by Lee Hollis
Poppy stared down at her skeptically, but there was no talking to her. Iris turned to Falcon and barked, “On the count of three, I want you to put your arm around me and lift at the same time as Poppy to get me on my feet.”
“You’re not going to sue me or anything, are you?” Falcon asked, more than a bit concerned.
“Of course not! I don’t want your money! I just want to go home!” Iris screamed. “Poppy, let’s try again. . . .”
Poppy grabbed both of Iris’s hands this time as Iris yelled, “One . . . two . . . three . . . !”
Poppy pulled with all her might. Falcon’s sinewy arm served as a brace and they managed to haul Iris to her feet. She cried and cursed all the way up, but once she was steady and her back was straight, she calmed down, feeling some relief.
Iris turned to Poppy. “What a crock! I always knew twisting and stretching your body could not possibly be good for you! Do you know what the name of this class is? ‘Healing Yoga’! Healing? Can you believe that? I nearly killed myself!”
Violet stepped forward and whispered, “You were not doing the pose correctly, Iris. You didn’t watch the teacher as he demonstrated.”
“Nobody asked you, Violet!” Iris spit out.
Poppy quietly pulled Violet to the side. “What were you doing here anyway? Why did you need to talk to this Falcon person?”
Violet leaned in, keeping an eye on Falcon, who was now apologizing profusely to Iris, still not convinced she would not sue him for negligence. “Wyatt went to Lara Harper’s Facebook page and did a little digging and found out from some past posts that she and Falcon had been dating at one point. So Iris and I came down here to get the scoop, but, unfortunately, Iris’s back went out before we got the chance.”
Poppy walked back over to the handsome, lean, tactile yoga instructor. “Mr. Falcon . . .”
“Falcon, just Falcon,” he said, slightly annoyed.
“Falcon. Would you mind helping us escort our friend Iris to the car, and then I promise you we will let you get back to teaching your class.”
Falcon sighed, and gently put Iris’s arm around his neck as Poppy draped Iris’s other arm around her shoulder. He turned to a young man in his early twenties, gorgeous, perfect build, in a tank top that showed off his curved muscles. “Ted, would you take over for me while I see these ladies off?”
The young man beamed. “I’d be glad to.” And then Ted bounded to the front of the room and got everybody back to where they had left off before Iris’s calamity in her Downward Dog position.
Poppy and Falcon delicately led Iris, who shuffled along, wincing in pain as they exited the studio and out past reception. Violet followed along behind them. Once they were outside and managed to get Iris settled in the reclined passenger’s seat of Violet’s car, Poppy was finally able to corner Falcon alone.
“If you have just a moment, I’d like to talk to you about—”
Falcon interrupted her. “I have a class waiting inside.”
“Ted seems quite capable of filling in for you for just a few more minutes,” Poppy pressed. “Please, it’s very important.”
Falcon sighed. “What’s all this about?”
“Lara Harper.”
His face darkened. “What about her?”
“Are you two dating?”
“Not anymore. For your information, I’m dating Ted.”
Poppy raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t see genders; I only see souls.”
“I see,” Poppy said, although frankly she did not understand at all. “But you were involved with Lara at some point?”
Falcon scratched his beard and scoffed. “Yes, I should have known better. We met while I was teaching a conscious breathing seminar in LA. She was in attendance, and after class, she approached me. She came on rather strong and told me she found me attractive and would like to explore my teachings more in depth, and, well, you can only imagine what she meant by that.”
“And you went along?”
“She’s a very pretty girl.”
“How long did you two explore?” Poppy asked, trying valiantly to disguise the distaste in her mouth with a bland smile.
“Not long. Maybe a month.”
“Why did it end?”
“I try to follow a deep and enlightening spiritual path and it is very important that I avoid any dark and negative energy,” he said.
“And Lara had dark energy?”
“Loads of it. She’s a very disturbed spirit.”
“And so you broke it off?”
Falcon grimaced.
Iris, who had just rolled down the window and was eavesdropping on the conversation, shouted, “Looks to me like she was the one who dumped you!”
Falcon shot Iris an irritated look but refrained from commenting out of fear she might still file a lawsuit against him.
Poppy stared at Falcon. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” Falcon admitted bitterly. “For another guy.”
“Do you know who she’s with now?” Poppy asked.
“Not a clue. And I don’t care. She did me a favor. I’m thrilled she’s someone else’s problem now. You have no idea what that crazy girl put me through. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have paying customers inside,” he said before turning to Iris. “Feel better.”
Iris leaned out the window of Violet’s car. “Oh, I most certainly will if I never have to come back here again!”
Falcon ignored the parting shot and stalked back inside his yoga studio.
Violet waved to Poppy outside the driver’s-side window as she peeled away. “We’ll meet you back at the office!”
Poppy headed to her car, frustrated the team had just hit another dead end and were no closer to finding Rod Harper’s daughter.
Chapter 11
Poppy perused the menu at Cicci’s Italian Restaurant, debating on whether or not she should indulge by ordering the eggplant parmigiana or the chicken piccata. When Chef Cicci discovered she was in the restaurant dining with Rod Harper, he personally brought out his specialty appetizer, his mouthwatering calamari fritti, for them to share. Like the true gentleman he appeared to be, Chef Cicci presumed the two were on a date and politely refrained from shamelessly flirting with Poppy again.
For that, Poppy was grateful. However, she was rather uncomfortable with the assumption that she and Rod were on a date. When Rod called her and suggested they have dinner so they could discuss the case, Poppy’s inclination was to invite Matt to join them. After all, in Rod’s mind, Matt was the boss and would be the natural choice to provide an update. But Rod quickly refused, preferring to meet Poppy alone, making up some excuse as to feeling more comfortable with her rather than the brash, excitable, hotshot young private eye. Poppy reluctantly agreed, but when she arrived at the restaurant and met Rod at the hostess station, he kissed her lightly on the lips, and kept a hand on the small of her back as the hostess led them to their romantic candlelit corner table. It was feeling more like a date with each passing moment.
Rod was his usual charming self, complimenting her appearance and ordering them an expensive bottle of Petite Sirah from the Napa Valley. When Chef Cicci came out of the kitchen to personally greet them, Rod placed a hand over Poppy’s, almost possessively, as if he was marking his territory and warning the charismatic chef that his dining companion was spoken for. This made Poppy slightly nervous. It wasn’t that she was trying to deny the fact that she and Rod had a history dating back to the 1980s, but in her mind, that’s exactly what it was—history. Long in the past. She wasn’t sure why he was being so forward all of a sudden. In fact, she didn’t want to know, so she decided to just plow ahead with why they were here in the first place.
“I don’t want you to worry, Rod. Although we haven’t found Lara yet, we’re making progress,” Poppy said as convincingly as she possibly could.
Rod filled her wine glass, then his, and set the bottle back down on the table. “I have full confidence Matt will get the job done.”
The waitress appeared to take their order and Poppy finally made her decision. She went with the chicken piccata. Rod ordered the steak Molina, named after Tony. Poppy had assumed Chef Cicci would change the name of his signature steak after the trial, but he probably hadn’t had time to fix the menus.
“Lara apparently has a new boyfriend,” Poppy said. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”
“No,” Rod said, almost disinterested. “But I’m sure he’s another world-class loser. Lara has an unyielding talent for digging up lowlifes and adopting them.”
“A father rarely approves of his daughter’s choices in men,” Poppy said, laughing.
“There was one I actually liked. They met when she was an undergrad at UCLA. He was studying anthropology, had a good head on his shoulders, and treated her well. The minute she realized I was fond of him, she dropped him faster than a hot brick. Let’s just say Lara has left a long trail littered with broken hearts.”
“Well, I remember back in the day you were quite the ladies’ man cavorting with actresses and models, and if I recall correctly, even a Spanish royal.”
“They were more interested in the idea of dating Jack Colt than Rod Harper, an electrician’s son from Missouri, believe me,” he said with a wan smile.
“That’s hardly true. Rod Harper was sweet and kind and one of the nicest stars you could find in Hollywood. Remember, I said so in a People magazine profile,” Poppy said.
“I thought the studio’s PR department wrote that,” Rod said, chuckling.
“No, I came up with that all by myself. I had your back.”
Rod took Poppy’s hand again and raised it to his mouth. He softly kissed her fingers. Startled, Poppy quickly withdrew her hand, smacked the half-full bottle of red wine, and it spilled all over the table.
“I’m so sorry,” Poppy cried.
The waitress and a pair of busboys appeared out of nowhere; removed the bottle, plates, glasses, and silverware; yanked off the wine-stained white tablecloth; spirited it away; and quickly replaced it with a clean one, before resetting the table with all the precision of a NASCAR pit crew.
Once they finished and scooted off and she and Rod were alone again, Poppy flushed with embarrassment. “See, I’m just as clumsy as Daphne was on Jack Colt. . . .”
“I find it endearing. I apologize if I was out of line,” Rod said tentatively, eyes fixed on Poppy, anxiously awaiting her response.
“No, Rod, you weren’t. . . .”
Rod sighed, relieved.
“But . . .” she added.
“There’s always a ‘but.’ ”
“I think we should keep things on a professional level . . . at least until we find Lara and close the case.... Then maybe . . .”
She couldn’t believe what she was saying. She was leaving the door open. That was the last thing she had intended to do. But in this moment, with Rod, the man she had been so hung up on all those years ago, she couldn’t completely dismiss him out of hand and close off the possibility that perhaps one day in the future . . .
“I love you, Poppy,” Rod said.
Poppy’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”
“I always have. Ever since we did that screen test at your audition to play Daphne to see if we had any chemistry. I never told you this, but the producers wanted to go with one of the Landers sisters, but I fought like hell for you. I said I wouldn’t do the show without you. There was something about you. . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about you. . . .”
“Then why . . . ?”
“I was young and stupid. Making thirty-five grand a week. I couldn’t fathom settling down with one girl at the time. Plus, you intimidated me. You had class. Most of the girls I was hooking up with back then were sorely lacking in that department.”
Poppy sipped her wine, not sure what to say.
“When the show got cancelled, and I fancied myself a movie actor after getting that one heist movie that bombed big-time, I was in a rut professionally, and I wanted to call you, but I was feeling like a washed-up has-been and my self-esteem was in the toilet and I just didn’t want you to see me like that.... I wanted you to remember me when I was on top of the world.... So I didn’t. . . . And then I got cast in that Larry McMurtry miniseries about the Old West and met Regina, who was doing hair on the set, and we got married, and eventually had Lara, and then it was too late. . . .”
“It was probably for the best. I had already met Chester by that time and was preparing to move to Palm Springs—”
“I thought about calling you after he died, but it just didn’t seem right, showing up after all these years when you had just lost your husband, so I kept my distance . . . until now. . . .”
“Rod . . .”
“I know, I’m making a fool out of myself. I should just stop right now while I’m way behind.”
Poppy wanted to reassure him that she was flattered and, on some level, tempted to pick up where they had left off in the mid-1980s when neither could resist the chemistry they had on set and took it to Rod’s Star Waggons trailer late one Friday night. Rod had invited her to stop by his dressing room for a glass of champagne to celebrate wrapping the second season of the show. She had happy memories of their night together. But he never called her after that one encounter. Later, she sank into a depression during the hiatus when she realized it had just been a onetime thing, and she was just one of Rod’s many conquests. When they returned for the third and final season of Jack Colt, they both pretended it had never happened and remained professional and cordial until the series was finally cancelled the following spring and they went their separate ways.
Poppy opened her mouth to speak when she spotted Tony Molina breezing into the restaurant flanked by two rather imposing figures, a man and a woman. The rattled hostess looked around as if she were on Punk’d, that MTV show that played practical jokes on unsuspecting marks. She couldn’t believe Tony Molina had the gall to show up at Cicci’s so soon after the trial. Tony turned on the charm, calling the hostess by her name, Nell, and requesting his usual table in the back.
One of the busboys dashed into the kitchen to alert Chef Cicci, who came bounding out of the kitchen to see for himself, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just been told. But sure enough, there was Tony glad-handing the staff and a few patrons he knew from around town. When Tony spotted Chef Cicci, he slapped his hands on the chef’s ears and pulled him close before kissing him on both cheeks. “I hope we can let bygones be bygones! I’ve missed this place! I’ve been dreaming of chowing down on a steak Molina all day!”
There was a palpable tension throughout the whole dining room. Everyone’s eyes were locked on Chef Cicci, waiting to see if he was going to kick Tony Molina out of the restaurant, but the famous chef had already gone through enough drama for one year and was not about to cause a scene. He simply bowed and said with a tight smile, “Coming right up, Mr. Molina.” And then he quietly retreated back into the kitchen.
Tony Molina, still flanked by the handsome couple, who were both sporting sunglasses in the already dim restaurant, and casual polo shirts and long pants, was passing by Poppy and Rod’s table when he stopped suddenly.
“I know you,” Tony said with a warm smile to Poppy as he completely ignored Rod.
“Hello, Mr. Molina,” Poppy said coldly, taking another sip of her wine.
“Please, call me Tony. I remember you from my trial, but we’ve never been properly introduced.”
“Poppy Harmon,” she said before gesturing toward Rod. “And this is—”
Tony didn’t seem eager to meet Rod, so he cut her off and turned to the couple next to him. “This is my security detail. Griffin and Tammy Goodwin. They’re married and both ex-military. I find that so cool. I hired them because they remind me of Angelina
Jolie and Brad Pitt in that movie where they played married spies.... What was it called?”
“Mr. & Mrs. Smith,” Griffin mumbled.
“I loved that movie!” Tony exclaimed, before focusing on Poppy again. “Anyway, you stood out to me probably because you were the only woman on the jury. . . .”
“I voted guilty,” Poppy said abruptly.
This caught Tony off guard, but only for a split second. He quickly collected himself and was flashing that megawatt smile again as he feigned getting a stake through the heart. “Ouch, that hurt.”
Poppy never cracked a smile.
“I certainly don’t want to interrupt your dinner with . . .” Tony said, finally deigning to glance at her dinner date. His face immediately darkened at the sight of Rod.
“Hello, Tony,” Rod said with a knowing smile.
Tony was obviously shaken and, ignoring Rod’s insincere greeting, returned his attention to Poppy. “Enjoy your evening.”
He quickly moved on, followed by Angelina and Brad, or the real-life versions of them apparently.
Poppy leaned in, curious. “What was all that about? Do you know him?”
Rod nodded. “Not well, but let’s just say he’s not a fan.” “What went down between you two?”
“Back in the day, I dated his wife.”
“Which one?”
“His current wife. The former pop star.”
“Tofu?”
“Yes. It was right around the time she had that big hit with the theme song from that James Bond movie. I don’t remember the title. They all sound alike. We only lasted a few months, and it was years before she even met Tony, let alone married him, but he decided he hated me for sleeping with his wife.”
“Even though he didn’t even know her at the time?” Poppy asked incredulously.
“The guy’s a psychopath.”
Poppy sat back in her chair and glanced over at Tony Molina’s regular table, where he was ordering a stiff martini from the waitress while his bodyguards sat quietly on either side of him looking over their menus.
