Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer
Page 1
Books by Lee Hollis
Hayley Powell Mysteries
DEATH OF A KITCHEN DIVA
DEATH OF A COUNTRY FRIED REDNECK
DEATH OF A COUPON CLIPPER
DEATH OF A CHOCOHOLIC
DEATH OF A CHRISTMAS CATERER
DEATH OF A CUPCAKE QUEEN
DEATH OF A BACON HEIRESS
DEATH OF A PUMPKIN CARVER
DEATH OF A LOBSTER LOVER
DEATH OF A COOKBOOK AUTHOR
DEATH OF A WEDDING CAKE BAKER
DEATH OF A BLUEBERRY TART
DEATH OF A WICKED WITCH
Collections
EGGNOG MURDER
(with Leslie Meier and Barbara Ross)
YULE LOG MURDER
(with Leslie Meier and Barbara Ross)
HAUNTED HOUSE MURDER
(with Leslie Meier and Barbara Ross)
CHRISTMAS CARD MURDER
(with Leslie Meier and Peggy Ehrhart)
Poppy Harmon Mysteries
POPPY HARMON INVESTIGATES
POPPY HARMON AND THE HUNG JURY
POPPY HARMON AND THE PILLOW TALK KILLER
Maya & Sandra Mysteries
MURDER AT THE PTA
MURDER AT THE BAKE SALE
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer
LEE HOLLIS
ww.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Rick Copp
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020945315
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3037-4
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3037-2
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: April 2021
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3039-8 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3039-9 (ebook)
For George and Alex
Chapter 1
It had been over thirty years since Poppy Harmon had stepped foot on an actual Hollywood film set. Granted, this shoot was set up at a high-end resort hotel in the heart of Palm Springs and not some cavernous soundstage on the Paramount lot where her mid-1980s television series Jack Colt, PI had been filmed, but there was a feeling of warm familiarity, an infusion of happy memories, because back in her heyday when Poppy was an actress with a regular TV role, she had never once taken it for granted. She had always been hyperaware of just how lucky she was to have scored such a cushy, well-paying gig at the time, especially after so many years in her late teens and early twenties struggling, waiting tables, modeling skimpy swimwear at car shows, and answering phones at a call center for a household appliance company.
Poppy watched as the crew busily set up lights by the shimmering pool where the next scene was to be shot as a bright-eyed, eager, enthusiastic PA who had introduced himself as Timothy led her and Matt through the resort.
Matt was like a kid in a candy store, excitedly soaking up everything he saw: a makeup woman powdering the face of a vaguely recognizable actor; a forty-something man in a gray T-shirt and red baseball cap, slumped over in his director’s chair, perusing a script; some kind of set decorator or production designer painstakingly arranging red bougainvillea in the background of the set as the cinematographer stared through the lens of his camera, working on getting his shot just right.
Poppy knew Matt was in his element. This had been his dream for most of his young life. He had wanted so desperately to become a successful actor, the next Ryan Gosling or Chris Hemsworth, or whoever was the hot superstar of the moment. But life never works out exactly as you expect, and now the talented young man found himself playing the role of Matt Flowers, the public face, the de facto head, of the Desert Flowers Detective Agency. He wasn’t on billboards and buses, or in the front row of the Academy Awards, but he was successful and surprisingly good at the part he was playing.
When Poppy, along with her two best pals, Iris and Violet, had first started the Palm Springs–based investigative firm, no one would hire them. Mostly due to people’s ageist preconceptions that three mature women in their sixties were utterly incapable of solving cases or handling potentially dangerous situations. Enter Matt. Young, virile, disarmingly charming. He had risen to the challenge of playing a master detective wholeheartedly, and his performance had put their fledgling business on the map. Now they had more clients than they knew what to do with.
Including Danika Delgado, a rising young actress and social media influencer who had heard about Matt’s daring exploits online and had called the Desert Flowers office, which was located in Iris’s garage, to inquire about hiring them.
Actually, Danika did not call personally. One of her three personal assistants had left the message on voicemail. Poppy, Iris, and Violet were clueless as to who Danika Delgado even was, but Matt had certainly heard of her, which became quite clear when he whooped and hollered about being a big fan at the first mention of her name in their morning staff meeting. His outburst had startled Violet so much, she spilled coffee all over her new blouse she had just bought on sale at TJ Maxx.
The assistant had not explained why Danika wanted to hire local private detectives, just that she would like to meet with them ASAP. Once Poppy read Danika Delgado’s net worth online, she immediately called the assistant back and happily informed her that they lu
ckily had an opening to meet this very afternoon.
Danika was at the Sundial Luxury Resort just outside of downtown Palm Springs shooting a reboot of the early 1960s camp classic Palm Springs Weekend. The original had featured the sizzling hot stars of the time including Troy Donahue, Connie Stevens, Robert Conrad and Stefanie Powers. In fact, Poppy had been friends with Stefanie Powers, who was co-starring with Robert Wagner on Hart to Hart, about a globe-trotting wealthy married couple who solve murders, at the same time Poppy was appearing in Jack Colt. Now, after all these years, Netflix, or Hulu, it was one of those giant streaming services, was currently producing a remake, or reboot, Poppy could never keep the lingo straight, of Palm Springs Weekend, with an all-new Gen Z cast.
The production assistant, Timothy, cranked his head around to Poppy and Matt, who was so distracted by a bevy of bikini-clad extras, he tripped over a lounge chair, and asked, “Would you like to stop by craft services for some coffee, or a Danish before I take you to Danika’s room?”
Matt opened his mouth to speak, but Poppy cut him off with a curt, “No, thank you, Timothy.” She was too anxious to hear what kind of case Danika wanted to hire them for and didn’t want to waste time while Matt dithered over whether he should have a cruller or go for a healthier option like a granola bar.
Timothy nodded and they kept moving until they reached a glass door leading inside toward the large corner suites. Timothy opened it and stepped aside to allow them both in ahead of him when the man in the T-shirt and red baseball cap, his script rolled up in his fist, bounded toward them.
“Wait!” he yelled, catching up to them, breathless. He took a moment, his eyes fixed on Poppy before continuing. “I’m sorry, I’m Trent, Trent Dodsworth-Jones,” he said in a clipped decidedly British accent.
“Trent’s our director,” Timothy said, slightly concerned he had done something wrong, bracing himself to be dressed down in some unexpected way.
Trent ignored him and remained focused on Poppy. “Are you who I think you are?”
“That depends on who you think I am,” Poppy said dryly.
“You are, aren’t you? I’d recognize that smoky, sexy voice anywhere! You’re Daphne!” Trent practically exploded.
Matt smirked. He loved it whenever Poppy got recognized for her signature role on Jack Colt.
Poppy graciously extended her hand. “Poppy Harmon.”
Trent excitedly pumped her hand. “I grew up watching you back in the eighties. I was a huge fan of Jack Colt when it finally made its way across the pond! My family comes from a dreary little town called Preston in Northern England. There is absolutely nothing to do there. Our only claim to fame is that we are about an hour’s drive from Liverpool where the Beatles got their start. That’s it. There is no other reason to ever go to Preston. We were dirt poor, but we did have a color TV which was my only lifeline to the outside world and I would watch you every week!”
Poppy had heard from friends that Preston was a lovely little city, but was not about to argue with someone who had grown up there and had probably harbored dreams of getting out to make it big in the film business.
“I am so happy to have played a small part in your adolescence,” Poppy said politely.
“Yes, if anything, you helped get me through puberty!” Trent said, a lascivious smile suddenly plastered on his face.
Okay, way too much information, in Poppy’s opinion.
“What brings you to our little set?” Trent inquired.
“They’re here to see Danika,” Timothy offered.
“Oh, are you friends?” Trent asked, curious.
“No, this is a professional call,” Matt chimed in.
Poppy resisted rolling her eyes at him. She did not like to burp out information she didn’t have to, but Matt was her exact opposite, exceedingly chatty and unfiltered. It could be a burden sometimes.
“I see. Are you an agent, or a manager?” Trent asked, eyeing Matt.
“Neither,” Poppy snapped, staring down Matt, who finally got the message to keep his mouth shut from further comment. She turned back to Trent. “It was a pleasure meeting you, but we should go before we’re late for our meeting.”
“Of course,” Trent said, turning to Timothy. “Tell Danika we should be ready to shoot in ten.”
“Got it!” Timothy chirped.
Before Poppy had a chance to escape, Trent reached out and touched her arm. “Please, Poppy, before you go . . .”
She turned and warily eyed his hand on her, but didn’t want to immediately shake it off and appear rude. “Yes?”
“Let me just say, in my humble opinion, you never got your due,” he said solemnly.
Poppy was confused—what on earth he was talking about? “I beg your pardon?”
“As an actress. I know you probably got cast as Daphne because the show needed window dressing, and you certainly fit that bill . . .”
This was now getting downright creepy but Poppy held her tongue.
Trent sighed, realizing how inappropriately he was coming across and quickly added, “But you were quite good in that role. You gave Daphne depth and heart, and I always thought with the right opportunity, you would have risen to the heights of a Jessica Lange or Sissy Spacek.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say,” Poppy murmured, flabbergasted.
“And she’s rarely speechless!” Matt cracked.
Poppy threw him a stern look, like a mother trying to drive the car while her rambunctious preteen son caused too much of a ruckus in the back seat. She then returned her attention to Trent. “I appreciate your kind words, Mr. Jones. Good luck with the rest of your film shoot.”
“A pleasure, Poppy,” Trent said, beaming, before jogging back to the set.
Timothy led them down a long hallway to the largest suite in the hotel and knocked on the door. One of Danika’s personal assistants, a harried-looking girl carrying two different phones, whipped it open and ushered them inside. “Hurry, we don’t have much time and Danika is dying to talk to you!”
Timothy hung back as the girl waved Poppy and Matt inside and tried to get out, “Trent wanted to let Danika know we’ll be ready to shoot again in—” but the assistant slammed the door in his face.
Poppy and Matt followed the assistant into the main room of the suite. Sitting in a chair in front of a mirror while an African American hairdresser fussed with her wavy dark curls was Danika Delgado, petite, unblemished brown skin, in a pink robe. She held her phone up in front of her face as she recorded a video for her fans. “So this is day eight of the Palm Springs Weekend shoot, guys, and it’s going awesome! I love my co-stars! Chase Ehrens is such a sweetheart! And a first-rate kisser, too, if I’m going to talk out of school! I’ll share more juicy details from the set in my next post at bedtime! Love you all! Oh, and the lipstick shade I’m wearing is called Flawless, in case you were wondering!”
The assistant turned to Poppy. “Danika has a marketing deal with Color My World products. She’s one of the highest-paid social media influencers out there.”
Poppy nodded as if she had a clue what this girl was prattling on about.
Danika threw her phone down on the table next to her and glanced at herself in the mirror. “Does it look kind of flat to you, Chanel?”
The hairdresser quickly began fluffing Danika’s locks out. “No worries, girl, we’ll get it where it needs to be.”
The nervous assistant cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Danika . . . ?”
Danika was still staring at herself in the mirror, dissatisfied with her appearance. “I’m not liking this eyeliner at all. We may have to reshoot before we post anything to Instagram.”
The assistant apprehensively tried again. “Danika?”
“What?” Danika snapped, swiveling her head around.
“The private detectives are here,” the assistant whispered, practically shaking.
Danika instantly slapped on an inviting smile. “Oh, good!” She popped up from her chair. She was a short
little thing, about five feet two inches. Her eyes instantly fell upon Matt and without even a pause, cooed, “You are so much hotter in person!”
Unlike Poppy, Matt had no qualms about soaking up compliments. “Why, thank you. As one of your one hundred and twenty-eight million Instagram followers, dare I say the same?”
“Oh, you are the charmer!” Danika said laughing, eyeing him up and down lustfully. “When my people found you online, I said to myself, this guy’s a detective? He should be an actor!”
Matt beamed brightly. “Funny you should say that—”
“Miss Delgado needs to be back on the set soon so why don’t we get down to business,” Poppy quickly interjected.
Danika’s eyes finally strayed away from Matt and over to Poppy. “And who are you?”
Obviously, unlike the film’s director, Danika was far too young to ever know who Poppy had been in a previous life.
“I’m Poppy, Matt’s . . . assistant.”
She always had trouble actually saying it.
Especially since it was not true.
“Oh, nice to meet you, Poppy,” Danika said pleasantly as she pointed out a lush comfy-looking couch nearby. “Why don’t you both sit down while Chanel tries to work miracles on this rat’s nest?” She sat back down in her chair as Chanel rubbed some gel on her hands and went about smoothing out Danika’s chic hairstyle.
“How can we be of service?” Matt asked.
“I’m having trouble with a stalker,” Danika said matter-of-factly.
“Do you know who this stalker is?” Poppy asked, reaching inside her shoulder bag and pulling out a pen and some paper to take down notes.
Danika shook her head, forcing Chanel to stop for a second. “No. I have no idea. I mean, let’s face it, I have a zillion crazies following me. Everyone with my kind of online profile does. It’s impossible to keep track of them. But this guy, he’s different. It started out innocent at first. The usual flowers and chocolates and little personalized gifts he knew I liked just by following me on Instagram and subscribing to my YouTube channel. But lately, things have taken a dark turn. His messages are far less adoring and more worrying.”