Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1)

Chapter Eighteen

Daisy followed Solomon up the front drive. The steel gate they'd been buzzed through slammed shut behind them. Phat Kitty took her security very seriously. A price obviously had to be paid when you drove men to the edge of sexual insanity.

The front door of the art deco mansion swung open as they approached, and a tall dark-haired man, in a charcoal gray pinstriped designer suit and black shoes Daisy could only ever dream of buying for Paul, stepped out to greet them. Solomon turned his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. Not yet familiar with stealth-mode-Solomon's body speak she had no idea what it meant.

"Mr. Solomon. And this is?" The gaze that swept Daisy, and the sneer that curled the man's lips, were filled with disdain. Had he learned to appear the hard man to compensate for the effeminate voice? Or did he really have a burning hatred for cheap high-street fashion, and the women who wore it? Which would be odd considering who he worked for. You could use a lot of adjectives to describe Phat Kitty, but classy wouldn't be the one Daisy would choose.

Solomon let the man's hand go and nudged Daisy forward. "It's just Solomon, and this is my associate, Daisy Dunlop. I assume you're Mr. Tyler, Ms. Beckitt's manager?"

"Indeed. Come in, she's expecting you."

Daisy followed behind the men as they wandered down a long hallway passing open doors showing glimpses of rooms decorated and furnished in a manner that echoed the home's age and style. Phat Kitty must have used an interior designer.

At the end of the corridor they reached a light-filled room. Mr. Tyler stepped to one side and indicated they should enter the vast, bright, airy lounge that took up the width of the back of the house. "If you'll take a seat I'll let Ms. Beckitt know you're here."

Solomon undid the buttons on his jacket and sank onto a plump pale-green sofa. Daisy wasn't ready to sit. Her butt was still numb from the drive. Instead she wandered around, taking in the view of the small garden and the foam-topped ocean beyond, before stopping in front of a roaring open fire. The woman must have an army of staff to maintain the place. She couldn't imagine the pop star running the Hoover around, or flicking between the ornaments with a feather duster, never mind scrubbing the numerous bathrooms a house this size must have.

Buying the place would have set her back a pretty penny. Sandbanks was world-famous for being home to some of the most expensive real estate on the planet. Daisy could see the appeal of an ocean view, but she would prefer for her garden to end at the tropical waters of the Caribbean.

The door swung open, and a diminutive woman in understated jeans and a pale blue shirt entered the room. Daisy wouldn't have recognized her as Phat Kitty if she didn't already know who they were meeting. The only clue to her identity was her long platinum blonde hair.

Solomon got to his feet. "Ms. Beckitt. Good of you to see us."

She held out a tiny hand, and Solomon gave it a gentle shake before letting it go. "Happy to help, Mr. Solomon." The lady might not look the same offstage, but the Brummy accent still flavored her words, and the deep husky voice could belong to no one else.

"It's just Solomon."

"Okay, Just Solomon. Please, call me Maureen." She laughed and Solomon smiled.

Maureen's keeper moved to stand behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Tea and coffee will be served shortly."

Maureen placed her hand over Mr. Tyler's, stepped back until her body brushed his and smiled up at him. "Thanks, Jason. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Daisy might not be able to read Solomon's body language, but she had no trouble identifying what was going on between Phat and her manager. The man was banging her for sure. They'd done well to keep it out of the tabloids. Someone in the know could make a lot of money selling that secret.