Poppy Harmon Investigates

by Lee Hollis

  “Sure . . . ,” Poppy said, embarrassed.

  “Mother, give me your phone,” Sammy said, snapping his fingers, impatient.

  Esther shook her head, annoyed, and fished through a bag she had next to her in the wheelchair. She pulled out a phone and handed it to Sammy, who in turn gave it to Iris.

  “Do you mind?”

  Iris snatched the phone and quickly took a few photos of Poppy and Sammy smiling. Suddenly, they were alerted to a loud commotion over by the front door. They all turned to see Lucas, Shirley Fox’s son, in torn jean shorts and no shirt, forcing his way inside the house as Dash tried to push him back out.

  “Now is not the time, Lucas!” Dash warned.

  “Out of my way, Romeo. I’m here to see my mother!”

  Shirley Fox’s face went white as all the guests fell silent.

  Lucas was drunk and bleary-eyed and in a violent, dark mood. He looked around at all the gawking faces. “Sorry, folks. I hate crashing your fancy party, but I have some business to discuss with dear old Mom!”

  Shirley hustled up to her son and pushed Dash out of the way. “What do you want, Lucas?”

  “Just a couple hundred today, Mom. I’m sorry I had to come here, but you weren’t answering my calls.”

  Shirley yanked a checkbook and pen out of her purse and frantically began scribbling.

  “Actually, five hundred would get me through the month,” Lucas said, realizing he was in a power position now that his mother was desperate to get rid of him.

  Shirley never looked up. She just tore the check off the pad and shoved it at him.

  Lucas accepted it with a smile. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

  “Just leave, Lucas,” she whispered.

  Dash grabbed his arm to escort him out, but Lucas shook it off. He turned to go but spotted Poppy standing frozen in place by the bar, next to her newfound fan, Sammy.

  Poppy quickly turned away to hide her face and murmured to Iris, “Where’s Matt?”

  “I sent him out for more ice,” Iris said, confused.

  That was one silver lining.

  At least Lucas wouldn’t spot Matt Flowers, private eye, at the party.

  “Well, well, well, look who it is. The big, bad detective lady with the killer purse! I should sue you for assault, you know. I still got the bruises to prove it!”

  “What’s he talking about?” Esther asked, curious.

  “She’s a private detective! That’s what I’m talking about! She’s working for my mother to find her stolen jewelry!”

  “No I’m not,” Poppy said weakly. “I just work for one part-time, as his secretary. . . .”

  “Just like in Jack Colt! Art imitates life! How cool is that?” Sammy exclaimed.

  “So that’s why you threw this party? So you could gather as many of the residents as you could in one room and investigate us as possible suspects?” Esther asked pointedly.

  “No, like I said, I’m just the secretary. I don’t do any of the real investigating. . . .”

  “Sure looked like you were when I ran into you and your boss at the pawnshop . . .”

  “Enough, Lucas. You got your money. Now just leave!” Shirley said to her son.

  He didn’t budge.

  “Do not test me, or that will be the last check I write out to you ever again, I swear,” Shirley whispered.

  Lucas finally relented, threw one last threatening look toward Poppy, and then stalked out the door.

  All the guests in the house were staring at Poppy with expressions of shock, confusion, and outright suspicion.

  Violet scampered up to Poppy. “Would now be a good time to serve the bruschetta with peach salsa and melted Brie?”

  “Yes, Violet,” Poppy said, her face reddening to the point where it now matched the sunburned complexion of her new number one fan, Sammy Hamilton, who still stood next to her, with a goofy smile and adoring eyes.

  Chapter 25

  “You must see the view of the mountains from the bedroom,” cooed Candace, the perky, blond, suntanned real estate agent, as she led Poppy from the rather drab, empty, surprisingly small living room space and through a door to the bedroom. Candace eagerly yanked open the curtains and gestured to a tall four-story apartment building.

  “I’m sorry. Where is the mountain?” Poppy asked after walking over and peering out the window.

  “Just to the right,” Candace said, an encouraging smile firmly planted on her face.

  Poppy had to crane her neck in order to see the “breathtaking mountain view,” as promised in the ad. She could just make out a piece of it between the apartment building directly in front of her and the mini mall next door.

  “Lovely,” she lied.

  Candace knew her sales pitch was faltering, and fumbled with some papers in her hands. “Let’s check out the kitchen, shall we?”

  As they left the bedroom, Poppy’s heart sank. She hated this apartment for so many reasons, but it was within her price range, and she could afford the down payment with the advance she had received from the Shirley Fox case. Her beloved house had already been sold, and she had been staying with Iris until they all moved into Betty’s house to work on the case. However, with any luck, the case would be solved quickly, and she didn’t want to have to move back in with Iris. She abhorred the idea of encroaching on her friend’s privacy any more than she already had, and she was anxious to finally settle in somewhere she could call home.

  The kitchen was even less impressive.

  Tiny stove.

  Tiny refrigerator.

  Narrow counter.

  One small drawer for utensils and very little cupboard space.

  Poppy had learned to cook after retiring from acting and considered herself a gourmet, especially after bingeing on all those Food Network competition shows and ticking off in her mind just what ingredients she would use to win the first-place prize. Working in this kitchen would be downright depressing after the expansive, U-shaped, luxury custom white kitchen with a dark island and a built-in wine rack she had treasured in her last home with Chester.

  Poppy told herself all that was in the past and she was living a new reality now and simply had to make the best of it. Still, her eyes welled up with tears, but she forced a smile and turned to an expectant Candace.

  “It’s very nice, but I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Don’t wait too long. These units are being snapped up like crazy!”

  That was a tough buy, to be sure, but Poppy nodded politely and said, “I won’t.”

  Outside, she climbed into the shiny blue used Toyota Yaris she had bought after trading in her Mercedes, and called Violet.

  “Hi, Poppy! How did you like the apartment?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” Poppy said.

  “What did she say?” she heard Iris ask in the background.

  “She didn’t like it,” Violet confirmed.

  “I hate to say I told you so, but I could tell from the photos it was not for you,” Iris said after grabbing the phone.

  Iris never, ever hated saying, “I told you so.”

  “I’m going to keep looking,” Poppy said.

  “Good. You are welcome to stay as long as you want at my house after we move out of Betty’s,” Iris said. “Normally, houseguests who overstay their welcome get on my last nerve, but not you. I actually enjoy your company. I was totally surprised. I was certain I was going to resent you after a few days.”

  “Thank you . . . I think. Now, how’s it going with you two?” Poppy said, anxious to change the subject.

  “Violet’s drinking too much. It’s barely noon,” Iris said.

  Violet took the phone back. “Don’t listen to her. I am undercover and just trying to fit in with the rest of the Palm Leaf crowd. Everyone’s having a Bloody Mary!”

  “She’s already slurring her words,” Iris said.

  “I am not slurring my words!” Violet cried. She slurred the word slurring.

  Fo
r a self-proclaimed teetotaler, Violet sure was adapting to the cocktail-hour life in the Palm Leaf faster than either Poppy or Iris.

  Poppy had assigned Iris and Violet to have lunch at the Palm Leaf Country Club, where most of the residents hung out for lunch or a drink after their daily golf game, hoping they might socialize some more with the home owners and possibly suss out additional valuable information related to the break-ins that the two women could use in their investigation. Better them than her, since Lucas had pretty much blown her cover at the party.

  “So have you heard anything useful yet?” Poppy asked.

  There was an awkward pause on the other end of the phone.

  “Iris, Violet, are you still there?”

  “Yes, we’re here,” Iris said solemnly. “To be honest, Poppy, the only topic of conversation anyone here is interested in is you working as a secretary for a private detective.”

  “Let me guess. They’re gloating over the fact that the once semi-famous actress and former happy housewife to a wealthy businessman is now desperately trying to make ends meet with menial office work?”

  “No, it’s not like that!” Violet said in the background.

  “Yes, it is, Violet. Don’t lie. Poppy deserves to know the truth,” Iris barked.

  “Well, it’s not like I’m surprised. It’s natural for people to gossip about someone’s dramatic fall from grace,” Poppy said, resigned.

  Violet grabbed the phone from Iris and wailed, “People can be so mean!”

  “Listen, why don’t you two hang out there and talk to as many people as you can until it thins out.”

  “What are you going to do?” Violet asked.

  “I’m going to go back to Betty’s house and do a little online research about everyone we befriended at the party. Maybe something suspicious or revealing might pop up.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Violet asked.

  “I’m going to start with Facebook. People tend to overshare on social media, so there’s no telling what clues we can mine there.”

  “That is such a smart idea! Oh, Poppy, I always knew in my heart you were cut out for this line of work,” Violet cried.

  Poppy heard Iris yelling in the background. “Stop sucking up, Violet. It makes you look utterly foolish!”

  “Keep up the good work, girls,” Poppy said, then ended the call.

  * * *

  When Poppy pulled into the driveway of Betty’s house fifteen minutes later, she was overcome with a sense of foreboding.

  She had no real reason to feel afraid.

  The house looked exactly as she had left it earlier that morning.

  Poppy fumbled in her pocket for the key and let herself inside.

  The air conditioner was humming.

  Nothing appeared out of place.

  Until she noticed the sliding glass door leading to the patio was open a crack.

  Iris and Violet had been up and gone since dawn.

  She had been the last one to leave that morning, and she was absolutely certain she had locked that door before she left.

  Upon closer inspection, Poppy’s stomach did a flip-flop. The flimsy lock was lying outside, on the cement patio. It was bent and busted, as if it had been pried off the door with bolt cutters.

  She glanced around the living room area, kitchen, and patio. Nothing else appeared disturbed or out of place.

  She carefully and deliberately made her way into the guest room with the bunk beds, where she stayed with Iris. Beds made. Toys put away. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. She crossed the hall and went into the master suite, where Violet slept. Same story. Bed made. All of Betty’s collectible Disney figurines positioned exactly as they were before.

  Suddenly, she heard a tapping noise coming from the master bath. She slowly turned around. The door was open halfway, and there was a figure dressed in black and wearing a ski mask scrawling something on the mirror with Violet’s Rouge Dior lipstick.

  Poppy impulsively screamed.

  Startled, the intruder dropped the lipstick on the basin and spun around.

  Their eyes locked.

  Before Poppy could make a run for it, the masked intruder flew out of the bathroom, grabbed her violently by the arms, and hurled her to the floor before bolting out of the room and out the front door.

  After lying on the floor a few seconds to catch her breath and recover from the shock, Poppy slowly crawled to her feet but was too shaken to give chase.

  Besides, the intruder appeared far stronger and fitter.

  There was very little chance she would be able to catch up to him, let alone overpower him.

  She walked over to the bathroom door that was ajar and just stared at what the intruder had hastily scribbled on the bathroom mirror in Violet’s lipstick.

  Drop the case or die!

  Chapter 26

  “So can you describe the man you caught in your bathroom?” Detective Lamar Jordan asked, his penetrating brown eyes fixed on a nervous Poppy, who was still rattled by her unexpected encounter with the Palm Leaf burglar.

  “He was wearing a ski mask, so I didn’t see his face,” Poppy answered.

  They stood in the master bedroom, and Detective Jordan, a strikingly handsome African American man who was over six feet tall, with a deep, melodic, soothing voice, glanced at the mirror in the bathroom. “Why do you suppose the intruder wrote that on the mirror? Drop the case or die? Do you have any idea what that means?”

  Poppy cleared her throat and murmured, “Yes. I’m a private investigator.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Detective Jordan said with a raised eyebrow.

  One of the young uniformed officers who had accompanied the plainclothes detective stopped in his tracks as he was passing by, looking for clues, and stared at Poppy, his mouth agape, convinced he hadn’t heard right.

  “I’m a private detective,” Poppy said, this time louder.

  The officer snickered and, after a sharp, disapproving look from Detective Jordan, scurried out of the bedroom to join his partner, who was poking around the living room.

  “I see,” Detective Jordan said, obviously suppressing a smile.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “No, ma’am. Just trying to get down all the information,” he said, yanking a notepad and pen from his coat pocket and jotting down notes from their conversation. “Are you licensed?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied firmly. “With the state of California.”

  “Okay. Got it,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to his pad and writing furiously. “What kind of case does the intruder want you to stop investigating?”

  “We’ve been hired to recover some stolen jewelry from a client,” Poppy said.

  “We?”

  “Yes. My partners, Iris Becker and Violet Hogan, and I.”

  “And what is the name of your agency?”

  “The Desert Flowers Detective Agency.”

  He looked up from his pad and smiled. “That’s cute.”

  “What?”

  “You’re all named after flowers. The Desert Flowers. It’s adorable.”

  “If you think so.”

  Poppy had made the strategic decision to leave out Matt’s role in their operation, mostly because she didn’t want to give this smug, patronizing detective any more reason to think she was a joke.

  He was already amused by the fact that she fancied herself a detective on par with him, and that irritated her.

  “And all three of you live here?”

  “No. We’re house-sitting for a friend who is out of town.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Betty Mason.”

  “I was expecting her name to be Rose,” Detective Jordan chuckled.

  “Why is that?”

  “Another flower.”

  “Funny,” Poppy said with a straight face.

  “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  Poppy didn’t dispute his snap assessment.

  “So I assum
e you moved in here temporarily to be closer to where the rash of break-ins occurred?”

  “Yes. The police have basically been, shall we say, lagging in their efforts to solve the case, so our client enlisted us to see if we might be more effectual,” Poppy said pointedly.

  “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” Detective Jordan said defensively. “They have a lot on their plate.”

  “And I suppose a few stolen watches in a sleepy retirement community isn’t what they consider a top priority.”

  “That’s not true,” Detective Jordan said, now stone-faced.

  Poppy shrugged, thoroughly unconvinced.

  “Who’s your client?” he asked.

  “That’s privileged information.”

  “No it’s not. You’re not a lawyer, and we’re not in court. You can tell me who hired you.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think it’s best I respect her privacy.”

  “So it’s a woman,” Detective Jordan said, scribbling on his pad.

  Poppy wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. She still had a lot to learn about being a cagey private eye.

  The officer who had been scouting the living room ambled in and nodded politely to Poppy.

  “Find anything?” Detective Jordan asked.

  The officer shook his head. “We’re still dusting for fingerprints.”

  “You won’t find any belonging to the man who broke in here. He was wearing gloves,” Poppy said.

  “Okay, well, I think we’re about done here. Here is my card, if you remember anything else,” Detective Jordan said, pressing his business card in the palm of her hand.

  “Thank you, Detective,” Poppy said.

  Suddenly, they heard the front door of the house burst open and Matt’s booming voice. “Poppy! Poppy! Where are you?”

  “In here,” Poppy said, suddenly regretting not telling the detective everything about the Desert Flowers Detective Agency.

  Matt bounded in the room, wearing a bright purple Izod pullover shirt, white shorts, sneakers, and bearing a tennis racket. “I rushed over as soon as Iris called me! I was playing a few sets with Buddy. Are you all right?”