by Lee Hollis
There was a loud pop, and Atticus clutched his chest as blood seeped through his fingers, and then, with his mouth open in a cry of silent pain, he collapsed to the floor.
Detective Yorn, in a state of shock, dropped the gun, and it clattered to the floor.
He stared at Atticus’s still body, which was now facedown next to Pearl, whose own youthful, lovely pale face was turned out, her dead eyes staring out into space.
Detective Yorn brought a shaky hand to his mouth.
The horror of the brutal murders at this snowbound estate was finally over.
He had successfully vanquished the deranged killer.
Suddenly, a loud snorting sound cut through the stillness.
Heather nudged Poppy and frantically pointed to Iris, who was sitting in the seat on the other side of Poppy, her head back, mouth open, snoring loudly.
The entire audience in the darkened theater at the Palm Springs Playhouse could hear her sawing logs during the performance.
Poppy quickly turned and shook Iris’s arm in a frantic attempt to wake her.
Iris’s eyes snapped open, and as she was suddenly roused out of her slumber, she said in a booming voice, “Is this thing over yet? I am bored out of my mind!”
There was a loud sigh from an irritated woman sitting in the row behind them.
Her husband, who sat next to her, shot forward and hissed at Iris, “Shhh!”
Iris casually looked around to find the source of the commotion that was upsetting everyone in the vicinity, in a failed attempt to pretend that it was not, in fact, her.
Detective Yorn, who was being played by Heather’s boyfriend, Matt Cameron, walked over to the two bodies lying on the floor, leaned down, and stroked Pearl’s long, blond hair. “How could you do it, Atticus? Your own fiancée, her entire family!”
Heather leaned into her mother and whispered in her ear, “He’s really quite good, isn’t he?”
Poppy couldn’t disagree, as much as she wanted to, because Matt was indeed a fine actor. From the moment he took the stage, he electrified the audience with his intense, sexy, commanding portrayal of Detective Dale Yorn, a young, up-and-coming British inspector with Scotland Yard who was called to the scene of a murder at an estate in the English countryside. The wife of the wealthy landowner, Sir Roger Green, had been found drowned in the bathtub by a hysterical maid. Then, when a raging snowstorm trapped the entire family, including family members who had been visiting for a family reunion, alongside our intrepid detective, more bodies began piling up, one by one, until only two people were left, Detective Yorn and Atticus, the troubled fiancé of Sir Roger Green’s only daughter, Pearl. Pearl was the sixth victim, following her mother, Claire, who drowned in the bathtub; her older brother Charles, who was stabbed to death; her grandmother Maggie, poisoned with strychnine in her tea; her loyal maid Tessa, who died by strangulation; and of course, her father, Sir Roger Green himself, who was bludgeoned and left to die outside in the freezing snow.
Most of the other actors struggled through the performance with underwhelming line readings and, especially in the case of the actress playing Pearl, a striking lack of stage presence. Now that she was playing dead, she was actually at her most convincing. As for Buddy Rhodes, who was floundering in the role of Sir Roger Green, he was the worst of all. His line readings were over the top, when he could actually remember his lines, and he played too much to the audience. When Atticus ran in from outside to inform the last three survivors that he had stumbled across the family patriarch’s dead body in the snow, the audience undoubtedly resisted the urge to burst out in applause.
But Matt, he was the obvious exception, and Poppy found herself waiting for him to come back on the stage when he was not in the scene. At the very least, though she still had not warmed up to him as a person, she had to respect his raw talent as an actor.
She totally believed him as a detective.
“So many questions you must have, Detective,” a voice said out of nowhere.
Matt, aka Detective Yorn, snapped to attention. “Who said that?”
Buddy walked back onstage, a gun in his hand, a menacing look on his face, or at least Buddy’s idea of what menacing should look like. He was overdoing it so much, all he was missing was a twirling mustache.
“Sir Green, you’re alive!” Matt cried.
The shocking plot turn elicited a number of gasps from the audience.
Iris audibly groaned. “Oh, come on! I thought we had finally gotten rid of him! You’re telling me he did not die, after all?”
Violet, who was sitting to Iris’s left, elbowed her in the rib cage.
Iris pushed her away.
Then Poppy glared at Iris, signaling her to stop talking.
“Yes, my boy, I convinced that poor sap Atticus that you were the killer, and that it would behoove us to pretend that I had been beaten with a snow shovel and left out in the cold, where I died of frostbite, a simple ruse that would allow me to secretly prove you were responsible for the murders while I was no longer in your crosshairs. . . .”
“And when Atticus and I were the only ones left standing, I would reasonably conclude that Atticus had to be the killer. . . .”
Matt stared down at Atticus’s prone body. “Dear God, I killed an innocent man!”
Matt’s eyes brimmed with tears, and Poppy found herself choking up, moved by the wretched pain he was conveying.
There was a hush over the audience as they watched, riveted.
“Why? What possible reason could you have to slaughter your own wife and children?”
“To put them out of their misery from being in this lousy play,” Iris whispered to Poppy, who shot daggers at her to keep quiet.
“You see . . . ,” Buddy said, turning to the audience, almost winking at them.
There was a long awkward pause.
Matt tried again. “Why, Sir Roger? Why did you do it?”
“You see . . .” Buddy’s mouth hung open as he waited for the words to come out, but they didn’t. Sweat formed on his brow. His eyes were full of panic. He had forgotten his next line.
“Because they disappointed you?” Matt offered.
“Yes! All of them! My whore of a wife was sleeping with the stable boy. My moneygrubbing, greedy son and daughter were conspiring behind my back to have me declared mentally incompetent so they could take control of my affairs and estate. . . .”
“And the poor maid and your daughter’s fiancé . . . ?”
Buddy stared at Matt, his mind a blank.
Iris chuckled.
The show was getting worse by the minute, careening off the rails in spectacular fashion, and for the first time since the curtain opened, Iris was starting to be entertained.
“Wrong place, wrong time?” Matt asked, trying to prod a discombobulated Buddy.
“Yes!”
Another excruciating silence as Buddy tried to remember what came next. He kept glancing back at the pretty, petite stage manager, who was holding the script and was whispering frantically from the wings, “And now it’s your turn!”
Buddy cupped a hand to his ear, looking off stage. “What?”
“And now it’s your turn!” the stage manager whispered louder.
Buddy still couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Huh?”
“And now it’s your turn!” several voices from the audience shouted.
Buddy finally heard the line and whipped around, raised the gun, and pointed it at Matt’s chest.
“And now it’s your turn!”
He pulled the trigger.
Another pop.
Matt, his face full of surprise, dropped to his knees, but before succumbing to his bullet wound, he got off one last shot, hitting Sir Roger Green.
And then he toppled over, dead.
The only one left standing on the stage was Buddy, who missed his cue and reacted to being shot about ten seconds too late. Finally realizing it was his turn to die, he flopped forward in one of the least convincin
g death scenes ever witnessed.
And then, mercifully, the curtain closed.
The audience applauded warmly, if not enthusiastically.
And as the actors bounded back onstage to take their bows, there was a sustained polite cheering. That is, until Matt appeared, looking humble and appreciative. The audience jumped to their feet, bestowing upon him a thunderous ovation. Poppy found herself eagerly jumping up, too, clapping her hands energetically, wildly impressed.
Heather and Violet followed suit.
Only Iris remained in her seat, foraging through her purse for a breath mint.
The cast joined hands for one final bow and then stepped back, the curtain fell in front of them, and the lights came up in the theater.
Iris was already marching up the row toward the exit. “I’m starving! Can we go eat now?”
“Wait! I told Matt we would stick around and say hello after the show,” Heather said.
“Of course,” Poppy said. “You go find him, and we’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Poppy’s mind raced as she and Violet moved with the crowd out of the theater.
She hadn’t expected Matt to be such a damn good actor, and so believable, even nailing the British accent.
But it was his wholehearted commitment to the role of a detective that impressed her most.
Watching him perform was revelatory.
His charm and wit, so expertly utilized to get the suspects to open up and talk to him. His keen sense of observation when it came to identifying clues and interpreting human behavior. The personality quirks he effortlessly used to throw his adversaries off guard.
Even though the play was an obvious rip-off of one of Agatha Christie’s classics, And Then There Were None, Poppy was thoroughly convinced even the author herself would have been inspired by Matt’s original and engaging take on a tried-and-true classic detective character.
And then the idea hit her like a freight train.
No, it was such a crazy thought.
It would probably never work.
She decided to ignore it.
Unfortunately, the harder she tried to get it out of her mind, the louder it got.
By the time the crowd had thinned out and only a few patrons were left loitering in the lobby with her, Iris, and Violet as they waited for Heather and Matt to arrive, she couldn’t contain it any longer.
“I think we should hire Heather’s boyfriend, Matt, to be a part of our detective agency.”
“What? I thought we decided not to do the whole Desert Flowers Agency thing,” Violet said, confused.
“We did. But only because nobody wants to hire three women in their sixties to do the kind of work they associate with younger people. But you saw Matt. I absolutely believed him as a detective. I can totally see people trusting him and wanting to hire him.”
“But he is not a detective, Poppy,” Iris scoffed. “He was just playing one onstage.”
“Yes, but nobody has to know that. Do you honestly believe that anyone could resist hiring such a handsome, charming, debonair detective like the one we watched tonight?”
Iris and Violet exchanged uneasy looks, not sure if Poppy was just joking or was actually serious.
“But you said he’s nothing like that,” Violet said.
“Well, yes, he’s kind of obnoxious, and we’d have to keep his real personality under wraps, but if he managed to stay in character just long enough to keep the clients happy, the three of us could go about actually solving the cases.”
In Poppy’s mind, the concept made perfect sense.
Iris and Violet were having a harder time buying it.
“Wouldn’t we be lying to our clients?” Violet asked.
“Not if he’s an official member of the agency,” Poppy said.
“You mean he gets the same split as me and Violet?” Iris asked warily.
“We can work all that out later, but let me put it this way. Chester always said, ‘You have to spend money to make money.’ ”
“Chester left you penniless,” Iris reminded her.
“Okay, maybe that’s not the best example, but I have a good feeling about this,” Poppy said, turning to see Heather leading Matt into the lobby.
The few theatergoers who were left—they were mostly younger and female—raced up to him to get a selfie.
And Poppy became even more convinced she was onto something.
Chapter 16
Matt’s handsome face nearly jumped off the computer screen. He smiled from ear to ear, his perfect white teeth flashing, blue eyes sparkling, and his impressive jawline reminding anyone of a certain age of Dudley Do-Right. This was his head shot, one he had been blindly submitting to casting directors in Hollywood through the small-time talent agent who had agreed to take him on as a client.
Poppy had enlisted Violet’s grandson, diminutive tech whiz Wyatt, to slap the photo on the home page of the Desert Flowers Web site, with the promise to take the kid up on his offer to employ his services down the road for any surveillance a case might require.
When Poppy called a meeting with her two Desert Flowers cofounders at their office garage at Iris’s house, both Iris and Violet remained skeptical about her idea to incorporate Matt into their business model, but Poppy was adamant this was the right call, and quite possibly their only avenue to future success as private detectives.
“I have to admit, he does add a little pizzazz to the Web site,” Iris said, unable to take her eyes off Matt’s gorgeous mug.
“He’s dreamy,” Violet sighed. “If I was ten years younger . . .”
“Ten?” Iris scoffed. “Try thirty.”
Violet shot Iris a hurt look, then chose to ignore the dig and turned to Poppy. “Does he even know about this yet?”
“No, but he will. I asked him to come over here and told him only that I had a business proposition to discuss with him. He should be here any minute,” Poppy said.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Violet asked, her eyes still locked on Matt’s smiling photo on the screen.
“It already has,” Poppy said, breaking into a wide grin. “Five minutes after Wyatt made the update, we received an e-mail from a potential client.”
“Who?” Iris asked.
“A man named Jayden Emery. He asked for a meeting, so I scheduled one for later today, after we’ve had a chance to talk to Matt,” Poppy said.
“But what if Matt doesn’t agree to any of this?” Violet asked, worried.
“He will. I’m feeling lucky,” Poppy said, brimming with confidence.
“I’m sure that’s what Chester said at the craps table right before he lost your house!” Iris said.
“That was unnecessarily bitchy, Iris,” Poppy said, glaring at her.
“You’re right. I take it back. But this is all happening so fast. I wish we could take some time to think about it some more.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the luxury of time. If we are going to make a go of this, we have to do it now, before I fall further into debt.”
There was a knock at the door, but before Iris could make a move to answer it, the door flew open, and Matt poked his head inside.
“Knock, knock!” Matt said, flashing that intoxicating killer smile.
Violet’s knees nearly buckled, but she managed to keep her balance.
“Hi, Mom!” Matt crowed as he bounded over to Poppy for a hug.
Poppy let him squeeze her tightly for a few seconds before gently pushing him away. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Mom? I guess I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Okay, Mrs. Harmon it is.”
“That makes me sound too matronly. Poppy is fine.”
“Okay, Pop.”
“Poppy. Please add the y. Pop makes me sound like the owner of a soda shop.”
“Got it! Poppy!” Matt said, winking at her.
“Matt, you remember my friends Iris and Violet? You met them at your show the other night.”
“Of course! I
hope you ladies enjoyed the performance.”
“Actually, I thought it was—” Iris said.
Violet pushed her aside and quickly cut her off. “Wonderful. So suspenseful and scary, and you were absolutely perfect in the lead role.”
Matt turned away bashfully. “Awww, you’re just saying that.”
“No, you were so believable as a smart, sexy, hard-boiled detective who is . . . sexy . . . and possesses such impressive intuitive skills . . . and is so sexy . . . ,” Violet gushed.
“Sexy! We get it! You can stop saying sexy!” Iris sighed.
Matt slipped an arm around Violet’s waist and pulled her closer to him, loving every minute of her free-flowing and gushing compliments. “Well, it’s nice to know I have a fan.”
Violet erupted in a fit of giggles and nearly melted in his embrace.
“Actually, your role as a detective was what we wanted to talk to you about, Matt!” Poppy said.
“Oh?” Matt asked, intrigued.
Poppy could tell he was under the impression they might have a lead on a paid acting gig, and she quickly dispelled that notion and launched into a long explanation about her desperate circumstances and her unusual decision to become a professional crime solver.
Matt listened with rapt attention.
He had been aware of Poppy’s new career but ignorant of how she had gotten to her momentous decision. Heather, who had been so against the plan, had clearly chosen to keep him in the dark about her mother’s and, if truth be told, her reduced circumstances.
When Poppy finished her story, they all stood silently as Matt processed the mountain of information. He was very still, almost like a statue. And then, after nearly a minute, he became animated again and flew across the room, arms wide open. “Wow! What a story!”
Poppy tried to duck, but she wasn’t fast enough, and Matt managed to grab her in another big bear hug.
“Not a lot of women your age have the balls to do something so out-of-the-box crazy!” he laughed, squeezing Poppy so tight, she had to catch her breath when he finally let go.
The ladies weren’t sure at first how to take his reaction.
Was he insulting them?
But Matt didn’t miss a beat. “I think it’s awesome!”
