princess. It means you can sleep with me after all.”
Daisy got to her feet, and pointed at the door. “Get out. Get out.”
Solomon laughed. “I’m on my way. The room’s booked for the whole weekend, and I’m happy to return the babysitting favor, so why don’t you two stay and enjoy yourselves? Maybe Paul can be helping you get better at sex.”
Daisy stared at him. “What?”
“Did you not tell Bogdan you were no good at it?”
Daisy lifted a glass off the nightstand. He closed the door behind him, as the glass shatter against it.
Solomon strode down the hall with his hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his lips. He’d finally gotten what he wanted. His life was his own again. No more secrets, and no way on God’s green earth was he ever working with Daisy again.
THE END
LOST PROPERTY
(A DAISY DUNLOP MYSTERY ~ BOOK 3)
Author
JL Simpson
www.jlsimpson.com
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Editor MK Books
Text Copyright © JL Simpson
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter ThirtyEight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter One
Daisy Dunlop checked the address before swinging the squeaky garden gate open. She stepped onto the crazy-paved path that separated two freshly dug and, from the pungent stench, freshly fertilized vegetable beds. Finally, she was a winner. There was no sign of the black Range Rover that had dogged her every move all week. She pasted on her brightest smile, and then frowned. This was a serious business, and a smile probably wasn't the best look. Heir hunters had a difficult job. On the upside, she was telling people they had come into an inheritance. The downside was that her visit was usually the first notification they had about the death of a relative. Sympathy? Empathy? Sorrow? No, sorrow was probably a step too far.
A loud metallic clunk brought her progress up the path to a halt. The front door opened and a gravelly voice carried across the garden. “Thank you for your time. I'll be in touch when we finalize everything.”
Daisy growled in disgust. He’d beaten her to the prize, again! Last week he stole her parking space while she struggled to work out how to fit in between two other vehicles. She was forced to abandon her car on double yellow lines. Not only did the slimy bastard sign up her beneficiary, but she got a parking ticket. It was still buried in the bottom of her handbag, along with her credit card statement.
Her arch nemesis stepped out of the door and grinned as he slid his mirrored sunglasses up his long pointy nose. The goatee beard made him look like the devil, and she seriously wished he'd go to hell. Now he had one beneficiary signed up to appoint him to do the necessary paperwork to finalize the deceased estate and distribute the money, he'd be gunning for the old lady's two brothers. Once he had the majority of the beneficiaries signed up Daisy would have no choice but to walk away from the case. She'd bet her life the woman inside the house was more than happy to pass on her brother’s addresses to speed her access to a share of almost one hundred thousand pounds.
The man-devil strode down the path with a swagger. His pace picked up and Daisy glared. He stepped to the left and Daisy moved to block him. He started to step right. As Daisy started to move she realized he had no intention of going around her. Her body rocked when she was slammed by a large male shoulder. She grabbed for the man's coat but her fists clutched at air. She came up empty. Her left heel snapped and she landed on her arse in the vegetable garden with a sucking slap.
Her hair flopped into her face and Daisy lifted a hand to push it back off her forehead. The sickly sweet stench of manure filled her nostrils. She scrambled to her feet. Her hands and the back of her trousers were caked in cow shit. She gagged and held her breath until she was sure lunch was going to stay down.
The front door swung open wide and a lady with a halo of white hair and watery blue eyes shuffled toward her. “I hope you have nay disturbed my Trevor's neeps. He's very partial to his neeps.” The burr of Scotland still colored her voice, even though Daisy knew Maura Sidebottom, nee McAlister, had lived in the south of England since she was in her early thirties.
Daisy glanced at the garden bed. Nothing was visible. Not a stalk, twig, or leaf. She grimaced. “Sorry. I don't think I've done any harm.”
The old lady frowned. “I know you. You're that floozie I found in Trevor's bed last week. He's not interested in the likes of you.” The old lady waved her hands in a shooing motion.
“Who's Trevor?”
“Don't you give me that. You just saw him. He walked right past you.”
Devil-man? “His name's Trevor?”
“I should have known your sort wouldn't bother to learn a man's name. You can't have him. He's taken.”
Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Is Trevor related to you?” Mrs. Sidebottom nodded.<
br />
She might not be the best at heir hunting, but Daisy's limited research skills had revealed that Mrs. Sidebottom had two daughters, and her husband had been called Walter. “Are you sure?”
“About what?”
“That he's related to you, and his name's Trevor?”
The old lady smiled, displaying a set of well-worn gray teeth. “Have you seen him? Nancy said he might come by.”
“Who?”
“Trevor.”
“I thought he just left.”
“Oh dear, I must have missed him. Anyway, I best get on.” The old lady wrinkled her nose at Daisy. “You don't smell very nice. My mum used to say, even poor people can keep clean. Soap and water are cheap. A good scrub with some carbolic would do you the world of good.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “What about Trevor?”
“Carbolic can't save him now.”
“What?”
The old lady sighed. “He’s dead, hen. Died in jail.”
“Why was he in jail?’
Beneath a worn shabby blue house-coat, the woman’s thin shoulders lifted and fell before she turned and shuffled back toward the house.
Daisy watched until the front door slammed shut, and then hobbled back the way she’d come.
By the time she arrived at the gate, devil-man had disappeared. Even if she had some idea where he was going, and could get there before him, she wasn’t in a fit state to knock on someone's door and tell them they had a dead relative that had left a fortune. Her only hope was that Mrs. Sidebottom’s inability to hold a sane conversation meant her arch nemesis was no closer to finding beneficiary number two than she was. Either way she’d need to take a shower and change her clothes before she could continue her quest.
She limped to her car and cleaned her hands as best she could on some baby wipes she had left over from the last time she'd taken her former business partner Solomon's daughter out for the day. After covering the driver's seat with an empty plastic bag, she climbed in behind the steering wheel.
* * * * *
Solomon rested his chin on the heel of his hand and stared at the monitor and watched another transaction taking place at the shop counter. Without Daisy life was calm, uneventful, and mind-numbingly predictable.
His cases had reverted back to spying on the lying, cheating, stealing scum of society. Philandering spouses had always been his bread and butter, and he'd caught a few of those in compromising positions of late. The cash was a boon to his dwindling bank balance, and he would finally be able to pay off the bill for the credit card he'd given Daisy for emergencies. Emergencies that appeared to include paying for wedding flowers and purchasing his daughter a male teacup toy poodle that Molly insisted on calling Rosebud.
Still, things hadn't been all bad.
Last week the cheating obstetrician's pretty brunette wife offered him a bonus for his hard work. Not the first time a devastated woman sought comfort and revenge between the sheets with him, but it was the first time he'd said no without hesitation.
Belinda had been more than meeting his needs. He drummed his fingers on the desk in frustration. Since she'd brought their fun to a grinding halt, they'd been avoiding each other. She told him she wanted a break to assess her life and he was respecting that, as best he could. Now getting in and out of his office next door to her florist shop was akin to a covert operation. Maybe he should send her a gift, though not flowers obviously. Damn his libido for wanting more.
If Belinda was just another conquest, he'd find solace with another warm willing body, but she was a woman like none he'd ever dated before. He shoved the thought aside. He didn't miss her. He just wasn't in the habit of being put on hold. He only wanted her back to soothe his bruised ego. Not that his ego was going to be soothed anytime soon. Solomon quirked an eyebrow. Daisy and Belinda were the best of friends.
Movement on the monitor caught Solomon's attention. The greasy-haired, pimple-faced, shop assistant pulled a fifty-pound note out of the till and slipped it into his back pocket. Solomon shoved his chair back and strode across the storage room. He threw the door open and sprinted across the shop.
Pimples looked up and squealed like a teenage girl. As the miscreant edged around the end of the counter, Solomon barreled through a display of female hygiene products, grasped the thief around the waist, and slammed him onto the floor, pinning him face down.
“Going somewhere?”
The man struggled. “Help. Help. Thief.”
Solomon grinned. “Yes, you are. And I've got you banged to rights.”
With one knee firmly on the man's back, Solomon tugged handcuffs from his pocket and snapped them around his captive's wrists.
Solomon's phone buzzed. He retrieved it from the inside pocket of his jacket and checked caller ID. Not someone he would expect to hear from but now that this job was successfully completed he’d be in need of something new.
* * * * *
Daisy slammed the front door shut and screamed with fright when a warm tongue lapped at her fingers. Her heart hammered so hard it hurt. She took a steadying breath. At least the stupid dog had stopped jumping up at her. She would never have taken her last case if she'd known it would result in her adopting a standard poodle. It was her son’s fault they still had Johnny.
They’d finally discovered the dog she'd been hired to find at a local dog pound, but by then his owner was six feet under. Daisy had agreed to take Johnny in to save him from certain death. Her son, Sherman, was making no effort to find him a new owner and Evan, a former work colleague, who had assisted her to retrieve the dog and promised faithfully to help, had buggered off on holiday to Europe with his lady love, Poppy. Not only did the dog follow her around, licking her at every opportunity, but he had a shoe habit—a shoe “chewing” habit. He was banned from her room. Johnny gazed up at her, his eyes shining from behind his shaggy two-tone fur, then turned tail and padded up the stairs.
She sagged with relief, only aware of the tension in her muscles as it drained away, along with the last of her energy. Living with a dog was bad for her blood pressure. He had never bitten her, but she could sense he was thinking about it every time he came near. One more trip to the groomers and all of the black-dyed fur should be gone. Maybe when he was apricot all over instead of apricot with black tips, someone would want him and she could finally walk through her own front door without having a panic attack.
After struggling out of her leather jacket, she threw it over the banister and dropped her handbag on the floor. With the plastic bag she had used to save her car seat covers firmly stuck to her backside, she limped down the hall toward the kitchen. The air was filled with the tomato tang of spaghetti sauce, and the comforting sounds of rattling saucepans and clanging spoons.
Her husband, Paul, glanced up from the pot he was stirring. He raised an eyebrow and she knew with every fiber of her being he was struggling to hold back a grin. She narrowed her eyes and he turned back to stirring the dinner.
“Busy day?”
His voice was laced with humor and, had the boot been on the other foot, she would be laughing too. Not that she wanted to think about boots. She dropped onto a dining room chair and lifted her left foot to examine the damage to her heel. The day had started out so well but, once again, she had failed to sign up any beneficiaries, and even worse she was down one pair of Christian Louboutin knockoff boots. Her jeans could probably be saved, and a good shower would restore her dirty hair to its usual bouncy style, but her pride and bank balance could only be salvaged by actually successfully hunting an heir. The small percentage of the estate she would earn from the beneficiaries wouldn’t make her rich but it would be a start. To date she had earned exactly nothing at her new chosen career.
Paul slid a cup in front of her, and any annoyance she might have felt toward him drifted away on a cloud of coffee-scented steam.
After a gulp of the fortifying nectar, she dragged her laptop across the dining room table and powered it up. She ran a finger
down the Government’s list of unclaimed estates. Perhaps she needed to set her sights a little lower. The big heir hunting firms had more resources, a slicker operation, and in some cases sleazier operatives, who would stop at nothing to get the necessary signature. Including dropping her in the shit. Thank God the south of England was having an unseasonal dry spell, although she would rather be muddy than caked in cow crap. Maybe her hair would have more shine and bounce than ever before. In which case, she could bottle and sell liquid manure as a new hair care range at Tesco and make her fortune that way.
“What are you doing?”
Daisy glanced up at Paul. “I'm considering my options. Weighing up the possibilities.”
“Are you sure you don't want to toss in the towel and go back?”
“To Solomon?” Daisy glared at him. Surely Paul couldn't be so cruel as to kick a girl when she was down. The Irish git, Paul’s best mate and ex-army buddy, Solomon, had made it clear their working relationship was over, and she would rather mud wrestle a pig than beg him to reconsider. He'd done his duty by Paul and paid back the favor he owed by giving her the basic skills he said she needed to do the job. She probably should have tried using her feminine charm to persuade him to let her stay after she solved her first case, instead of threatening to spill her guts to Paul about Solomon's secret identity. Now the truth was out, she had nothing left to blackmail him with. Solomon's lair was once more his own. Meanwhile, she was stuck using the dining room table as a temporary office until she made some money and could afford more salubrious surroundings.
Paul leaned with his backside against the sink. “Working with Solomon is a hazard to your health. I meant going back to a normal job, one that helps pay the bills.”
He was right, their debts were mounting. It was probably best not to mention her credit card statement had arrived in the post the day before. A girl needed to look good to succeed in business, but, on reflection, the half price Valentino sandals were probably a bit more extravagant than she could afford. She had tried to take them back but the shop assistant had told her there was no refund on sale items. Still, she was proud of herself for having the strength of character to walk out head held high, resisting the lure of the new season Jimmy Choo shoes.