Poppy Harmon and the Hung Jury

by Lee Hollis

  How did she let it get to this point? Their conversation on the car ride home from the art show had been innocent enough. Poppy had eagerly filled Rod in on why she thought Tofu had been lying about not knowing the murdered juror Alden Kenny, the obvious detail of him having been born and raised in Abilene. How could she possibly know that information unless she knew more about him than she was letting on? Poppy had also made a point of calling her “boss” Matt on his cell phone for an update in order to maintain the illusion that he was the one in charge of finding Rod’s daughter, Lara, but he didn’t pick up and the call went directly to his voicemail.

  When they had arrived at Rod’s home, he’d invited her inside while he packed a bag for Palm Springs, still insisting he would drive her back to the desert and there was no need for her to book a rental car.

  He had served her an iced tea and had her sit outside by the pool to watch the sunset while he showered and changed for the two-hour drive. When he had reappeared, looking very sexy in a pair of khaki shorts, deck shoes, and a casual orange Michael Kors button-up short-sleeved shirt that was open enough to show off his manly tufts of chest hair, Poppy had nearly gasped.

  She had stood up, still clutching her glass of iced tea, and had opened her mouth to comment on how handsome he looked when he had suddenly seized the opportunity and tried to kiss her. And now here they were. Smooching in his backyard and Poppy knew she was officially done rebuffing him.

  He stroked her hair as his mouth closed over hers and his probing tongue danced with hers until she began to feel light-headed. As if they were ballroom dancing, he glided her across the patio, leading her to a lounger by the pool, and with his hand firmly on her back lowered her down until she was lying flat and he was on top of her. She felt safe and desired, and she welcomed him by slinging an arm around his neck and pressing him down against her. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest as he devoured her.

  Suddenly they heard a loud knocking coming from the front door inside the house. Rod ignored it and continued kissing her and so Poppy decided she would ignore it, too. That is, until she heard a familiar voice calling out from around the side of the house.

  “Mr. Harper, are you here?”

  It was Matt.

  Matt Flowers.

  What on earth was he doing here?

  Poppy immediately broke free from the lip-lock with Rod, her eyes popping open in a panic. “Rod, quick! Get off me!”

  Rod quickly sprang to his feet and Poppy barely had time to roll off the lounger and fix her mess of hair enough to at least appear presentable and hopefully hide what they had been up to when Matt bounded around the corner, stopping short when he spotted the two of them.

  “Oh, there you are! I’m so glad I caught you!” he said with a smile.

  “Matt, what are you doing here?” Poppy asked, thoroughly confused.

  “I have some potentially useful information about Lara that Rod should hear,” Matt said, staring at Poppy, who had reached into her bag for a compact in order to make sure her lipstick wasn’t smeared. “Iris and Violet told me you were still in LA and I could probably find you here.”

  “Well, what is it?” Rod asked, annoyed his long-awaited tryst with Poppy had been so rudely interrupted as he casually buttoned up his orange shirt, which had been inadvertently ripped open to his navel by Poppy.

  “I saw a blurb on a trade paper Web site when I was researching Lara about a big-time talent agent by the name of Carl Menkin who had recently signed her.”

  Poppy turned to Rod. “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him. He’s known for grooming young singers, boy bands, kids just starting out,” Rod said.

  “Get this. I called him and conned my way into a meeting,” Matt said excitedly. “I had Wyatt take a video of me singing on his phone and he added shots of an audience cheering, making it look like they were watching me perform at a club. Then he edited in some professionals talking about how impressed they were about this up-and-coming talent, as if they were talking about me, and he bought it! That kid is an absolute genius!”

  “I’m impressed,” Rod said, nodding.

  “He’s only in town today. He flies to New York tomorrow night, so he told me I could have ten minutes at five o’clock. I raced here in record time. We need to be there in forty-five minutes so we’d better go. I told him I’d be bringing my mother, who is currently managing my career,” Matt said, gesturing to Poppy.

  “Mother?” Poppy cried.

  “It was the first thing that came to mind,” Matt said sheepishly.

  “That I’m old enough to be your mother?” Poppy huffed.

  “Well, I couldn’t very well tell him you were my boss,” Matt said.

  Poppy’s heart sank.

  She glared at Matt, waiting for him to realize his mistake.

  But he wasn’t getting it just yet.

  Rod stepped forward. “Boss? But I thought . . .”

  It finally dawned on Matt, and his face turned beet red. “I mean . . .”

  Rod turned to Poppy. “What’s he talking about?”

  She considered spinning another lie, trying to convince him that the slipup was just a private joke between her and Matt, that sometimes he teased her and called her “boss” to make her feel more important, or as a term of endearment since as his secretary she was essentially “in charge” of his schedule. But at this point, after falling into Rod’s arms and picking up where they had left off thirty years ago, deception just didn’t seem to be an option anymore.

  Matt tried to cover and quickly interjected, “What I meant was—”

  Poppy stopped him. “No, Matt. Rod deserves to know the truth.”

  Rod looked from Poppy to Matt, his face tense. “What truth?”

  “The ‘Flowers’ in Desert Flowers Detective Agency does not stand for Matt Flowers. Matt’s real name is Matt Cameron. The ‘Flowers’ is really the three of us . . . Iris, Violet, and . . .”

  “Poppy,” Rod said quietly. “Three kinds of flowers.”

  “Yes,” Poppy said.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Rod said.

  Matt decided to keep his mouth shut and let Poppy do the talking. He had screwed things up enough as it was.

  “When I started the business, no one wanted to hire one, let alone three, women in their sixties. That wasn’t what most people pictured or wanted when they hired a private detective. So Matt, who is an actor . . .”

  “You’re not actually a detective?” Rod asked as he looked at Matt, who shifted uncomfortably.

  “Not in the traditional sense,” Matt said defensively. “But I’m learning on the job and I’m getting better every day.”

  Rod took all this in, not sure how to react.

  “I’m sorry, Rod. We should have been up front from the beginning,” Poppy said.

  “Yes, you should have,” Rod said sharply.

  He was angry.

  And it made Poppy feel terrible.

  He had trusted them, trusted her, and she had betrayed that trust.

  “What ticks me off the most, Poppy, is that after all these years, considering our history, you would consider me some kind of misogynist.”

  “You’re right. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time and I was surprised when you wanted to hire us to find Lara. I was worried you wouldn’t take me seriously. . . .”

  “You were wrong. I’ve come a long way since the nineteen eighties. I’ve raised a daughter. Maybe I haven’t come around as quickly as a lot of more enlightened men, but I’m getting there, and I would have applauded you doing what you’ve done.”

  Poppy nodded, eyes downcast. “I wouldn’t blame you if you found someone else to work on this case. . . .”

  “And let you think you were right? Forget it,” Rod scoffed. “I want you to find my daughter. You, Poppy, I’ve hired you. So don’t disappoint me.”

  “Yes, Rod,” she said softly before turning to Matt. “Go wait in the car. I’ll
be right there.”

  Matt, who was relieved to have been let off the hook for messing up, scrambled back around the house, leaving Poppy and Rod alone.

  Rod walked toward Poppy.

  She wasn’t sure if she was in for more scolding or not but she managed to hold her ground as he approached. He took her by the shoulders. “Actually, I think it’s incredibly hot that you’re no longer the secretary and now you’re the real-life Jack Colt.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Rod. And thank you for believing I can do this.”

  He leaned in to resume kissing her.

  She raised a finger to his lips to stop him. “And now that you know the truth, thank you for allowing our relationship to go back to being professional, at least until I get the job done.”

  She could not have any more moments of weakness.

  Rod looked at her and instinctively knew that she was resolved in her determination and that that was the best he was going to get for now.

  “Go find her, Poppy,” he said impatiently.

  Poppy nodded and then hurried around the side of the house to catch up with Matt.

  Chapter 20

  Poppy couldn’t believe her ears.

  Matt was an impressive crooner with a powerful charismatic voice, both charming and seductive at the same time as he belted out Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” a karaoke staple that Matt had chosen on the car ride over as his audition song for Carl Menkin.

  Poppy could do nothing but sit back and enjoy the show, occasionally glancing over at Carl, who sat behind his desk, his meaty hands clasped together, his round, pudgy face betraying very little reaction to Matt’s singing. She thought she had seen the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile at one point, but when he caught her watching him, he quickly frowned again, not willing to show his cards just yet.

  Matt hit his final note, holding it longer than Poppy thought possible. And then he was done. He bowed his head and gave them both a bashful smile. Poppy couldn’t contain herself. She leapt to her feet and started to wildly clap her hands. Matt waved her off. He was trying to play the dutiful son, embarrassed by his mother’s over-the-top response to her “son’s” performance, but she could tell he was reveling in the accolades.

  After hugging Matt and kissing him lovingly on the cheek, Poppy whirled around to Carl Menkin, a hulk of a man bursting out of a pink dress shirt two sizes too small for him, who leaned forward, his hands still folded on top of his desk.

  “Well, what did you think?” Poppy asked.

  The silence was interminable.

  Carl seemed to enjoy drawing out the suspense.

  Finally, he cracked the slightest smile and nodded. “The kid’s good.”

  “Seriously?” Matt gasped.

  “There’s something there. Kind of a Justin Timberlake vibe. Of course, you’re a lot older than Justin was when he first got started. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “So you’ll represent him?” Poppy asked.

  “I’ll think about it,” Carl said, not quite ready to commit.

  “But you think he has talent,” Poppy said curtly, not satisfied with him dragging his feet.

  “Oh, for sure. But I have to consider the whole package. He’s good looking and has a certain sex appeal. The girls will love him, and some of the boys, too. I can see him onstage, strutting around, but I’m not sure I can picture his face on the cover of Rolling Stone. I mean, is he too much of a pretty boy?”

  “I can be tough. I’ll grunge it up, get some tattoos,” Matt said.

  “And like I said, you’re old. What are you, twenty-four, twenty-five . . . ?”

  “Twenty-four,” Matt lied.

  He was actually twenty-eight.

  Or maybe he had just had a birthday and was twenty-nine.

  Either way, Poppy knew he was not going to cop to his real age.

  “I like to take on kids who haven’t been fully formed yet, who I can mold and shape. At twenty-four, you pretty much get what you get,” Carl said.

  “My son is a fast learner, and open to whatever suggestions you may have to make him a famous singer. We’ve both been waiting for this opportunity his whole life. Please, Mr. Menkin, give him a chance. I know he will not disappoint you,” Poppy pleaded, adopting her stage-mother role wholeheartedly. She had seen Gypsy, all versions in fact, and knew just how to play it.

  Carl Menkin was still wavering.

  “I’m not too old,” Matt argued. “In fact, I know you just started representing a friend of mine who is already twenty-two years old.”

  Carl’s ears perked up. “Who is that?”

  “Lara Harper,” Matt said, locking eyes with Carl.

  Carl raised an eyebrow. “You know Lara?”

  “Yes. We ran into each other at a few parties around town and got acquainted. I heard you recently signed her. That’s why I zeroed in on you to try to get this audition,” Matt said.

  “I see,” Carl said. “But she came to me with a modicum of fame already. She was on American Idol.”

  “I promise you, if you represent me, I will get my face on Idol, The Voice, whatever gets me a social media following I can build on. I’m ready to do this. I just need someone besides my mother to believe in me.”

  “Like I said, I’ll think about it,” Carl said. “I appreciate you coming in, Matt. You too, Mrs. Cameron.”

  Matt smiled and shook Carl Menkin’s hand, slightly deflated.

  Poppy could see he was no longer playing a part.

  He genuinely wanted Carl to sign him.

  She had not expected this when they had first showed up at his office in a complex on Sunset Boulevard.

  Matt headed for the door but stopped. He turned around. “Lara gave me her number and told me to get in touch with her but I lost it. Can you—?”

  Carl quickly cut him off. “I wish I could help you, but I have a strict rule never to give out contact information for any of my clients. If you want to speak to her, you have to go through me.”

  “A mutual friend of ours is having a party in Malibu this weekend and he was hoping to invite her. I told him I was coming here and so he asked me to—”

  Carl cut him off again. “Tell your friend that Lara sends her regrets. She is not going to be in town this weekend. She is at an undisclosed location recording her first album.”

  Poppy knew from the credit card receipts that Lara Harper had to still be somewhere in the Coachella Valley.

  How many recording studios could there be in the desert?

  She felt like they were slowly getting closer to finding her.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Menkin. I look forward to hearing from you,” Matt said.

  “You probably will,” Carl said with a smug smile.

  As Poppy turned to follow Matt out of Menkin’s office, she noticed a photo of Tony Molina hanging on the wall.

  “I love Tony Molina,” Poppy said casually. “What a voice.”

  “He happens to be a longtime client of mine,” Carl boasted. “It’s because of him alone that I own my ranch in Santa Barbara.”

  “Well, you obviously know talent,” Poppy said with a sly smile. “So I’m sure we will be hearing from you because the last thing you would want to do is jeopardize your winning streak by letting someone else sign my boy, Matt.”

  “Spoken like a true stage mother. Good-bye, Mrs. Cameron,” Carl said as she left the office.

  Chapter 21

  When they got into the elevator and rode down to the parking garage of the office complex, Matt could no longer contain himself. He turned to Poppy excitedly. “Do you honestly think he’s going to sign me?”

  Poppy’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “I know, I know. This was supposed to be an undercover assignment, just a means to get some kind of lead to Lara’s whereabouts, but you heard him—he really liked my singing. I honestly think he might take me on and guide my career. . . .”

  Poppy could not blame Matt for being so hyperfocused on th
is incredible opportunity. After all, he had already been an aspiring actor before their paths first crossed and they had entered into this private eye con job together, along with Iris and Violet. She suddenly worried that she, too, had been hyperfocused on getting her business off the ground, and she had needed him to help her do that, and so she had willfully ignored what he really wanted and what was best for him.

  As they got into Matt’s Prius and drove out of the parking garage underneath the office building, heading east on Sunset back toward Palm Springs, Poppy listened as Matt prattled on about how he had always been told he had a good singing voice, but he had never really had the confidence to pursue any kind of music career. Acting was another matter altogether. He had shined in one high school production after another and studied acting in college. He had always felt at home on the stage or in front of a camera, but the idea of becoming a professional singer, well, that had never really occurred to him before today.

  Poppy remained silent, listening to him. When he finally ran out of things to say, almost forty minutes after they had been on the 10 freeway heading east, she finally spoke. “Matt, I think you should consider moving back to LA.”

  This took him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “You are a wonderful actor. I knew it from the moment I saw you in that play in Palm Springs last year, the murder mystery, when I came up with the idea of you becoming Matt Flowers. And you’ve played the part superbly. Look at Rod. He’s been a successful actor since the nineteen seventies and he totally bought you in the role. He truly believed you were a real-life private investigator. You’re a natural. You have huge potential.”