Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer

by Lee Hollis

  He cocked it. “Don’t come any closer!”

  Poppy instantly recognized the man. The beady eyes. The beak nose. Acne-scarred complexion. Greasy black hair. This was the obsessive man who had cornered Danika in the gym before they spooked him and he managed to run off. This was Byron Savage.

  Byron aimed the rifle in Matt’s direction. “I know who you are! You’re the guy who tried to beat me up!”

  Matt slowly raised his hands in the air. “To be fair, you were accosting a friend of mine.”

  “I wasn’t accosting anybody! I was just trying to tell her how much she meant to me! And then you had to show up and ruin everything!”

  Matt took a small step forward. “Look, would you mind putting the gun down so we can talk—?”

  Byron fired a shot that slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt near Matt, who stood frozen in place.

  “I said, don’t come any closer!”

  Matt nodded, hands still in the air, as Poppy hovered just behind him, still in shock from the sudden gunshot.

  “Now turn around and get in your car and leave, and there won’t be any more trouble!” Byron yelled, waving the rifle around haphazardly, but still aiming in their general direction.

  Matt kept his eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun as it moved around. “Okay, we’ll go, but if you won’t talk to us, you better be prepared to talk to the police.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything!” Byron protested.

  “You stalked an actress, trespassed on a film set, physically held her against her will—” Matt said slowly, deliberately, taking another tiny step forward without thinking.

  Another shot fired in the dirt to the right of Matt. More dust kicked up causing Matt to cough. Matt and Poppy did not dare to make another move. Byron stamped his foot, frustrated. “You’re twisting around what happened! I just wanted to meet Danika in person. I figured if she got to know me, she’d see how devoted I am to her, how much I care about her . . .”

  “Maybe if you explain it to us, we can go to the police and tell them what really happened so you won’t have to,” Matt suggested.

  Byron mulled this over before aiming his rifle right between Matt’s eyes. “Is this some kind of trick?”

  “No trick, I promise,” Matt said, raising his hands over his head even higher, still standing in front of Poppy, shielding her from any flying bullets.

  Byron finally lowered his gun, pointing the barrel toward the wooden porch steps. Then he waved for them to come inside.

  Matt started walking toward the house.

  “Matt, no!” Poppy whispered under her breath.

  “I’ll be okay. But you better stay out here,” Matt said, locking eyes with Byron like a hunter would with a wild animal, trying to read whether it might suddenly spring forward and attack. Byron, at this point, however, appeared rather docile and almost welcoming.

  “I will not allow you to go inside there alone,” Poppy said, following on his heels.

  Byron opened the door and ushered them inside, making sure to leave the rifle perched next to the door outside so his guests would not be so jumpy.

  Once they crossed the threshold, Poppy’s eyes were instantly drawn to a corner in the living room with a pristine glass case filled with framed photos of Danika Delgado, prayer candles, publicity stills, memorabilia, a small tablet playing her YouTube videos on a loop. It was so impressive and well kept and in direct contrast to the rest of the house, with its ripped, ratty furniture and stained wallpaper. The place was more downtrodden than Rosemarie Carter’s house. But the shrine was almost majestic. Matt inhaled sharply once he noticed it.

  Byron beamed proudly. “It brings me great comfort during this sad time. I sit in front of it for hours and pretend she’s still with us.”

  Both Poppy and Matt declined to comment.

  Byron gestured toward the couch. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Poppy glanced over and saw a spring protruding up through the worn upholstery of the lumpy cushion. She swung back around and smiled. “No, thank you, I prefer standing.”

  Byron shrugged. “Suit yourself. I feel so lucky that I was able to find Danika and have a real moment with her before she . . .” Tears pooled in Byron’s eyes. “I can’t even talk about it.”

  Poppy and Matt exchanged curious glances. Byron seemed genuinely broken up over the fact Danika was dead. Although it could all still be a well-orchestrated act to throw suspicion off himself.

  “Byron, how did you manage to track down Danika at the resort where she was shooting her movie?” Poppy asked gently.

  “Oh, that was easy!” Byron excitedly said, snapping out of his melancholy mood. “I follow her on Instagram. She was posting selfies and videos all the time. Of course, she would never be stupid enough to come out and say where she was, I mean, that would draw out all the crazies, but she made sure I had the right clues!”

  “How did she do that?” Matt wondered.

  “I studied the reflections in the pools of her eyes,” Byron said, impressed with himself.

  Matt’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”

  “I could see what she was seeing. When she took photos outside, I could spot a street sign, and the mountains in the background, so I knew which direction she was facing. She never came out and said the name of the resort, but once I had a rough idea of the neighborhood, I studied the videos she posted in her room and researched resorts in the area that matched the decor on their Web sites. Once I had the right place, then I just used Google Maps to pinpoint her exact location. After that, getting inside was a piece of cake.”

  Poppy and Matt stared slack-jawed at Byron.

  He was nothing if not resourceful.

  Byron gazed longingly at one of the photos in his glass-encased shrine. “It was so beautiful when we finally came together, like two lost souls reunited, so perfect . . .” His smile slowly faded and he glared at Matt. “Until you forced us apart.”

  “After you ran off, did you try to come back? Maybe in disguise?” Matt pressed.

  Byron shook his head, baffled by the suggestion. “No . . .”

  “You strike me as a very determined kid,” Matt noted. “You didn’t follow the production to Joshua Tree, find a way to sneak on the set undetected, find Danika in her trailer, and when she screamed for help, you grabbed a pillow off the bed and smothered her cries?”

  Poppy shifted nervously. She could tell Matt was riling Byron up again, and she feared he might try to go for his rifle.

  “No, I did not!” Byron shouted. “I told you, I would never hurt a hair on her head! I loved her! I loved her!”

  Byron dissolved into tears, covering his face with his long bony fingers.

  “What the hell is going on here?” a man bellowed from behind them.

  Poppy and Matt spun around to see a hulking biker-type with long black hair, big mustache, muscles, shirtless except for a ripped jean vest, and tattoos all over his arms and chest. Sunglasses shielded his eyes. He was a foot and a half taller than Matt and brooded in the doorway. Fear swept through Poppy as her instincts cried out that this man was dangerous.

  Byron lowered his hands from his face and sniffed. “Axel, you’re home early. . . .”

  “You didn’t hear me ride up on my bike?” Axel barked before resting his eyes on Poppy and Matt. “Who are these people, Mormon missionaries?”

  Byron shook his head. “No, they came by to talk to me about Danika. . . .”

  Axel’s eyes narrowed. “You the police?”

  “No,” Matt said, clearing his throat. “Private investigators.”

  Axel did a slow burn.

  Then he turned back to Byron, scowling, and seethed, “I told you not to talk to anyone.”

  Byron’s whole body started to shake. “I know, but—”

  “Zip it!” Axel yelled, jabbing a finger at Byron. “No more talking. Talking’s going to get you thrown in jail. Trust me, little brother, these people are not your friends. Do you even
know who they’re working for? They could be trying to frame you for murder!”

  “I-I don’t think so—” Byron stuttered.

  “I don’t care what you think. I’m the one in charge around here,” Axel said in a husky voice. Then he jabbed a finger toward Poppy and Matt. “I want you two out of here. Now.”

  Poppy and Matt quickly took their leave. Poppy squeezed past Axel first, flashing him the briefest of smiles, followed by Matt. But Axel extended one of his scuffed black riding boots out in front of Matt, tripping him up, and sending him hurtling to the wooden porch and driving a splinter up into the palm of his hand, causing him to wince in pain.

  Axel stood over him menacingly. “Don’t even think about coming back here.”

  Matt scrambled to his feet, gave him a quick nod, and then ran to catch up with Poppy, who was already waiting at Matt’s car. A Harley-Davidson was parked with a kickstand a few feet behind the Prius. They both jumped inside. Matt made a point of locking the doors.

  “I think he really wants to hurt us,” Matt said, putting the gear in reverse.

  “Well, please let’s not stick around and give him the chance,” Poppy cried, rummaging for some tissue in her purse and handing a wad to Matt. “Here, press this tissue against the gash to stop the bleeding.”

  Matt grabbed the tissue and clenched it in his hand, then pressed down on the accelerator, and the Prius backed up too fast and slammed into the Harley knocking it over, the aluminum frame crunching in the dirt upon impact.

  Poppy swiveled around to see Axel standing on the porch, his face reddening with fury at the sight of his bike tipped over. “Go, Matt, go!”

  Panicked, Matt slammed his foot down on the accelerator again, still in reverse, and hit the bike again, almost backing over it. Axel was now running toward them, eyes wild with fury.

  Finally, with only seconds to spare before Axel was able to hurl himself on top of the hood, Matt managed to put the car in drive and speed away, leaving Axel choking in the dust.

  Chapter 22

  The strong, gusty Santa Ana winds started bearing down on the Coachella Valley as Matt and Poppy sped home on Gene Autry Trail from Desert Hot Springs, swirling up a dust storm so thick and heavy, Matt had to flip on the wipers to remove the sand from the windshield so he could see where he was going.

  Poppy was about to suggest Matt pull off to the side of the road until the storm dissipated or at least calmed down, but before she had the chance, she heard a loud rumbling noise closing in on them from behind. She cranked her head around, trying to make out what it was but the whipping dust flying up from the surface obscured visibility.

  Poppy turned back around to see Matt, his uninjured hand gripping the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, driving with extreme caution. Nothing was in front of them but wide open road from what they could see through the massive dust storm.

  Suddenly Poppy heard the rumbling again and the next thing she knew it was now right outside the window. She could make out a man riding a motorcycle, zipping along on the passenger side of the Prius.

  “Matt . . .” Poppy began warning him.

  “I see him! There’s another one coming up on my side!”

  Poppy stared out the back window and saw a second bike with two men on it, roaring up fast. The man riding shotgun kicked his leg out and smashed one of the car’s taillights with the heel of his boot.

  Poppy whipped back around to see the bike outside her side swerve in close. A black leather-gloved fist smashed against the glass, causing it to crack and startle her.

  “Hold on!” Matt yelled, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal, lurching them forward in a desperate attempt to lose the bikers.

  “Matt, what’s happening?” Poppy cried.

  Matt didn’t answer because he was solely focused on shaking their pursuers. It quickly dawned on Poppy that Axel was probably mad enough about Matt backing over his Harley that he had called in reinforcements from his biker gang in order to get revenge. In fact, the dust cleared enough for Poppy to recognize Axel as the one riding shotgun. The bike on Matt’s side managed to speed up alongside the car, up close to Matt’s window, where Axel leered at them, enjoying how much he was frightening them. The fat, bald, intimidating guy driving the bike swerved in, inches from colliding with the Prius, forcing Matt to jerk the wheel. Poppy felt her whole body fly to the right. She was strapped down by the seat belt, but still banged her head against the cracked window.

  “Are you okay?” Matt shouted, eyes still glued to the road.

  “Yes, Matt, but please, slow down!”

  “I can’t! They’re trying to run us off the road, and if that happens, there’s no telling what they might do to us!”

  His logic made perfect sense.

  Matt then began cranking the wheel left and right, in quick jerky motions, forcing the bikes to pull out and give the car a wider berth. Then, without warning, an eighteen-wheeler appeared out of nowhere in front of them, horn blaring, heading straight at them. Poppy screamed as Matt realized he had drifted onto the wrong side of the road and was now on a head-on collision course with the big rig.

  The motorcycles fell back, disappearing in the dust storm behind them. With seconds to spare, Matt wrenched the wheel as hard as he could and the Prius flew off the paved road into the desert sand, hurtling forward. In front of them was a giant billboard with a State Farm insurance advertisement. Poppy opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She was in a state of shock. And unlike the ill-fated car stunt on the movie set where Matt had luckily avoided crashing into the Joshua tree by swerving at the last possible second and flipping the car over, in this moment there was not even time to do that before the Prius, in what felt like slow motion, slammed into one of the large metal columns that held up the billboard. The car crunched up like an accordion, airbags exploding open, glass shattering everywhere, and then everything went black.

  Chapter 23

  When Poppy slowly came to, she could feel a pair of hands untangling her from the strap of the seat belt and then grabbing her from underneath her arms, pulling her from the wreckage of the car. The next thing she knew she was lying flat on her back in a bed of sand. When she tried opening her eyes, the harsh light from the blazing desert sun caused her to squint and forced them to close again.

  “Poppy, can you hear me?” Matt asked gently, slipping a hand behind her head and holding it so she was slightly upright.

  Poppy nodded, although she wasn’t quite sure. She wiggled her fingers and toes, which seemed to work fine, and then raised an arm up, covering her eyes with her forearm, and slowly began to sit up.

  Matt immediately braced her back with the palm of his hand to steady her. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. . . .” Poppy mumbled before clutching Matt’s other bloody hand tightly and using it to help haul herself to her feet.

  “What happened to the bikers?” Poppy asked.

  “They took off right after we crashed.”

  Matt noticed Poppy staring at the demolished Prius. “I know, can you believe it? Second car I destroyed in less than a week. Maybe I should rethink my dream of becoming a NASCAR driver.”

  “Where are we?” Poppy asked, glancing around at the swirling dust in the middle of nowhere.

  “Somewhere between Desert Hot Springs and Palm Springs,” Matt said.

  Matt stared up at the State Farm billboard they crashed into with the slogan, LIKE A GOOD NEIGHBOR, STATE FARM IS THERE, and chuckled, “I sure hope they mean what they say.”

  Poppy appreciated Matt’s attempt at a little levity in this traumatic situation as she looked around the wrecked car for her phone. Finding it on the floor of the passenger’s side, she carefully removed it and tried to call 911.

  After receiving a Call Failed message, Poppy held the phone up in the air trying to pick up a signal. “I’m not getting any service.”

  “Maybe we’ll have better luck up on the main road,” Matt said. As Poppy began trudging through the san
d, Matt placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her. “Are you sure you’re not injured?”

  “I’m fine. What about you?”

  “Bruised and scraped, same as last time, but otherwise fine,” Matt said.

  Once they clambered up the incline to the main road, Matt spotted a big SUV packed with high school kids speeding toward them. He jogged out in the middle of the road to wave them down, but the driver just blared his horn and swerved around him, music blasting from the radio, the other kids laughing.

  Poppy glanced down at her phone.

  She only had one bar of service, but tried calling 911 again. She waited a few moments, hoping for success, but then got another Call Failed message.

  She looked back up in time to see Matt practically hurling himself in front of another oncoming car, this one a Mini Cooper with a woman in her seventies behind the wheel. Panicked, the woman nearly sped off the road herself in order to avoid hitting him, but managed to stop in the emergency lane. Trying not to scare the poor woman too much, Matt approached the car slowly, hands in the air so she wouldn’t think he had some kind of weapon and was going to rob her, shouting at her that he just needed help calling a tow truck. The woman had to adjust her hearing aid a few times, but once that was done successfully, she was more than willing to help in the crisis. She even had a bottle of water in her car for Poppy and Matt to share while they waited, in addition to a working phone she lent to Poppy so she could finally call the police.

  Poppy tried reaching Detective Jordan, but was told he was out of the office, and so she left him a detailed message recounting what had transpired after finding Byron Savage and paying him a visit.

  Forty-five minutes later, a tow truck arrived and the cigar-chomping, sixty-something, grizzled driver who introduced himself as Mack went to work lifting what was left of the Prius onto the flatbed of his truck, while eyeing Poppy with prurient interest. She was so grateful he was here helping them, however, she did not bother to shut him down and call him out for his lewd looks and lecherous winks and gestures. Still, when it came time for them to climb into the front of his big rig, Poppy made sure Matt sat in the middle so she would not be subjected to Mack’s wandering hands.