Poppy Harmon Investigates

by Lee Hollis

  “Thank you,” Poppy said, relieved.

  He looked around the office. “So is this your secret headquarters?”

  “That is so cute,” Violet chortled, staring at Matt, goggle-eyed. “Isn’t that cute?”

  “You are embarrassing yourself, Violet,” Iris barked.

  Matt’s eyes settled on the computer screen with his head shot. “What’s that?”

  He walked over to get a closer look.

  Poppy’s heart leapt in her throat. Her plan had been to ease softly into his possible role in the endeavor, but now he was gawking at his own face on the company Web site.

  “Matt, let me explain. . . .” Poppy raced over and almost threw herself between Matt and the computer.

  But he was already one step ahead of her.

  “Did you use my face without my permission because you thought people searching online for a detective to hire would take one look at me and feel comfortable hiring your agency?”

  Poppy was taken aback by his sudden and smart deduction.

  There was no sugarcoating it.

  It was time to put all her cards on the table.

  “Yes.”

  Matt let this roll around in his mind a bit.

  His face gave nothing away.

  Was he angry?

  Poppy worried she had just plowed ahead without thinking and had made a huge mistake and might now be in real, honest-to-goodness trouble.

  She held her breath.

  Iris and Violet exchanged concerned looks.

  “Genius!” Matt finally hollered. “What a mind-blowing, totally inspired idea! I love it!”

  Poppy exhaled as Matt did a little enthusiastic dance that was as odd as when Tom Cruise jumped up and down on Oprah’s couch to profess his undying love for Katie Holmes.

  “I am truly flattered, honored, really, to be even a small part of your clever little operation!” He hustled back over to stare at himself on the computer screen. “I can see it! I’m the spitting image of the cool, laid-back private eye you see on TV! It is going to be so much fun working together!”

  Poppy’s heart skipped a beat.

  Working together?

  That wasn’t what she had in mind.

  And at that moment, she had no idea just how involved Matt Cameron, the new face of the Desert Flowers Detective Agency, planned to be.

  Chapter 17

  “Shirley Fox?” Poppy blurted out, taken aback.

  “Yes, she’s my employer,” Jayden Emery said.

  He was young, in his midtwenties, thin but nicely muscled, African American, and—based on how many times he couldn’t resist glancing over at Matt with a wolfish smile—clearly gay.

  “What exactly do you do for Ms. Fox?” Poppy asked.

  “I’m her personal assistant,” Jayden said before turning back to Matt. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”

  “Poppy is my secretary. Iris over there is my bookkeeper, and Violet primarily does my research,” Matt said proudly, flashing a charming grin.

  Iris grunted, and Violet gave Jayden a friendly wave.

  “Man, you must be pretty successful to hire all this help,” Jayden said, impressed.

  “I’ve been very fortunate to have solved a number of high-profile cases. The publicity has allowed me to expand my client base outside the Coachella Valley.”

  Poppy feared Matt’s con job was too good and might inspire Jayden to actually look him up online, where he would find no such stories of any high-profile cases for the Desert Flowers Detective Agency.

  “Now, how can I help you?” Matt said, casually strolling over closer to Jayden and sitting down opposite him, hypnotizing him with his piercing blue eyes. Matt knew he was catnip to most women and gay men and was not above using his charm and sex appeal to seduce anyone, including a potential client.

  Poppy sat back at her desk, watching him, engrossed in his inspired acting performance, which seemed to be working at the moment.

  “Ms. Fox has recently been a victim of a crime. Someone broke into her home in the Palm Leaf Retirement Village while she was at the Purple Room, performing her cabaret act.”

  Matt leaned forward in his chair, listening intently to Jayden, who was so dazzled and aroused by the handsome “detective” and his mesmerizing eyes, he could barely concentrate on telling his story.

  Jayden cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, trying his hardest to remain professional. “Apparently, there has been a rash of burglaries in the Palm Leaf lately.”

  “It’s a gated community, correct?” Poppy asked.

  “Yes,” Jayden said, not even bothering to look over at her, which would require him to tear his eyes away from Matt.

  “So there is a strong possibility it’s an inside job,” Poppy theorized.

  “I suppose so,” Jayden sighed, annoyed that the secretary was interrupting his intimate private conversation with Matt.

  Matt sensed Jayden’s discomfort and turned to Poppy. “Poppy, would you be a dear and take notes, please?”

  Poppy sat there grimacing, but she knew Matt was bossing her around in order to win over the client, so she simply nodded and picked up a notepad and pen and began scribbling the highlights of their conversation that had transpired so far. She noticed Iris suppressing a laugh across the room.

  “What do the police say?” Matt asked.

  “Not much. They’ve gone through the motions, of course, interviewed a few people, mostly just the maintenance staff on the grounds, but so far have come up with nothing. They really don’t appear to be all that interested, maybe because most of the victims are old and retired. Who knows?”

  “So Shirley has decided to take matters into her own hands to help her fellow Palm Leaf residents?” Matt asked, winking at Jayden.

  Jayden demurred, with a bashful smile, before continuing. “No, she’s not that magnanimous. The thief made off with a cache of her priceless jewelry, which, unfortunately, was not insured.”

  “Ouch,” Matt said.

  “She’s beside herself. And so she gave me the green light to find some outside help.”

  Matt reached over and flirtatiously touched Jayden on the knee. “Well, don’t you worry, Jayden. I’ll make sure your boss gets her jewelry back.”

  “And the good news is Shirley Fox is rich and can afford our fee!” Iris cried out, unable to contain her excitement.

  Matt shot her an irked look. “That’s our beloved Iris, so concerned with our bookkeeping. But we can discuss all that later. Right now, I want you to go back to your boss and tell her to relax, because the Desert Flowers Detective Agency is on the case.”

  Jayden stood up and extended his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you, Matt.”

  Matt leapt to his feet and seized him in one of his signature bear hugs. “Come here. I’m a hugger!”

  Jayden practically swooned, his eyes threatening to flutter up inside his head. When Matt finally released him, Poppy thought Jayden was going to topple over and fall flat on his butt, but he maintained his balance with an assist from Matt, who kept a firm grip on the young man’s elbow until he was steady enough.

  “Is it me, or is it hot in here?” Jayden asked, flushed, as he waved a hand in front of his face.

  “It’s you,” Iris said, rolling her eyes.

  “Ladies,” Jayden said, finally acknowledging the three other people in the room, before turning to leave. He stopped at the door and spun back around. “By the way, I’m curious. Why do you call your agency the Desert Flowers?”

  Poppy froze, unsure how to answer.

  After all, why would a big-time private eye name his agency after his secretary, his bookkeeper, and his researcher?

  Without missing a beat, Matt said, as if he were James Bond in a tux and were drinking a martini, shaken, not stirred, “That’s me. I’m Flowers. Matt Flowers.”

  Poppy had to give him credit.

  He certainly was fast on his feet.

  And their fictional private detective character wa
s officially born.

  Chapter 18

  When Poppy arrived at Heather’s apartment building in downtown Palm Springs, she had the sickening feeling all was not well. Heather’s voice, though measured, had betrayed a seething anger when she called her mother and requested she pop by for a visit. There was no question about what she wanted to discuss. Although Poppy, Iris, and Violet had tried to gently coax Matt into keeping quiet about his involvement in their detective agency, Matt was all about being up front and honest and sharing everything with the woman he was dating. In most instances, Poppy would have wholeheartedly agreed, except when it came to her high-strung, sometimes emotionally volatile daughter.

  Poppy grabbed the railing and hauled herself up the stairs to the second level of the apartment building, where Heather lived in the last apartment, which faced north and overlooked the sprawling Spa Resort Casino. She knocked on the door three times, dreading what was to come, and when Heather opened the door, her worst fear was confirmed. Heather’s steely-eyed stare and stiff demeanor said it all.

  “Please come in, Mother,” Heather said, stepping aside and allowing her to enter.

  The apartment, though clean, was packed with knickknacks and stacks of boxes filled with books, classic record albums, and bundles of photographs. Poppy feared her daughter might soon be featured in one of those depressing hoarder shows on cable. It was also stifling hot, and Poppy felt beads of sweat forming on her brow.

  “I’m sorry. The air conditioner is on the fritz,” Heather said. “They’re not coming to fix it until tomorrow.”

  Poppy spied Matt sitting at the small kitchen table, dabbing his face with an ugly green towel, his bright orange button-up, short-sleeved shirt open just enough for her to see his dark chest hair, which was wet and matted. He was melting from the heat and kept chugging from a liter of bottled spring water. He offered a limp smile, knowing what was to come and feeling guilty about it.

  Poppy nodded, acknowledging him, but then turned to face the firing squad.

  Heather cleared her throat, tucked her mousy brown hair behind her ears, and glared at her mother. “I suppose you already know why I asked you to come.”

  “Yes,” Poppy said.

  “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Heather, you don’t have to talk to me like you’re the mother and I’m the daughter.”

  “Well, lately I’ve been having a hard time figuring out which one of us is which,” Heather scolded.

  “Honey, that’s not fair . . . ,” Matt interjected.

  “Stay out of this, Matt,” Heather said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “This has everything to do with me,” Matt argued. “I’m the whole reason you dragged your poor mother over here in this hundred-and-ten-degree heat wave.”

  “Heather, I didn’t exactly force Matt to become a part of my detective agency,” Poppy said.

  “Do you hear yourself? Your detective agency? Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

  Poppy felt the sting of her daughter’s words.

  But it only strengthened her resolve.

  “It’s bad enough you’ve involved your dearest friends, Iris and Violet, in this screwball scheme of yours, but now you have to rope in my boyfriend, too?”

  “She didn’t rope me in, sweetheart,” Matt said, standing up. “I’m a big boy, and I can make my own decisions.”

  Heather ignored him. “Please, Mother, I’m begging you. Stop this now, before it gets any more out of hand.”

  “Heather, if I give up on this, then what? I fall further into debt and have no money to pay for even my basic needs, and then I’ll be forced to live off the kindness of my friends or you, and I just couldn’t handle that. At least this screwball scheme, as you call it, has a small chance of working.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?”

  “Then I’ll try to get a hostess gig at a restaurant or train to be a cashier or—I don’t know—try my hand at out-call massage. Who knows? But please don’t shut me down until I’ve at least given it a decent shot.”

  “All right, Mother. If you feel that strongly about it, I’ll stop badgering you, but you’re going to have to do it without Matt. I don’t want him mixed up in any of this madness.”

  “I understand.” Poppy nodded solemnly.

  Matt stepped forward. “Sorry, babe. There is no way in hell I’m missing out on this.”

  Heather twisted around, aghast. “What?”

  “This is the acting challenge of a lifetime! Playing a richly layered, complex hero, not on the stage or in a movie or on television, but in real life! How often does an opportunity like that come around for an actor?”

  “Matt, I’m asking you, as your girlfriend, not to do this,” Heather said, her tone strained.

  “That’s so not cool,” Matt said. “A good girlfriend is supposed to be supportive of my goals. She’s not supposed to stand in the way of them.”

  Heather’s mouth dropped open. “Are you saying that if I don’t allow you to do this, you’ll break up with me?”

  “I’m saying you shouldn’t be allowing anything. You should just let me do what makes me happy.”

  “And this . . . working with my mother, of all people, is going to make you happy?”

  Matt grinned at Poppy, who stood off to the side, supremely uncomfortable with having to be present to bear witness to this lovers’ quarrel.

  “Well, you said you wanted us to bond. How can we not when we’re going to be working so closely together?”

  “Just to be clear, Matt, you’re not required to actually work on cases with me. You’re just the face of the agency and . . . ,” Poppy interjected.

  “Sure. We’ll talk about all that later,” Matt said, brushing her off.

  “Well,” Heather said weakly, eyes downcast. “I guess I don’t have a choice. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

  Matt slapped a hand over his heart and blew a kiss to Heather before bounding over and swallowing her up in a bear hug.

  Poppy watched the two of them.

  There was something about this out-of-work actor.

  Maybe he might be good for Heather.

  Loosen her up a bit.

  Perhaps they could even have a bright future together.

  Poppy chuckled and thought to herself, No, Poppy, don’t get ahead of yourself. Always remember one thing. He’s an actor.

  Chapter 19

  Poppy tossed and turned on the upper bunk as Iris snored loudly below her on the bottom bunk. She snatched one of the pillows embroidered with characters from Toy Story from underneath her head and pressed it over her exposed ear. It didn’t help much. She could still hear Iris grunting and snorting.

  Frustrated, Poppy gingerly climbed down the fire engine–red stepladder, lifting up the hem of her baby blue nightgown so she would not trip, until her bare feet touched the cold floor. She then bent down to gently shake Iris’s shoulder. Iris mumbled something and turned over on her side. Mercifully, the snoring stopped.

  Poppy sighed with relief and began her climb back up the tiny ladder, but by the time her foot touched the second rung, Iris was back to snuffling and wheezing, this time even louder than before.

  Poppy gave up, crawled back up into the small, lumpy single-size bed, and laid her head down on the pillow to endure the relentless snoring. She stared at a poster tacked to the wall of the boy band One Direction; all the baby-faced members were smiling at her seductively. She closed her eyes and tried to tune out Iris, but it proved impossible, and when she popped her eyes back open, there were those young, bright-eyed boys smiling and staring at her, which felt downright creepy.

  It was official.

  She was never going to get any sleep tonight.

  Moving temporarily into Iris’s friend Betty’s house in the Palm Leaf Retirement Village while Betty was visiting friends in Florida for a month had seemed like an ingenious idea when Poppy first thought of it. Why not set up headquar
ters in the same gated community that had been targeted in a series of burglaries? It was the perfect cover. Three friends of Betty’s innocently offering to house-sit while she was away. No one would be suspicious of their motives for suddenly showing up at all the social mixers or for striking up casual conversations with the other residents who were out for a morning stroll. They were just three Golden Girls anxious to take advantage of the property’s three swimming pools and expansive golf course and cheap happy hour cocktails. No one would ever suspect they were three private investigators poking around for clues. And Betty’s house was perfectly located only two streets over from Shirley Fox’s far more palatial home.

  However, when they’d arrived with their bags and let themselves in with the key Betty had sent overnight via Federal Express to Iris, the house turned out to be much smaller than they had anticipated. There were only three beds to choose from, and after two coin tosses, the first one eliminating Iris and then the second one knocking out Poppy, Violet was the lucky winner and briskly moved her bags into the master bedroom. That left the small guest room, decorated for when Betty’s grandchildren came to visit from Arizona, for Poppy and Iris.

  Another coin toss determined who would have to sleep on the top bunk, and Iris won. Poppy was feeling about as lucky as her late husband, Chester, had at the Spa Resort Casino.

  “Pedro, you’re being fresh . . . ,” Iris moaned in her sleep. “I am warning you. . . . I’m not a dog. Stop petting me. . . . No, I don’t like it. . . . Well, maybe just a little . . .”

  Great.

  Iris was now talking in her sleep.

  Poppy knew she was dreaming about the famed Spanish film director Pedro Almodóvar, whose colorful and moving films were modern classics. Iris often bragged about her summer in Madrid during 1989, when she became a part of his social circle and even had a tiny walk-on role in his bondage-inspired Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! Poppy and Violet had expected to see Iris decked out in leather and brandishing a whip when they saw the film, but fortunately, Iris’s role was as a passerby in the background, one who wore a skintight multicolored designer dress and walked a white poodle on a glittery faux diamond–studded leash.