by Lee Hollis
He was genuinely touched. “Thank you, Poppy.”
“And now we find out you’re multitalented. You can sing, too, good enough for someone like Carl Menkin to sit up and take notice. You need to be in Los Angeles.”
There was a long pause as Matt considered this. He kept his hands gripped on the wheel of his Prius and stared at the busy highway that lay ahead of them. He didn’t quickly reassure her that he wanted to continue playing the part of a private eye, a role he had relished playing for over a year now. Finally, he glanced over at Poppy. “If I did move, what would happen to the Desert Flowers Detective Agency?”
“You can’t worry about that. None of us—me, Iris, or Violet—would ever want to hold you back from something better. Besides, the three of us are very resourceful. We’ll somehow manage to get by without you.”
“I know, but—”
“You were only supposed to be a temporary fix anyway. Just to help us get the business off the ground when it became clear people were reticent to hire three old broads to solve their cases. We needed you, but now we’re established and maybe the clients will be a little more understanding and open-minded. It could be time for us to take the training wheels off anyway.”
She was trying her best to sell this to Matt, but she wasn’t sure it was working on herself. She was deeply concerned about what would happen if Matt left at this critical time, just when the agency was starting to gain some traction. But she was not going to show him that she was worried. This wasn’t about her or the agency. This was about Matt and his promising future.
She could tell Matt was wavering because he hardly ever shut up and right now he wasn’t talking at all.
He just stared straight ahead.
“Matt?”
“Let me think about it.”
They drove in silence for most of the way back to Palm Springs, making small talk a few times, but spending the majority of the drive wallowing in their own thoughts. Poppy couldn’t even consider her poor daughter, Heather, and how it would affect her.
When they finally arrived back at Iris’s house, they found Iris and Violet waiting for them in the garage office.
Poppy looked around. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“He’s at school,” Violet said.
“I forget he’s still in the seventh grade and not twenty-five years old. He acts so much older sometimes,” Poppy said. “Did he get my text?”
“Yes, he called right before you got here,” Violet said. “During recess he had some time to do a little research. He contacted all of the professional recording studios in the area, which frankly aren’t that many because most are in LA, and none of them had even heard of Lara Harper.”
“Maybe she left the desert and is making the album somewhere else,” Matt said.
“Or perhaps she is here but using an assumed name,” Poppy suggested.
“Why would she do that? She is a fame whore. She wants everybody to know who she is,” Iris huffed.
“It looks like we are back to square one, I’m afraid. Again,” Violet sighed.
Poppy’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. It was a text from Rod.
Just arrived in PS. The drive was lonely without you. When can I see you?
“Anything important?” Matt asked.
Poppy smiled and quickly pocketed her phone, ignoring Rod’s text. “It’s nothing. Now let’s sit down and strategize about what to do next.”
But Poppy wasn’t sure what they should do next. The fact was, their client, Rod, seemed to be slowly losing interest in finding his daughter and was more focused on chasing after Poppy. It was making her uncomfortable, and yet, that kiss they had shared back at his mansion had been downright swoonworthy even though it had undoubtedly crossed a line. As hard as she might try not to succumb to his charms, it was becoming nearly impossible for her to resist him. If Matt hadn’t interrupted them, there was no telling where they would have ended up.
And that was cause for deep concern.
Chapter 22
Poppy had just drifted off to sleep when she heard a loud banging on the door to her apartment. At first she thought it was a dream. She rolled over on her side, clutching her pillow as she buried her face in it. A few seconds passed and suddenly there was more banging. Poppy shot up in bed. This was definitely not a dream. She checked the digital clock on her nightstand. It was almost 1:00 a.m.. She crawled out of bed and grabbed her blue terrycloth robe, which was draped over a chair, and put it on over her white sleeveless nightgown. She slipped on her cozy fur-lined slippers and quietly headed out of the bedroom and crossed to the front door. She paused, leaning in and pressing an ear to the door, trying to hear who or what was on the other side. There were three more loud bangs, startling her enough that she let out a short scream.
“Who’s there?” Poppy demanded to know.
“It’s me. . . .”
It was a man’s voice, but his words were slurred, like he was intoxicated, and she had trouble recognizing who it belonged to.
“Me who?” Poppy snapped, worried she might have to call the police.
“Rod . . .”
Poppy felt an overwhelming sense of relief. At least her midnight marauder wasn’t a complete stranger. But at the same time, she wondered what on earth Rod was doing here at such a late hour.
Poppy unlocked the door and opened it to find Rod swaying from side to side, with glassy eyes and a red nose, totally obliterated.
“Can I come in?” he managed to get out, although it was mostly garbled.
“Rod, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. . . .” He was trying to focus on her, but she surmised he was probably seeing two of her at the moment.
“Please, it’s really important!” he shouted.
Poppy feared he might wake the neighbors with his yelling so she grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and pulled him inside the apartment. She quickly shut the door and locked it again. “I certainly hope you didn’t drive here.”
“No, I walked.... You’re really close to the bar. . . . I put your address in my phone and a really nice woman directed me here. . . .”
“That would be Siri,” Poppy said, although he had no idea what she was talking about.
Poppy led Rod to the couch. “Sit down here, Rod. I’m going to put on a pot of coffee for you.”
He didn’t want to sit down so Poppy gave him a slight shove. He lost his balance and toppled over, landing on the couch sitting upright. He stared straight ahead trying to focus his vision.
Poppy scurried to the kitchen to make the coffee, and by the time she returned to the living room with a cup, she suddenly stopped in her tracks at the sight of Rod, who was now on one knee, staring up at her with his bloodshot eyes and a goofy, expectant smile on his face.
“Will you marry me?” he asked. “I haven’t had the chance to buy a ring yet, but I’ll do that tomorrow, I promise. . . .”
“Rod, you’re being silly,” Poppy admonished.
“I’m one hundred percent serious, Poppy,” Rod drawled as he put one hand down on the floor to maintain his balance. “I love you. . . .”
“Stop it right now,” Poppy said. “You’re going to be awfully embarrassed when you sober up in the morning.”
“No . . . I want to marry you,” Rod sputtered, like an obstinate little boy who wasn’t getting his way.
Poppy crossed to him and set the cup of joe down on the coffee table, took him by the arm, lifted him up to his feet, and set him back down on the couch. She then handed him the cup. “Here. Drink this.”
Rod refused to take a sip at first, pouting that his proposal hadn’t quite gone the way he had hoped it would.
“It’s because of what happened back when we were doing Jack Colt, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rod,” Poppy said.
“Yes you do,” he slurred. “We slept together that one time in my trailer at the end of the second season, and then I didn’t call you and it got awk
ward on the set after that.... Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, Rod, I remember.”
Rod finally took a gulp of his coffee. It was still too hot and he opened his mouth and let out a yelp. “I burned my tongue.”
“Sorry about that,” Poppy said. “I should have warned you.”
But she was secretly glad she hadn’t. That’s what she liked to call karma.
“I . . . I should’ve called you,” Rod stammered.
“You were a big star. You had women falling all over themselves trying to get your attention.”
“That didn’t make what I did right,” Rod said. “I broke your heart. I’m so sorry. . . .”
He became wistful and sad and Poppy thought he might cry. The alcohol was obviously making his emotions run high.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Rod. You weren’t ready for anything serious at that time in your life. I totally understood that eventually. And then after the show got cancelled, I met Chester and it all worked out the way it was supposed to anyway.”
“But that’s the thing—you and I were meant to end up together. I see that now. . . .”
“Oh, Rod . . .”
“The moment I saw you again, after all these years, I knew right away. . . .”
Poppy sighed and then said softly, “We all just try to live our lives. We make choices, some good, some bad. That’s just the way it is.”
“Okay then, I’ve made a choice. I want to marry you,” he said.
“You’re drunk. I am sure you will feel differently when you wake up tomorrow.”
“No I won’t. . . . I love you, Poppy. I think I’ve always loved you. . . . Have I told you that?”
“Yes, Rod, several times now,” Poppy sighed. “But my life is very complicated right now, Rod. I cannot marry you, or anyone else, for that matter. I’ve started this business, and I have my daughter Heather’s situation to deal with. It’s not a good time to make any major life decisions, least of all getting married again.”
“I’ll give you time to think about it. . . .” He was not about to give up. He had it in his mind that he wanted to marry her and he was not about to be deterred. “Is there someone else?”
He tried to get up from the couch, but because he was so inebriated he couldn’t stand, so he fell back against the cushions and pretended he hadn’t even tried.
Poppy hesitated, wondering if she should mention Sam Emerson. Rod would certainly remember him. The ex–police detective had worked on the show for all three seasons as a consultant and scriptwriter. She decided in that moment not to bring him up to Rod. It wouldn’t be helpful to tell him in his current state that she and Sam had reunited about a year ago and were casually dating.
“Poppy . . . ?”
“Yes, Rod?”
“Poppy . . . ?”
“I’m listening.”
“Will you . . .”
“What?”
“Will you marry me?”
Poppy smirked. She found it amusing that Rod had completely forgotten he had proposed to her not five minutes earlier. Luckily she didn’t have to put him through two rejections in one night because before she had time to answer his burning question for the second time she heard him snoring loudly. He was still sitting upright on the couch, his head tilted to the right, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. His chest heaved up and down as he wheezed and snorted.
Poppy leaned over him and gently put a hand behind his head and lowered him down so it rested on a pillow propped up against the arm of the couch. She then grabbed hold of his feet and heaved them up to the other end so he was lying horizontally. She removed his shoes, threw a blanket over him, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and then headed toward her bedroom, praying that when Rod woke up in the morning he would have no recollection of proposing marriage.
Twice.
Chapter 23
Poppy was roused out of a deep sleep by what she thought was more knocking at the door. She opened one eye and stared at the digital clock. It was already after 9:00 a.m. Rod’s late night appearance had interrupted her sleep pattern so she had been deprived of her usual eight hours. She closed her eye and rolled over on her side, not quite ready to get out of bed and check on Rod, when she heard it again.
She was not mistaken. Someone else was outside the door to her apartment knocking. She couldn’t believe it. Poppy once again crawled out of bed, threw on her robe and slippers, and walked out into the living room, where Rod was curled up on the couch, still sound asleep with the blanket over him. He was no longer snoring and was very still, but Poppy knew when he eventually did finally stir awake, he would be nursing a massive hangover.
Before she reached the door handle, someone rapped three more times on the door. Before unlocking it, Poppy asked gruffly, “Who is it?”
“Sam.”
Poppy’s heart skipped a beat.
Sam Emerson.
What was he doing here?
Poppy twisted her head around to look at Rod, sprawled out on the couch.
How was she going to explain that?
She would just have to be honest.
After all, nothing untoward had happened.
Except for the fact that Rod Harper had proposed to her. Twice, she reminded herself again.
Poppy took a deep breath and opened the door a crack.
Sam stood outside, looking refreshed and sexy as all get-out in his manly plaid shirt, rugged jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, and weathered brown leather bomber jacket. His mustache was full and gray, and just the sight of him caused Poppy to swoon a little bit. He had a big, warm smile on his face that wavered slightly at the sight of her still in her nightgown.
“Poppy, did I wake you? You’re such an early riser I was sure you’d already be up and about,” Sam said apologetically.
“No, Sam, it’s fine. I was unexpectedly up late last night so I just decided to sleep in a little later than normal. What are you doing here in Palm Springs?”
Sam lived in a cabin up in Big Bear and ventured down from the mountain only when absolutely necessary.
“I had some business to take care of in Palm Springs today, so I thought I’d stop by to see if I could take you to breakfast,” Sam said, still sporting that sexy, inviting smile.
“Right now?”
Sam glanced at his watch. “Last time I checked it was still too early for lunch.”
“I’m not sure I can today, Sam. . . .”
She casually averted her eyes back to check on Rod and was surprised to see he was no longer on the couch. She frantically looked around for him but he was nowhere to be seen. Then the toilet in the bathroom flushed. She whipped her head back toward Sam, praying he hadn’t heard it.
“Is this a bad time?” Sam asked, slightly concerned.
“No . . . I mean, yes . . . I don’t think I can join you for breakfast today, Sam. I’m sorry. Can I have a rain check?”
“Of course. Is everything all right? You look a little nervous.”
“Nervous? Me? No, I’m not nervous. What would I have to be nervous about?”
Sam studied her suspiciously. “You tell me.”
Then, with the world’s worst timing, she heard Rod come out of the bathroom and practically yell at the top of his lungs, “Hey, where do you keep the toothpaste?!”
There was no way Sam hadn’t heard that.
In fact, he was now craning his neck to peer through the crack in the door to see who had said it. Poppy bowed her head. There was no hiding the fact any longer that Rod Harper was in her apartment. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door all the way and turned around to see Rod, his shirt open, standing in the middle of her living room.
She looked back at Sam, whose eyes widened with recognition. “Rod?”
Rod had to squint in order to focus on the tall, handsome stud standing in Poppy’s doorway, but it took only a few seconds for him to figure out who it was. “Sam? Sam Emerson? My God, I haven’t seen you in over thirty years!”
&
nbsp; Rod bounded over, almost pushing Poppy out of the way, to shake Sam’s hand. Sam was still taken aback by Rod’s presence in Poppy’s apartment, but he made a valiant effort to hide it. The two men pumped hands and Rod even went in for a half hug.
Rod, who remarkably showed no apparent signs of a hangover after his bender last night, clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “How’ve you been, buddy?”
“Pretty much the same. Living up in Big Bear now,” Sam said, with one eye on Poppy.
“So you’re no longer consulting on cop shows?” Rod asked.
“Hell no. I got tired of the Hollywood scene when Bush Junior was still in office,” he said. “I’ll be happy if I never have to drive west of Riverside again.”
“Smart man,” Rod said, grinning. There was a slight pause as it finally dawned on Rod. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you and Poppy were still in touch.”
Poppy could feel her pulse racing. She had no idea how to handle the situation except to just stand by silently and let it unfold naturally.
“We see each other now and then,” Sam said, trying his best to be diplomatic. “I came by to see if she was hungry for some breakfast.”
“Well, I’m starving,” Rod said before turning to Poppy. “What do you have in your kitchen? If you’ve got eggs, I could whip us up some omelettes.”
“I . . . I’m not . . . sure,” Poppy stammered.
Sam slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and arched an eyebrow, still confused by Rod’s unexpected presence.
Rod quickly disappeared into the kitchen in a flash to inspect Poppy’s refrigerator.
Poppy rushed forward closer to Sam. “Sam, I know what you must be thinking. . . .”
Sam chuckled. “You have no idea what’s going through my mind right now.”
She spoke fast. “Rod came over last night and he had been drinking and—”
Rod was suddenly back. “You’ve got all the ingredients I need. And I spotted some frozen hash browns in the freezer to boot. Come on in, Sam. Stay for breakfast. We can catch up on what’s been going on with each other the last thirty years.”
“I’d settle for just last night,” Sam cracked.