Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1) Page 10

  “Who did he choose?”

  “Neither of them. He told them they could both screw her. Taff agreed. Simmo went mental and said he wasn’t going to share and Taff could have her.”

  “So he chose Simmo because he wouldn’t share?”

  “Nope.”

  “So she dated Taff instead?”

  “She didn’t date either of them. Once Solomon called her into the room and told her about the fight she refused to see either of them. She was supposed to be dating Taff, but when she heard he was willing to share he lost his appeal. Solomon went out with her for a couple of months before he got bored and moved on.”

  Daisy frowned. “Makes sense. I guess.”

  Paul kissed Daisy’s shoulder. “How are the Solomon cooties?”

  “Disgusting. I hope he hasn’t got rabies or anything. Maybe I should brush my teeth again?”

  “I’ve got something that’ll get rid of the taste for good. It’s supposed to have antiseptic qualities.” He dragged her hand down his body for emphasis.

  * * * *

  Solomon waited until the two men disappeared inside the pub. Well, well. That was a turn-up. Now he had two options, wait outside until they came out and continue to follow Zut, or go inside and hope he wasn’t spotted. It could be coincidence that John was at the same pub, but Solomon doubted it. However, as far as he knew Zut had information about Tobias, and John was investigating alleged life insurance fraud. What were the chances of the two being connected? Maybe Zut was a lowlife who had fingers in many dodgy pies, the sort of man who could be tapped on the shoulder for all sorts of information at a price.

  He climbed from the car and crept across the car park, stopping next to Zut’s Porsche. After a quick check to make sure no one was watching he ducked down, shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a tracking device. Once he was happy it was secured to the vehicle he checked his watch. Shite. If he was to be back in time to collect Melanie from the pub he’d need to leave in less than an hour.

  When he opened the pub door he was met by a wall of sound and a cloud of beer-scented warm air. A cover band was rocking the lounge bar. Solomon did a double take. Zut was on guitar. A glance around the room revealed John and his companion in the corner closest to the stage, each supping on a pint. There was no way Solomon could get close without being spotted. Head down, he elbowed his way to the bar and ordered a Guinness. The barman placed a full glass in front of him and held out his hand for the money. Solomon took some time sorting through a handful of coins he’d pulled from his pocket looking for the right change.

  “Good band. Do they play here often?”

  “Every week, mate. They’re okay, but they’re not the Rolling Stones.”

  Solomon couldn’t disagree. The cover version of “Satisfaction” they were currently rocking wasn’t a remix he could ever imagine Keith Richards signing up to play. Rapping the lyrics did nothing to add to the greatness of the original.

  Solomon dropped the correct money in the man’s hand. “What are they called?”

  “Zut and the Newtonians.”

  “That’s a bleedin’ terrible name.”

  The barman laughed and turned to serve someone else.

  Being sure to stay far enough away not to be noticed, Solomon sidled along the bar. Zut ended the song with a guitar solo. What he lacked in talent he made up for with enthusiasm. The band thanked the crowd and took a break. Zut crossed to John’s table and slid into a chair. A pretty blonde flopped into his lap and tried to kiss him. Zut shoved her off, apparently not interested. Solomon watched the exchange with a frown. Once the girl let the rocker go he lifted a shot glass and knocked back the contents in one. The girl disappeared into a small crowd near the stage, and Zut settled into a conversation with John and his companion.

  Solomon drained his pint and watched the play between the three men. This was no casual meeting. The way they leaned close together and laughed gave an impression of comfort that went beyond what you would expect from strangers.

  A girl arrived with a drink for Zut. He swallowed it in one and then headed back on stage to join his bandmates. The first chord of “Angie” was Solomon’s cue to leave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Solomon paid the cab driver and jogged up the path to Daisy’s house. His SUV stood on the front drive which, apart from a dent in the back bumper, looked unscathed. He’d had a shower at Melanie’s but decided against ducking to the office for a change of clothes before collecting his hapless temporary work colleague. The tracking device app on his phone showed Daisy was still where she was supposed to be, at home waiting for him. If he left it much later she might make a run for it, and he would waste time hunting her down.

  He lifted his hand and banged on the door. Footsteps sounded, the door swung open, and Sherman’s smiling face appeared.

  “Solomon.”

  “Sherman. You’re looking good. How did you go at the soccer?”

  “I’m expecting a call up from Man U any day now.”

  Solomon chuckled. “I hope you’ll be remembering us little people when you’re famous.”

  “I might hire you as my bodyguard.”

  “And I might just accept.”

  “Dad’s in the kitchen. Later, man.”

  Solomon resisted the urge to give Sherman a hug and offered a fist bump instead. The boy sprinted up the stairs as Solomon shut the front door and wandered through to the kitchen. Paul glanced up from his newspaper. “I hear you kissed my wife.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  Paul tossed the paper on the table. “Not in the least. I’ve kissed you before, and if I recall correctly it was far from pleasant. You hadn’t shaved and tasted of whiskey.”

  “You’re just saying that to cover up your true feelings.”

  “Really. Please stop kissing her. I can’t afford the toothpaste bill, and it’s putting a crimp in my sex life. Discussing you in bed does nothing for my libido.”

  Solomon lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile.

  Paul frowned. “Although from the happy smile on your face, and the crumpled nature of your clothing, I’m assuming kissing Daisy didn’t dampen your enthusiasm for whichever young lady you bedded last night.”

  “What can I say? Speaking of Daisy, is she not ready yet?”

  “Ready, willing, and able. She left half an hour ago. Said she had a breakfast meeting.”

  “Who with?”

  “A friend.” Paul tossed a lumpy sealed brown envelope at Solomon. “She left you this.”

  Solomon ripped it open and discovered his keys but nothing else.

  “And she said you might like this.” Paul put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the tracking device Solomon had left in her handbag. “She found it when she swapped from her black handbag to the brown one that matches her new boots. I won’t tell you the names she called you when she realized what it was, and how you had been, quote, ‘spying on her’ all the time.”

  “Bollocks. How am I supposed to keep her out of trouble if I don’t know where she is?”

  “That’s your problem not mine. If I was you I’d start my search at the café bakery in the precinct. She’s very partial to their chocolate croissants.”

  “I’ll be off, then. If she comes back, tie her to a chair and call me.”

  “I have to get going. I’ve a shift at ten. Besides I’m not sure she’d appreciate me turning her in, especially as I made her work with you in the first place. I need to hold on to the meager sex life I still have, and pissing off Daisy is not the way to do it.” Paul raised an eyebrow. “Unless I make tying her up into a kinky sex game.”

  Sherman stuck his head around the kitchen door. “Dad!”

  Solomon laughed. “Catch you later, Doughnut.”

  He made his way to the front door and let himself out. Once he’d unlocked and climbed inside his SUV he contemplated his plan of attack. If Daisy was at the café with a friend she was in no danger. This time of day t
he place was mobbed. He’d risk it and run back to the office for a change of clothes and to make some calls.

  He turned the key, and the CD player burst to life, drowning out the roar of the engine. Solomon hit the eject button with a growl and tossed the Boyzone CD onto the back seat. “Bleedin’ not funny, Daisy.”

  Apparently she’d found out his name. Hopefully being able to set him up with songs featuring Ronan Keating would be enough to keep her happy and she wouldn’t dig any further into his private life. He kept it private for a reason.

  * * * *

  Daisy sat nursing the last of her coffee, contemplating the day ahead. She still had no real idea about Toby or the guitar. At least the day had started well, but no doubt Paul would give the Irish git a hint about where Daisy was likely to be. Her long-standing Wednesday breakfast date was hardly a secret.

  Cherry’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Penny for them.”

  She glanced at Cherry. “Sorry, I was just wondering how best to tackle my case.”

  “I can’t believe a woman who can barely bring a photocopier to heel or subdue a coffee machine, is doing something as exciting as being a P.I.”

  “I’m not that bad. Besides I’m an heir hunter working with a P.I. And it’s not exciting.”

  Cherry raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I am that bad, but it’s still not that exciting. For example, yesterday I met a man about a guitar.”

  “A guitar?”

  “Yeah, Lord Tobias Wareham used to own a white one signed by Keith Richards. Last seen busking with it in Leicester Square, but who knows where he is now?”

  Cherry sipped her coffee and frowned. “You ever watch Sherlock?”

  “The one with Benedict Cabbagepatch?”

  “Cumberbatch. Yes, that one.”

  “A couple of episodes. Why? Do you think Moriarty has my missing lord?” Daisy snorted with laughter at her own joke.

  Cherry slapped her arm. “No, stupid. In one episode Sherlock used homeless people as his eyes and ears in London.”

  “You think I should talk to homeless people?”

  “Can’t hurt. You could start here and then go to the big smoke.”

  Cherry glanced at her watch. “Shit. I’m going to be late to meet my new client.”

  “On you go. See you next week?”

  Cherry got to her feet, tugging her laptop case and her handbag up her arm. “Absolutely, and you can tell me what progress you’ve made in the case of the missing lord.”

  Daisy stood and gave her friend a hug, only retaking her seat once Cherry had disappeared out the door.

  Maybe Cherry was onto something. She concentrated and tried to imagine she was Sherlock pulling the puzzle pieces together in her mind. Trouble was she didn’t even have the corners, never mind a picture to work from, and if this was anything like a real jigsaw puzzle some bastard was holding on to the last piece so they could appear the hero and finish the bloody thing after all the hard work was done. Her money was on Solomon for that role.

  He must have discovered she’d outsmarted him by now, and been serenaded by the CD she’d left in his player. She laughed as she imagined his reaction. Now that Cherry had left she should really go to the office, but first she might snoop around and chat with homeless people. She’d take a bag of hot jam doughnuts with her to bribe them. Cherry’s idea might be completely silly, but Daisy had nothing else to do.

  She ordered the doughnuts, and once they arrived she got up and left the warmth of the café. Winter was definitely on its way. The cool wind blowing up the street had the smell of rain, and the dark clouds hanging overhead looked full to bursting point. Tugging the collar of her jacket up, Daisy jogged to the car park. At this rate she wouldn’t need to get any other form of exercise, in fact she might even try out for the next London Marathon. Checking out a gym slipped a little further down her “to do” list.

  Her car sat alone in a corner on the fifth floor of a multistory car park. All the other cars were huddled at the opposite end of the floor as if her car had cooties. The bright yellow paint job was a bit much first thing in the morning, but it wasn’t bad enough to make people want to run away. A sickly cloying scent wafted on the cool air. Daisy slowed her approach. Now she was closer she could see the bonnet of her car was covered in something. A drop slid down the driver’s side front panel and dripped to the floor with a splash. The chocolate croissant and coffee Daisy had consumed threatened to do a comeback tour.

  Frozen to the spot, Daisy tugged her phone from her handbag. She dithered. Blood. Someone had thrown blood all over her lovely car. What if it was some sort of threat and the person who’d done it was still hanging about. She glanced around, but the floor appeared empty. Although there were too many pillars and cars to hide behind for her to be certain she was alone. Should she call Solomon or the cops?

  What if it wasn’t blood? It might be red paint. In which case calling either of them was silly. A painter might have tripped and spilt it by accident. He might even have left a note under her windscreen wiper with his details so he could pay to get the mess cleaned up and the bonnet resprayed. She approached her car. Her gaze shifted from the empty windscreen to the dashboard and then the driver’s seat. A hand was gripping her steering wheel. A hand that was no longer attached to a body. Daisy’s stomach heaved, and she threw up all over the side of the car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Solomon dropped the phone back onto its cradle, happy with what he’d achieved. Life was much easier without Daisy around. He checked the time. She must have finished breakfast by now. He figured after the drama the day before she hadn’t had time to organize another disaster and could be trusted to make her own way to the office. However, it was almost ten, and she was still a no-show.

  With a growl, he got to his feet and tugged his suit jacket on. He had less than an hour to find her if he was to make it to his first appointment on time. His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Daisy. He hit the button to accept the call.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “Don’t be bleedin’ funny. Why aren’t you here?”

  “I’ve been a bit tied up.”

  “What?”

  “Well, more handcuffed than tied. Dan Maloney says I can go for now.”

  “I told you to stay away from him.”

  “He insisted I come and help him with his enquiries.”

  “What? Where the bleedin’ hell are you?”

  “Call yourself a detective. I’m at the fucking police station, where do you think I am?”

  “Why?”

  “Come and collect me, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Why can’t you get back here on your own?”

  “I’m in need of transportation.”

  “What about your car?”

  “It’s been impounded.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to go, Solomon. The other inmates want to use the phone.”

  “Daisy? Daisy!”

  She’d hung up on him. He growled with frustration. Bollocks. What the hell had she done now? Clearly she couldn’t be left alone for a minute. Perhaps he should leave her in the tender loving care of the cops. She would be safe in a cell. He was tempted to called Detective Maloney and have him keep her for the day.

  Instead he locked up the office and drove through town. The car park across the road from the station was full so he risked leaving his SUV in a ten-minute loading zone. He would be five minutes, and he was loading something, a millstone that currently hung around his neck. On reflection he should have offered Paul an alternative option to pay back the pain he’d caused him. A bullet in the arse would be quicker, and less agonizing than the havoc Daisy was wreaking on his life and business.

  Solomon shoved the door to the police station open and sighed. A gaggle of miscreants and weirdoes took up the space in the lobby. He stood straight, shoulders back, adopted an air of a man who belonged there
and approached the counter.

  “Excuse me. I’m here to collect Daisy Dunlop.”

  The desk sergeant grabbed his pen back from a kid using it to graffiti the timber countertop. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

  “It’s urgent.”

  “It always is.”

  Solomon frowned. “Fine. But you’ll be having to explain to Detective Maloney.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Why Ms. Dunlop missed her appointment with the psychiatrist, again. You can also tell him until she’s seen someone from the medical profession and taken her medication my hands are tied. He’d best be seeing the judge about a court order to get her locked up for her own good and to have her case rescheduled. In the meantime, I suggest he keeps her in the cells overnight.”

  Solomon turned as if he was about to walk out.

  “Oy, in our cells? We’ve got no room.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Wait, wait.”

  Solomon wiped the smile from his face and turned back.

  “I’ll call Maloney and tell him you’re here. Who did you say you were again?”

  *

  Daisy sat on the edge of Dan Maloney’s desk swinging her legs. The cup of coffee he’d given her had gone cold.

  “You sure you don’t want one of your doughnuts, Daisy?”

  She smiled at the young, pretty-boy detective, Hastings. “No, thanks. Go ahead and help yourself.”

  “Detective Maloney should arrest you every day.”

  Dan Maloney reached into the bag and took another doughnut. “She wasn’t under arrest. She was helping me with inquiries.”

  Hastings shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Jam splattered from Dan’s doughnut onto his desk, and Daisy shuddered. The red sticky mess looked too much like blood.

  The phone on his desk rang, and Daisy pulled her gaze away from the spill. “You want me to get it?”

  Dan wiped the sugar off his lips with the back of his hand before lifting the phone to his ear. “Okay. Send him up.”

  He smiled at Daisy. “Showtime. Solomon’s here for you.”

  Daisy took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and sweat dampened her palms. Tears misted her vision. How would he behave after the kiss yesterday? She hadn’t been deliberately avoiding him, much. He was probably mad as hell about the slap, and that she’d ditched him and planted a Boyzone CD in his SUV, but he’d come to save her anyway.