by Lee Hollis
“I’m fine, Matt. You didn’t have to come,” Poppy said, suddenly sweating.
“Are you her son?” Detective Jordan asked.
“No, her boss,” Matt said, extending a hand. “Matt Flowers.”
“As in the Desert Flowers Detective Agency?”
“Yes! Wow! You’ve heard of us?”
Detective Jordan eyed Poppy warily. “Poppy was just telling me all about it.”
“Actually, I’m Mr. Flowers’s secretary,” Poppy muttered.
“I see,” Detective Jordan said with a sympathetic look.
It was better that he believe Poppy was just a sad, pathetic, insecure woman who found it necessary to make up stories in order to project a more successful, empowering image of herself than Poppy explain to the detective the real, far more complicated situation.
It also made her more determined than ever to prove to the police and to herself that she was entirely capable of solving this case.
“I won’t take up any more of your time,” Detective Jordan said, offering Poppy a compassionate smile before walking out.
Matt suddenly threw his arms around her. “Oh, Poppy, I was so worried about you!”
“I’m fine,” Poppy said, wriggling free from his grasp.
“I should’ve been here working on the case with you instead of playing tennis!”
“Really, you’re doing great. Just focus on being the face of the agency.”
Her words fell on deaf ears.
She could tell he was totally invested in being an equal partner with the rest of them, inserting himself into all the action.
“I should call Heather,” Matt said, reaching in his back pocket for his cell phone.
“No!” Poppy cried, grabbing his arm.
“But she’ll want to know. . . .”
“Yes, because it will further bolster her case that I should give up on this whole private detective scheme.”
“Poppy, she’s your daughter. . . .”
“Yes, and I love her dearly, but, Matt, listen to me. Heather is so against this already. If she finds out I was attacked, it will just make things much worse. She’ll be hounding me and you even more than she already is, and I can’t have her continually distracting us from our first case.”
“I don’t know. . . .” Matt hesitated.
“You have to promise me you will not say a word to her. Otherwise, this whole thing goes away, and I can tell you’re having a lot of fun doing this.”
A smile creeped across Matt’s handsome face.
“Do you swear?” Poppy implored.
After a few tense moments, during which Matt rolled the whole matter over in his mind, he finally raised his little finger. “Pinkie swear?”
“My God, sometimes you act like a five-year-old.”
“I like to think I’m just young at heart,” he said, hugging her again.
Poppy sighed with relief, feeling as if she had plugged a possible leak for now. But Matt was a blabbermouth, and she worried it was only a matter of time before he slipped and Heather found out that their big case had suddenly taken a dangerous turn.
Chapter 27
Poppy was impressed when she arrived at the Desert Flowers Detective Agency garage office to discover that Violet had set up a mini command center with her grandson Wyatt. The kid wore a gray T-shirt with the Captain America shield emblazoned on the front of it, and was glued to a desktop computer, working feverishly, as Violet busily laid out a row of printed documents on her desk. A pizza box with only two pepperoni slices left in it was lying on the counter in the kitchen area, alongside several empty soda cans. It appeared as if they had been working hard for quite some time.
Violet looked up and peered over her thin, gold reading glasses when she heard Poppy enter. “Oh, good. You’re here.”
“What’s all this?” Poppy asked.
“Wyatt and I have been doing a little research on Shirley Fox’s ex-husband, Farley Mead. According to public records we found online, Farley is suing her for back alimony. I printed out all the court documents for you to look over.”
“I didn’t even know we had a printer.”
“We didn’t. I had to buy one at Office Depot. I put it on the company card.”
“We have a company card?”
“Yes. We needed one for business expenses, so I applied for one at the bank. It just arrived in the mail. Now, I’ve read over the lawsuit, and it looks like Farley is claiming that Shirley had some previously undisclosed income from a real estate deal she had gotten involved in when they were still married and that the property has appreciated in value—quite considerably, I might add—and so he’s going after half of the equity, which he claims he is entitled to according to California law.”
“Is he?”
“I’m not sure. She went into escrow on the property when they were still officially married, but she delayed signing the papers until the day after their divorce was final. Her lawyers are, of course, arguing that the case is without merit, since she didn’t technically acquire the property until after the divorce. The whole lawsuit whiffs of desperation.”
“Farley has money problems?”
“Boy, is that an understatement! Wyatt was able to hack into his bank portfolio, and let’s just say it’s a pretty bleak picture. He’s drowning in debt!”
“Like, way more than your husband, Aunt Poppy!” Wyatt said, piping in, before picking up a piece of chewed-up pizza crust that lay on the desk, next to the computer, and gnawing at it.
“I’m sorry. Can we go back? Wyatt did what?”
“I know it sounds difficult to bypass all those security firewalls and such, but I watched him do it, and he made it look so easy,” Violet said with a bright smile. “I’m so proud of him.”
“You do realize that’s illegal!” Poppy cried.
“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” Wyatt said.
“Eat your pizza, dear,” Violet said quickly. “Grandma will handle this.”
“Violet, you can’t ask your grandson to hack into a major corporation’s Web site. We could all go to prison!”
“It was his idea!” Violet argued.
“It wasn’t like it was Bank of America or something! It was just one of those dinky local banks. Their security system sucked big-time. Trust me, they’ll never know,” Wyatt offered.
Violet crossed to the refrigerator and plucked out a bottle of water and carried it over to Wyatt. “Drink this, dear. Too much soda isn’t good for you.”
“Neither is breaking the law!” Poppy shrieked.
Violet nodded submissively. “You’re right, Poppy. I’m sorry. Wyatt, apologize to your aunt Poppy and promise to never do it again.”
“Yeah, okay, sorry. I promise I won’t do it again, Aunt Poppy.”
Poppy didn’t believe a word the kid was saying.
To begin with, she wasn’t even his real aunt.
“Looking at Farley’s finances got me thinking. What if he was afraid his lawsuit was going to get thrown out of court, and then where would he be? Maybe he stole Shirley’s jewelry so he could hock it for the cash to help him get out of debt!”
“What about the other burglaries?” Poppy asked.
Violet shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe he did those, too,” Wyatt offered excitedly. “You know, to make it look like they were all random so he wouldn’t look suspicious.”
“You’re such a smart boy, Wyatt. Why are you getting Cs in school?” Violet asked.
“Because I’m bored out of my mind, and I hate all my teachers! They’re know-nothing idiots!” Wyatt yelled. “Can we order more pizza?”
“Of course, dear,” Violet said before turning back to Poppy. “He is such a valuable asset to our detective agency, don’t you think?”
“So what are we supposed to do with this information?” Poppy asked.
“We have that covered. Wyatt and I had a brainstorming session over pizza, and we think one of us should get close to
him and press him into opening up, and maybe he’ll slip and say something useful or incriminating.”
“One of us, meaning Iris,” Poppy said.
“Of course! She already has a history with him. By the way, where on earth is she?” Violet said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I called her twenty minutes ago and told her we needed her over here immediately because Wyatt used her e-mail address to contact Farley and set up a Skype call so she can ask him out on a date.”
“You what?”
“It’s already three minutes to four.”
As if on cue, the door flew open and Iris marched inside. “What is so damn important I had to cut my card game with the girls short and race over here?”
“We are working on a case, Iris. You need to make yourself available at all times,” Violet scolded.
Iris’s face reddened, but she refrained from comment.
Suddenly, the face of Farley Mead appeared on the computer screen, next to the Skype icon, and a ringtone indicated an incoming call.
“That’s him,” Violet said. “Iris, we need you to go out to dinner with Farley Mead.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s for the Shirley Fox case. We’ll explain everything later,” Poppy said, deciding on the spot that Violet and Wyatt’s scheme actually wasn’t half bad.
“I most certainly will not!”
“But it’s your duty as an operative for the Desert Flowers Detective Agency to investigate a suspect by any means necessary!” Violet cried.
“I did not sign up for this! I will not be a prostitute!”
“No one is asking you to have sex with him!” Poppy said.
“Wyatt, cover your ears,” Violet ordered, flashing Poppy a hard look.
“Please, Grandma, I know all about sex! I’m twelve!” Wyatt said, rolling his eyes.
“They grow up so fast nowadays,” Violet said, shaking her head.
Poppy grabbed Iris by the shoulders and hustled her over in front of the tiny camera above the desktop computer screen. “You wanted to be a private detective. Now’s your chance to prove how good you are. This is a simple undercover assignment. You can do this, Iris. Just invite him out to dinner for tomorrow night.”
Iris sighed, glared at all of them, and then straightened her blouse and cleared her throat. Poppy and Violet scooted out of sight of the camera, and Wyatt clicked a button on the keyboard and then ducked out of the frame.
“Iris? Is that you?” Farley asked.
All that they could see was a giant cleft chin.
“Sit back a little, Farley. You’re too close to the camera!” Iris said, sighing.
He adjusted himself, and now his large nose and wide nostrils were all they could make out.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“No!” Iris roared. “Go farther back! You’re still too close!”
Farley moved back, but now only half his face could be seen.
“Move right, Farley! I can see only half of you.”
He moved left and was now completely gone.
“Your other right, you stupid—”
“Be nice, Iris!” Poppy hissed under her breath from the other side of the room.
Farley finally entered the frame, and they could now see his entire face.
“Sorry. I’m just not used to using this Skip thing.”
“It’s Skype!” Iris said, correcting him and shaking her head.
“I have to tell you, the last thing I expected to get today was an e-mail from the lovely Iris Becker. Hearing from you brought back a lot of colorful memories from that summer in Munich. . . .”
“Yes, that was a long time ago,” Iris said.
“Remember the night backstage after my show, in my dressing room, when you did that sexy little striptease to . . . ?”
“Shut up, Farley!” Iris screeched.
“Oh, come on. It’s just the two of us here. . . .”
“I don’t remember that!”
“Don’t be shy, you little minx! You certainly weren’t that night, as I recall. . . .”
Violet clapped her hands over Wyatt’s ears.
“You did it to ‘Yes Sir, I Can Boogie,’ by Baccara. That was your favorite song at the time. . . .”
The blood was draining from Iris’s face, but she recovered quickly and barked, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night, Farley! We can reminisce about all those wild nights!”
“I’d love to!” he crowed.
“I will e-mail you tomorrow with a time and place,” Iris said.
“I look forward to seeing your lovely face again after all these years,” Farley said with a seductive smile, or at least his attempt at one. “There’s just one thing.”
“What?” Iris moaned.
“I have a friend staying with me while he’s in town, doing a play. Maybe we could make it a double date if you have a friend? He’s a great guy. Name’s Buddy Rhodes.”
Matt’s bloviating and aggravating costar who couldn’t remember his lines!
No! Not him!
Anybody but him!
“As a matter of fact,” Iris said, a satisfied smile creeping on her face, “my friend Poppy just dropped by as we were talking.”
Iris reached over, seized Poppy by the collar, and yanked her in front of the camera.
Poppy gave Farley a feeble wave.
“Pretty lady,” Farley said, leering. “Are you free to join us for dinner, Poppy?”
“I suppose so, yes,” Poppy said, defeated.
“Great! See you gals tomorrow! Now, how do you turn this off—”
Wyatt, who was on his knees, reached up and clicked a button, cutting him off prematurely.
Poppy buried her face in her hands. “Not Buddy Rhodes.”
“You wanted to be a private detective, Poppy. Now’s your chance. It’s a simple undercover assignment,” Iris said, thoroughly enjoying herself.
Chapter 28
“Looks like we hit the jackpot tonight, hey, Buddy?” Farley Mead said, elbowing Buddy Rhodes, who was sitting next to him, and leering at Poppy and Iris as they were escorted to the table by a rail-thin blond host in his early sixties, who was wearing a snappy blue dress shirt and crisp tan slacks, his eyes pried wide open and his inflexible cheeks impossibly tight from an obvious face-lift. He gave the ladies a Joker-like smile as he gestured to the two gentlemen waiting for them.
“Ladies, enjoy your dinner,” he said, which, in Poppy’s mind, was downright unimaginable, given the presence of their two lecherous dining companions.
Poppy had to admit, she was happy to be having dinner at Copley’s, a Palm Springs staple, with its gorgeous outdoor patio next to a charming little abode purportedly once owned by Cary Grant. Its movie-star pedigree got names on the reservation list, but the imaginative menu got them coming back.
Buddy sprang from his seat and pulled out a chair for Poppy, who smiled and whispered, “Thank you,” before sitting down.
When Farley attempted to do the same, Iris waved him away, refusing to allow him any opportunity to be gentlemanly.
“I can sit all by myself, thank you very much,” she barked.
Farley gazed lovingly at her, not the least bit deterred. “You both look lovely this evening,” Farley marveled. “Don’t they, Buddy?”
“I’ll say,” Buddy agreed before placing a paw on Poppy’s hand, which was reaching for a menu. “I was surprised you agreed to be my date tonight. When Matt first introduced us, I got the impression you weren’t all that interested in me.”
“Well,” Poppy said, sighing, “I’ve decided to take more chances in life, be more spontaneous, see where life leads me, be less rigid.”
Buddy winked at Farley. “We love women who aren’t so rigid, don’t we, Farley?”
Farley cackled. “I’ll say.”
Iris rolled her eyes, visibly disgusted. “I need a drink.”
“I’ve already ordered us a bottle of pinot noir,” Farley said.
“I alw
ays start with a vodka cocktail first, and then I move on to wine with dinner. That’s how I like to do things, and I am not going to change my habits for you,” Iris scoffed.
“Very well,” Farley said, waving over the waiter. “You haven’t changed a bit, Iris. Still outspoken and refreshingly honest.”
A tall, gangly waiter scooted over expectantly.
“I need a vodka as soon as you can get it to me,” Iris said.
Noticing that Buddy was holding Poppy’s hand, Farley quickly made a play to grab Iris’s hand, but she slapped it away.
Iris turned to the waiter. “Make it a double.”
The waiter scurried off.
Chastised for the moment, Farley kept his hands to himself and smiled. “What a coincidence that you two ladies are friends and that Buddy and I are pals, too. We go way back, late seventies, am I right, Buddy?”
“Oh, yeah, we met up in Vegas in nineteen seventy-eight, I believe, when we were both there trying to score a guest spot on Charlie’s Angels. The show was there shooting a big two-hour episode with Dean Martin, and frankly, neither of us were interested in actually getting parts. We just wanted to score with one of the Angels.”
“Did you?” Poppy asked, attempting to at least appear engaged in the conversation.
“Nah, never got near them,” Buddy said. “Farley had a better shot than me. He was a famous crooner. I was just an unknown bit player. But we bonded trying. Been friends ever since.”
“I got close, though. I was the second choice to play a lounge singer who turns out to be a bad guy, but in the end, they went with Dick Sergeant, you know, the second Darrin on Bewitched,” Farley said.
“Do you two honestly think this passes as interesting conversation?” Iris asked.
Poppy kicked her under the table.
Iris flinched and shot Poppy a look, but she finally got the hint and stopped with the insults.
Neither man appeared offended.
“We can always talk about our summer in Munich if you prefer, Iris,” Farley teased.
“I’d rather go back to hearing about you trying to get inside Cheryl Ladd’s pants,” Iris barked.
The next thirty minutes were devoted to Farley and Buddy’s wild days tearing up the town together in Hollywood during the drug-fueled 1980s, chasing after the hot TV actresses at the time, like Michelle Pfeiffer and Kim Basinger, long before they ever became über-famous film stars.
