by Lee Hollis
Instead of wasting the tickets, Poppy had invited Heather to join her. She hadn’t seen much of her daughter, since she had been so focused on obtaining her investigator’s license. Plus, she knew Heather’s feelings about the whole enterprise, so she hadn’t felt much like receiving another lecture from her strongly opinionated daughter.
Still, she’d felt guilty for not spending more time with Heather, so she’d called her a few days before and invited her to join her for the show. Heather barely knew who Shirley Fox was, except for a vague memory of catching a few episodes of her family sitcom late at night on Nickelodeon when she was a teenager.
Heather insisted on picking her mother up instead of meeting at the venue, and Poppy feared she wanted to lay into her one more time about her reckless decision to become a private eye, but mercifully, Heather didn’t bring it up and instead prattled on about how happy she was dating her perfectly wonderful actor boyfriend, Matt.
Poppy smiled evenly, nodded, trying her hardest to be supportive, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that this Matt character was an untrustworthy lout who was going to somehow take advantage of her blind-with-love daughter and leave her heartbroken in the end. Of course, she had no concrete proof of Matt’s motives, but she herself had dated enough men in her lifetime to harbor a natural suspicion. Especially when it came to actors.
When Poppy and Heather arrived at the Purple Room and were waiting to be seated at the hostess station, Poppy marveled at a framed poster of Shirley Fox, still gorgeous at seventy-five years old, her ample bosom nearly popping out of a skintight black ruffled gown, her platinum blond hair swept up, and her face, though caked with makeup, still vibrant and alive. Her hand was raised, and her crooked finger beckoned her audience to come inside and be entertained.
Poppy couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of jealousy. Shirley was still going strong after all these years. Granted, she didn’t have much of a choice. She had weathered a stormy life, despite her storied career, with many ups and downs, loves found and lost, fortunes earned and squandered away by disreputable business managers and greedy ex-husbands. In fact, her bad choices in men were the primary reason she was still on the road, hustling to earn a paycheck by playing cabaret rooms like this one all over the country. But despite the fact that she still had to work, Shirley was beholden to no one now and was lucky enough to be making a decent living.
Perhaps if Poppy had persevered like that, not married the first man who promised to take care of her, whispering in her ear that she would never want for anything in life ever again, if she hadn’t fallen for that fantasy hook, line, and sinker, she might not be in the dire situation she found herself in now.
The hostess led Poppy and Heather to a table for four, set down three menus, and told them to enjoy the show.
Poppy glanced at Heather, confused. “I didn’t know we were going to have to share a table with two more people. That’s odd,” Poppy said.
“We’re not,” Heather said, scooping up a menu and rifling through it, purposely not making eye contact with her mother. “There’s only one more joining us. I called and ordered a ticket for Matt.”
“Oh,” Poppy said, disappointed.
So much for some quality time with her daughter.
“He loves Shirley Fox!”
“I’m surprised he even knows who she is. He wasn’t even born when her TV show was on the air.”
“He is a movie buff and a huge fan of her films from the late fifties and sixties, when she was an up-and-coming musical star.”
“I see,” Poppy said.
“Are you mad at me for inviting him?”
“No, of course not,” Poppy lied, then swallowed hard before she finally spit out, “He’s your boyfriend.”
Poppy looked over her menu to see the hostess leading Matt toward them. There was a handsome older gentleman, close to Poppy’s age, trailing behind them.
“There he is,” Poppy said, feigning enthusiasm.
After all, she was an actress and could feign many moods and emotions.
“Hi, baby,” Matt crowed, then bent down to plant a long, wet kiss on Heather’s lips before springing back up and touching the hostess underneath her right elbow. “We’re going to need another chair.”
Poppy and Heather turned to look at the older gentleman with slicked-back gray hair and a welcoming face with just enough lines to make him distinguished. He was nicely dressed in a polo shirt and slacks.
“This is Buddy Rhodes,” Matt said, slapping him on the back. “We’re doing a show together here in Palm Springs. I hope you don’t mind me inviting him to join us.”
“No, not at all,” Poppy lied.
“No,” Heather echoed, lying just like her mother.
The hostess returned with a fourth chair, and the two men sat down. Matt instinctively reached over and placed his hand over Heather’s and squeezed it. She smiled and winked at him, although she was still a bit discombobulated by the stranger who had joined them.
Buddy turned to Poppy. “Matt and I bonded over our love of Shirley Fox, so you can imagine how I jumped at the chance to come tonight when he told me she was in town performing.”
“Luckily, they had a cancellation,” Matt said, patting Buddy on the back.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Buddy,” Poppy said.
“Oh, we’ve met before,” he said with a sly smile.
“We have?”
“About thirty years ago. On the set of Jack Colt. I had a bit part playing a surfer dude in the two-hour season premiere set in Hawaii, when you and Jack fly to Honolulu to find his missing Vietnam war buddy.”
“I played a surfer early in my career, too, Buddy!” Matt felt the need to add.
Poppy studied Buddy closely. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
“Well, like I said, it was a bit part. And you had all the big-name guest stars swarming around you, demanding your attention. I remember staring at you from afar as I waxed my surfboard between takes, thinking you were the most exquisite woman I had ever laid eyes on, and now seeing you after all these years, I can’t say I’ve changed my mind.”
He was laying it on pretty thick.
And Poppy, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to mind.
There certainly was no harm in receiving an admiring man’s compliments.
Heather, however, appeared rankled and annoyed by the whole situation, and when the two men picked up their menus to peruse the dinner choices, she leaned over and whispered in her mother’s ear, “I swear I knew nothing about this.”
“It’s okay,” Poppy said with a reassuring smile.
“I could use a drink,” Buddy said, scanning the room for the waitress.
Heather used the distraction to rip her hand out from underneath Matt’s and whisper angrily, “How could you think this was a good idea? Chester has been gone only a few months.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Buddy’s just a friend of mine. There’s no matchmaking going on here,” Matt said. But the grin on his face clearly betrayed his true intentions. He definitely had orchestrated a fix-up and was proud of it.
Matt turned away from Heather and focused on Poppy, who sat frozen in place, suddenly uncomfortable at the idea of being on a date.
“Buddy and I are starring in a murder mystery at the Palm Springs Playhouse. I play the dogged detective caught in a snowstorm at a country estate, and Buddy here is the family patriarch, who may have drowned his wife in the bathtub, although the house is full of other suspects.”
“Sounds very Agatha Christie,” Poppy said.
“My favorite author,” Buddy said, piping in. “Pure genius. I’ve read every novel, play, and short story she ever put out.”
“I just play a detective onstage. Poppy here is one in real life!” Matt exclaimed.
“You don’t say,” Buddy said, curious, although as an actor, he probably knew already and was just pretending to have found out this little fact in the moment. “How interesting
. I would love to hear more about it.”
“There’s not much to tell. I haven’t really gotten started,” Poppy said, desperate to end this particular discussion and talk about something else.
Heather felt exactly the same way. “The crab cakes look good, but I wonder if there are any specials.”
Matt wasn’t having it. “I think it’s incredible that someone like Poppy, who has had such a fascinating life, first as an actress and then as a wife and mother, could at this point, later in life, start over and take on a challenge like this, don’t you, Buddy?”
Buddy nodded vigorously. “Remarkable. What made you decide to do this?”
“I’m broke,” Poppy said without the slightest pause.
She wanted to get that fact out in the open immediately.
Buddy was clearly still a struggling actor in his midsixties.
Which meant, he probably didn’t have a penny to his name.
And she was acutely aware that most older men, when in the presence of a potential love match, saw one of two things.
A nurse or a purse.
And she wasn’t interested in playing either role for any man.
There was an awkward pause.
“My husband, Chester, who just died, left me financially strapped, so I had to do something to pay my bills, and outside of applying to be a Walmart greeter, this was the only thing I was remotely qualified to pursue.”
Much to Poppy’s chagrin, Buddy did not seem deterred.
He grabbed her hand and lifted it up to his lips, then gave it a gentle kiss. Then he set her hand back down on the table, released his firm grip, and, with eyes sparkling, stared at Poppy and smiled. “What a woman.”
Heather rolled her eyes and glared at Matt.
Matt caught her angry look, and for a moment, he slumped down in his chair, dismayed, before recovering. “This is fun!”
The waitress finally appeared and jotted down their drink order before scooting off toward the bar.
It was an agonizingly long evening, the low point being Buddy sending his steak back three times because it was undercooked, and Matt haranguing Poppy until she finally agreed to come see him and Buddy in their show.
But finally, after the plates were cleared and the lights dimmed, Shirley Fox took to the stage and made everything better with her angelic and melodious voice, no longer in its prime, but still strong and packing a wallop.
And to her enormous relief, Poppy could finally lean back in her chair and enjoy herself.
Except for the two times Buddy Rhodes tried to play footsie with her under the table.
Chapter 14
After saying good night outside the Purple Room and watching Matt and Buddy stroll off together arm in arm, joking and ribbing each other, toward Matt’s decade-old red Prius, which was covered in dents and scrapes, Heather remained unusually tight-lipped, until she and Poppy were in her car, seat belts clicked into place and the engine started.
“I’m so sorry about tonight,” Heather said, turning around and staring out the rear window as she slowly backed out of her parking space.
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t know.”
“Matt shouldn’t have done that without checking with me.”
Poppy smiled and gently touched her daughter’s arm. “Seriously, I had a nice time. Shirley was in top form, and Buddy, well, he had a certain charm, I have to admit.”
“I’m not blind, Mother. I know Matt can be oblivious sometimes and a bit overbearing, but he’s a sweet man at heart, and his intentions are good.”
Poppy was still not fully convinced that this was the case, but she decided to keep her mouth shut in the interest of détente.
“He’s like a beagle with a tennis ball, so enthusiastic and playful, and frankly, I could use some of that energy right now given my recent past relationships.”
“The last one, the hipster musician, he was pretty dour,” Poppy said quietly.
“All those songs he wrote about suicide and the pointlessness of life? There were so many red flags! Why can’t I ever see the red flags right in front of me?”
Poppy could hardly argue with her daughter on that point.
Heather sighed. “But Matt’s different, I think. He makes me laugh, and at this moment, having made so many bad choices with men, losing Chester so suddenly, well, his cheerful excitement is infectious, and it’s like some much-needed medicine.”
Heather gripped the wheel, kept her eyes fixed on the road, waiting patiently for a response from her mother.
“Heather, I love you, and I support you. If you want to be with Matt, that’s fine by me.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Heather said, turning off East Palm Canyon and heading up the winding road where Poppy’s house was located, near the top.
They drove in silence until Heather pulled her car over in front of the house.
“How long have you got?” she asked.
“The bank is holding the short sale in a few weeks. I’ve held it off as long as I can, but I’ve run out of delaying tactics. Once they have a buyer, I’ll have about six more weeks to clear out.”
Heather nodded, fighting not to cry.
Poppy noticed and touched her daughter’s arm again.
“I’ll be all right. I’m going to stay with Iris until I can find an apartment.”
“But what about all your things?”
“I’ll take anything sentimental, but the rest is just stuff. I’ve been in touch with a few consignment houses.”
“Oh, Mother, this is awful!” Heather couldn’t hold it back any longer, and with a flood of tears, she dropped her head down on the steering wheel.
Poppy lightly stroked the back of her daughter’s hair as she sobbed.
“Sweetheart, life can be very unpredictable. Chester’s heart attack, his gambling addiction, the lost fortune, I didn’t see any of it coming. But I’m healthy and alive, and I have you, and I have my close friends, so I’m just going to count my blessings and roll with it.”
“But this is supposed to be your golden years. . . .”
“You really need to stop saying that.”
“I know, but you should be traveling and enjoying life, and now, because of Chester, you’re going to have to start working again, and that’s so unfair.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. Yes, it was a shock, and yes, for the first month I just felt sorry for myself, but maybe I can look at this as a new kind of challenge, to have a purpose. Who knows? Maybe working will be my salvation.”
“But you haven’t worked since the nineteen eighties, and this silly idea you have of being a detective—” Heather stopped herself. She knew she had gone too far.
There was a long uncomfortable silence.
Heather spoke first. “I saw the Web site.”
Poppy’s heart sank.
Heather turned to face her mother. “Pretending to be three gorgeous twentysomething models? What were you thinking?”
“That wasn’t my idea! Violet’s grandson—”
“Wyatt? You had a twelve-year-old design your company Web site?”
“Other than that misleading photo, I thought he did a bang-up job.”
“I just think . . .” Heather paused. Poppy could see the words churning around in her daughter’s mind as she tried not to say them in a mean way. “I just think this . . . project. . . might be counterproductive to your current situation.”
Poppy heard her phone buzzing inside her purse. She reached inside and pulled it out.
It was a text from Iris.
Called every damn name on the list. No one wanted to meet after I told them we were not the girls on the Web site.
It was punctuated with a frowny face.
Iris made no secret of hating emojis, and yet she could never resist using them in her texts and Facebook messages.
“You’re right,” Poppy decided as she clicked her phone off and dropped it back inside her purse.
“Really?”<
br />
“Yes. I’ll just forget the whole thing.”
“I think it’s best,” Heather said, relieved, as she leaned over and pecked her mother on the cheek. “Good night.”
“Good night, dear. Thank you for a lovely evening,” Poppy said as she got out of the car and stood on the curb, waiting while Heather pulled away. She waved with a bright smile, which faded the instant the car was finally out of sight, and then she turned and took in the sight of her beautiful midcentury home, one she would be abandoning in a matter of weeks.
It depressed her.
She tried to silently give herself a pep talk as she rummaged for her keys and then quietly entered her eerily still house. She would find a job. Something would come up. It had to, or she would be in real trouble.
It was sad.
She honestly had thought she had found the answer.
She hadn’t held a real job since she was an actress.
And she was ballsy enough to believe that she could not only excel at a new career but also run her own business.
But after all the hard work and preparation she had put into becoming a private detective, it just wasn’t meant to be.
Chapter 15
“Stay where you are, Atticus!” Detective Yorn yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing a gun at a young, skinny, odd-looking man with a bulbous nose and thick glasses, who stood over a dead body, his hands drenched in blood. “It was you! You killed them all!”
“No!” Atticus cried, shaking his head. “I came in here and saw Pearl lying on the floor! I bent down to see if she was okay, and that’s when I got her blood on my hands!”
“You heinous fiend! It had to be you! Everyone else is dead! We’re the only two left. I know I didn’t kill anyone, so it had to be you!”
“Please, Detective, I didn’t harm anyone! You have to believe me!” Atticus pleaded as he stepped forward.
“Stay where you are!” Detective Yorn warned.
But Atticus was wild with grief over the loss of his beloved girlfriend Pearl, his mind cloudy, and he kept advancing on the detective, who, fearing for his life, pulled the trigger.
