A thump sounded on the door. “Mum? You seen my football boots? I’ve got my first game at ten.”
Daisy sighed. “Have you tried the back porch?”
“Not there. Can I come in?”
Daisy squealed and tried to shove Paul off. He looked over his shoulder toward the closed door. “No, Sherman. We’re kind of busy in here. How about you go and look harder? Your mum’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
He glanced at Daisy and she giggled at him. “Twenty minutes? Someone’s feeling ambitious.”
Sherman banged on the door. “I heard that, and I don’t need to know you’re busy. TMI, man. TMI. I was left on the doorstep by aliens, and you never do that sex thing. You go to bed to sleep. End of.”
Daisy heard Sherman’s footsteps retreat and she relaxed. She sighed when Paul tickled her neck with his tongue.
“Now where was I? Oh yeah. I was looking for the cockpit.”
“They only have those on planes not boats.”
“From what I remember you’re a real spitfire.”
Pounding sounded on the door again, and Paul groaned in apparent frustration.
“Mum, can you come and get dad’s underpants from the top of the telly? Ben’ll be here to meet me, and he doesn’t need to see that shit. Hell, I don’t need to see that shit.”
Paul sighed. “Language, Sherman.”
“Mum says worse.”
Daisy shook her head when Paul glanced at her. “Not lately I haven’t. Well, not in front of Sherman. Actually, I owe you fifteen quid from yesterday.”
Paul sighed. “We’ll be down before Ben gets here. Now go and play with your Lego or something.”
Sherman’s voice echoed through the door. “Oh, I forgot, Solomon called. Said something about you having a breakfast meeting with him, Mum. Says he’ll pick you up on the way.”
“What?” Daisy sat up, shoving Paul so hard he nearly toppled off the bed. “When?”
“Half an hour.”
“From now?”
Daisy climbed out of bed and snagged her pink terry toweling dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. She tugged the door open and stared at Sherman. “From when, Sherman?”
“When he called, about twenty minutes ago.”
The chime of the doorbell filled the air.
Sherman smiled. “Cool. That’ll be him. I’ll get it, shall I?”
Daisy nodded. She was not opening the door in nothing but a housecoat. She needed to shower and dress. “Shit.”
Her efforts to dive back inside the room were thwarted when she slammed into the solid body of her husband. Apparently he’d given up on Daisy rejoining him for some amorous activities before breakfast.
She squeezed past him and shoved him toward the door. “Go and amuse him. Make him coffee. Chew the fat. And for God’s sake don’t let him find your underpants on the telly.”
“I can’t go downstairs and see Solomon like this.” He looked down at himself. He was naked except for the cream linen bed sheet wrapped around his middle.
“Why not? You were both in the army. You must have showered together. Besides you’re all covered up, and even if you weren’t, he’s got one of his own, I expect. Although, you can never assume anything where he’s concerned. The lack of a penis could explain his mood swings and general bad attitude. He could be suffering from permanent PMS, or should it be MPS—missing penis syndrome?
“Daisy!”
“Okay, whatever. I can’t stand around arguing about what Solomon does or doesn’t have. I need to shower and dress. Put some shorts on or something if you’re really worried about him ogling your body.”
*
Solomon stretched his legs under the kitchen table and pulled the day’s early morning edition of the local paper toward him, reviewing the headline about the corpse dredged out of the marina.
“Solomon?”
He glanced up at Sherman and smiled. The kid had grown since the last time he’d seen him. There was no doubt he was Paul’s son even though he looked more like his grandpa than his dad. “What’s up?”
“You wanna coffee?”
“Sure. Why not? I’m guessing your ma’s going to be a while.”
Sherman got busy with the filtered coffee maker. “Probably. You know what women are like.”
Solomon chuckled. “So cynical for someone so young.”
“I’m not young. I’m fourteen and nearly a man.”
“No matter how old you are women will always be a bleedin’ mystery. It’s easier to solve a murder than work out how a woman’s mind works.”
“You ever solved a murder?”
“Sure. Someone has to. The cops can be a bit clueless at times.”
“My mate Ben Maloney’s dad’s a cop. Ben says he’s investigating the body that was pulled out of the water at the marina yesterday.”
“Dan Maloney?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“I do. And what does Detective Maloney think about the case?”
Sherman leaned against the counter and waved a teaspoon in the air. “Ben says the dude died of hypothermia, in the middle of September. Apparently he was frozen stiff. Definitely thinks it was murder. But they have no suspects yet. I think I might be a policeman when I finish school.”
“How does your ma feel about that?”
“Haven’t told her. You won’t say anything, will you?”
“No, not a word. Your secret is safe with me.”
The kitchen door opened, and Paul wandered into the room. “What’s safe with you? You’re obviously not talking about women because that would be a lie.”
“And yet you ask me to watch over your wife.”
“She might be headstrong and accident prone, but Daisy has taste, which is why she’s my wife. Besides you have no problem getting women of your own to keep your bed warm.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow. Track pants hung low on Paul’s hips, and his hair stood up in tufts. “Speaking of women, busy night, Doughnut?”
Paul shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“So, you always keep your dirty undies on top of the television? I don’t remember you being such a slob.”
“Don’t tell Daisy.”
“That you’re a slob?”
“No, that you saw my undies. She doesn’t want you to know.”
“That you wear boxer shorts or that you two have sex?”
A crash from the other side of the room drew their attention. Sherman stood with the handle to a mug in his hand, the rest of the vessel sat in two halves on the kitchen bench. “See what you did now? They don’t. They don’t ever.”
Solomon laughed. “Sorry, Sherman. I forgot how it is to be a teenager and think about what your parents do in the bedroom, or in this case, the living room.”
Sherman’s face tightened up. “They sleep. They just fucking well sleep in the bedroom.”
Paul stepped toward his son. “Sherman!”
Solomon glanced from father to son. “I think you owe your da a fiver for that.”
Paul shook his head. “How come the mention of Solomon having women to keep his bed warm doesn’t freak you out but a loving relationship between your parents does?”
“Because Solomon’s cool, and you and mum… It’s just wrong.”
Solomon pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and glanced at the time. “Will the wife you don’t have sex with be much longer? We’re going to be late.”
Sherman put a cup of black coffee on the table in front of Solomon. “You want milk? Sugar’s on the table.”
“Just sugar is fine.”
Paul slipped into the chair across from Solomon. “Where’s my coffee?”
“You can get your own. Ben’ll be here in a minute.” Sherman stopped next to Solomon and offered him his hand. Solomon accepted and gave him a firm handshake.
“Thanks for the coffee. You’re a fine man.”
“Maybe we can hang out sometime?”
“I’d
like that, but you might need to check with your ma first.”
Sherman sighed as he took his hand back. “Never mind. Laters man. Laters, Dad.” Solomon watched Sherman disappear through the door and then turned to look at Paul.
“He’s a fine boy. You’re a lucky man, Doughnut.”
Something crashed overhead. And the muffled sounds of cursing filled the house. Paul shook his head. “Are you sure about that? I’ll go and see what’s holding Daisy up.”
Solomon followed Paul into the hallway. He could hear the buzz of conversation, and then Daisy appeared. He was momentarily speechless as she made her way down the stairs. She could not be serious? No self-respecting P.I. should dress in a black skirt that barely covered her arse, a shiny traffic-light red shirt, a black leather jacket that had seen better days, and black ankle boots covered in silver buckles and studs. The mass of curly strawberry blonde hair did nothing to tone down the outfit. Obviously she hadn’t considered his comment about being subtle when she dressed. She would never fade into the background in that getup.
Daisy got to the bottom of the stairs and looked him up and down. “New suit?” She glided her fingers along his lapel. “Armani?”
The charcoal gray suit was new and was Armani. There was a revelation. She had an eye for fashion. All evidence to the contrary. He looked her up and down. “Old outfit? Oxfam?”
She flipped her middle finger at him before flouncing out the front door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed. Apparently his comment pissed her off.
She rummaged in her bag. “Where are we going? I’ll meet you there.”
He grabbed her elbow and steered her away from the hideous yellow hatchback. “You’re with me. I figured it would be safer if we worked together.”
“You mean you don’t trust me to work alone?”
“I mean I told Paul I would look out for you, and yesterday I failed. It won’t be happening again.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
Solomon tugged his keys from his pocket and hit the fob button to unlock his four-wheel drive.
“About what happened at Langdon College?”
“Did you want me to?”
“Nope. But that’s not the point.”
“As much as I would love to discuss why I did or didn’t tell Paul, we don’t have time.”
He held the passenger door open and waited for her to climb inside, averting his eyes in case the step up resulted in her flashing more than was already on display.
Once he was behind the wheel he buckled his seatbelt and fired the engine to life.
Daisy shifted in her seat. “This is not what I expected, and what’s with the baby seat?”
“No one suspects a man with a baby.”
“Of what?”
“Of anything, and when you’re working as a P.I. you need to blend in.”
“Hence the suit?”
“Exactly.”
Solomon pulled the car away from the curb.
“Where are we going? Who are we meeting and what for?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
He glanced at Daisy who scowled back at him. “You look like a bloody insurance salesman in that getup.”
“And you look like a hooker so I guess we’re both playing to our strengths.”
“Screw you, Solomon.”
His chuckle was met with a hostile stare.
Chapter Five
Daisy focused on the menu, or at least pretended to; in actual fact she was hanging on every word Solomon’s contact was uttering. The whole thing was fascinating. John Nesbitt would be a great man to know if she ever intended to develop her skills into investigating insurance fraud. So far they’d chewed the fat over a couple of past cases Solomon had worked on. Hopefully John would get to what he wanted from them soon. Finding Lord Toby was small potatoes compared to bringing a real-life villain to heel.
John glanced at her and smiled. “I hope we’re not boring you talking shop?”
“No. Not at all. I had no idea Solomon was so talented.” The comment was genuine. Solomon had his failings, enough to fill a scrapbook, but apparently the man could do his job, and do it well.
“I’m sure he has some talents I know nothing about. Ones that he keeps for the special lady in his life.”
Daisy felt her face heat. “We’re not together. I’m not with him. Not like that.”
“Don’t worry yourself, Daisy. You’ll never be privy to my talents.” Solomon smiled at John. “I should have done a better job of introducing you to each other. Daisy’s thinking of setting up her own business as an heir hunter, so she’s tagging along with me for a bit to get some ideas about how the job is done.”
John frowned. “Ah, I see. Although her working with you surely doesn’t preclude anything else? Unless you have a special non-fraternization P.I. code? If you have no objection, then—Daisy, would you care to join me for a drink one evening?”
She was flattered and mortified. As useless a word as nice was, according to her high school English teacher, John was nice, very nice. However, even if she were single, which thank heavens she wasn’t, he wasn’t her type. She preferred men like Paul, rugged, domineering, manly men. “I would love to, but I’m married.”
“Lucky man.”
Solomon chuckled, and Daisy kicked his shin. His grimace made her smile with satisfaction. The arrival of the waitress put an end to the increasingly embarrassing conversation.
Daisy toyed with the idea of having the full English breakfast. She was glad she let the boys order first when they both opted for muesli and freshly squeezed juice. Following their example she ordered the same, even if health food and muesli was right up there with eating sheep testicles in her book. Not that she had ever had testicles, but she could imagine they would be disgusting, slimy and rubbery. She shuddered at the thought.
Solomon nudged her elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I was just thinking about…nothing.”
John reached into the satchel resting on the seat next to him and pulled out a manila folder. “I guess we should get down to work.”
Solomon took the folder and opened it. Daisy wiggled her chair closer to him and peered over his arm. He glanced at her. “What is it that you’re doing?”
“I need to read it.”
“This is my case, Princess.”
John reached into his satchel and pulled out another folder. “How about you read my copy for now?”
Daisy smiled. “Thank you, John.”
Solomon shook his head. “Shall we get to what it is you want from me?”
Elbows resting on the table, John leaned closer. “We have reason to believe there’s a well-planned and widespread life insurance fraud going on. If you read through my notes you’ll see that we’ve had three suspicious deaths in the last months. All of the deceased had taken out large insurance policies in the weeks leading up to their deaths.”
The notes were comprehensive and not something Daisy could easily read in the time they were together. Fortunately, there was a case summary on the first page. She scanned the loopy script and raised an eyebrow.
“The Somerset Club?”
“What?” Solomon glanced over her shoulder.
“They were all members of the Somerset Club in London.”
John smiled. “Indeed. And you’ll note that all three of them died in circumstances that meant identification was impossible.”
Daisy read on. “One never came back from a trip up Mount Everest. The second was believed drowned on holiday in the Canary Islands. His body was never found. And the third died in a house fire that slowly consumed his body over a long period of time so that only his left leg survived. Reminds me of a TV show I watched once on instantaneous human combustion.” She shivered. “Ew.”
Solomon laid his folder on the table. “Do you have anything other than the sudden interest in life insurance and the strange manner of death to go on? Two o
f the people surely would be wanting insurance if they planned to climb mountains and holiday abroad.”
“The Somerset Club.” Daisy grinned in satisfaction. Solomon clearly had no idea.
“What about the bleedin’ Somerset Club?”
“Do you want to tell him John, or shall I?”
John leaned back. “Go right ahead.”
“The Somerset Club is an exclusive gentlemen’s club in London. You have to be loaded to be a member. Which begs the question, why did three filthy rich men need life insurance, and why did they die just after taking it out? Suspicious or what?”
Solomon shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it. So have you anything else, John? What exactly do you think happened to the dead men?”
“I don’t believe they’re dead.”
Daisy frowned. “What about the charred leg?”
“Someone else’s.”
“Another person died?” Daisy tried to think of a better explanation. “Or maybe a leg that had been amputated at a hospital. Or how about a leg stolen from a dead body? They could have broken into a funeral parlor and sawn a leg off a cadaver before it was buried.” She looked at Solomon. “We should check to see if any funeral homes have reported a break-in.”
Solomon stared at her. “I had no idea your brain was so full of shite. Do you think you can phone the police and ask if anyone reported a missing human leg? This isn’t Hollywood, Princess. This is real life, which is far more boring and logical than any bleedin’ movie plot.”
Despite her desire to appear professional in front of a client Daisy couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at Solomon. Her brain was not full of shit, and who knew where the leg had come from? Besides, she had an “in” with the police. Ben’s dad had loose lips after a few too many beers.
John’s deep melodic laughter broke the tension. “An active imagination might be a good thing. Who knows the depths of human depravity?”
Solomon turned his attention to John. “We only have your suspicion that the leg is not exactly what it appears to be. You could be taking two and two and making seven. Insurance companies aren’t known for their implicit faith in humanity.”
Daisy frowned. “Can’t you do DNA testing and prove it?”
John shook his head. “The police used DNA to try and identify the body, but no luck. Apparently he has no living relatives we can test against. It came down to the butler identifying him by way of a distinctive mole on his big toe.”
“Who is it that gets the money from all these policies?” Solomon asked.