Poppy Harmon Investigates

by Lee Hollis

  “I don’t. . . .”

  “I did what I did out of love for you.”

  “I know. . . .”

  Poppy could tell Matt wanted to run to her and envelop her in a big bear hug and tell her everything was going to be okay, because he instinctively knew Poppy was hurting, but he couldn’t, because he had to remain loyal to his girlfriend. But Poppy also knew Matt had grown fond of her, as she had of him, and it was killing him that he couldn’t be a more comforting presence to her during this extremely difficult time.

  Poppy stood up from the table.

  “Well, I guess I made the trip over here for nothing. You already knew,” Poppy said, shaking her head.

  “Mother, don’t be like that,” Heather scolded.

  Poppy was trying her best not to break down.

  She wasn’t angry at her daughter for keeping such a devastating secret, and she certainly didn’t blame Heather for any of the pain she was suffering from the revelations.

  She understood Heather had just been trying to shield her from a broken heart, but what bothered her the most, what rubbed her so raw, was that she was suddenly a boring cliché.

  A role she had played on screen but never in real life.

  The unsuspecting wife.

  Blithely skipping through life, oblivious to what everyone else knew was going on around her.

  The last one to know.

  And it made her feel like such a fool.

  Poppy gave her daughter a perfunctory hug and offered a cheerless smile before nodding to Matt, who appeared to be on the verge of tears himself as he watched her wander out the door.

  “Call me when you get home so I know you made it safe,” Heather called after her.

  Poppy raised her arm as she descended the steps of the apartment building to the parking lot below, and gave a little wave to acknowledge her.

  She got out of there as fast as she could, because she thought she might start to cry again.

  But she didn’t.

  Her emotions were firmly in check.

  And by the time she reached her car and was driving back to the garage office at Iris’s house, where she had called an emergency meeting with her two Desert Flowers partners, she wasn’t feeling sad or distressed.

  Instead, she was full of grim determination.

  Chapter 39

  “Well, there is only one course of action,” Iris announced. “We drop Shirley Fox as a client!”

  There was a brief moment of silence in the garage office as the Desert Flowers detectives pondered this.

  Violet finally broke the silence. “That strikes me as a tad extreme.”

  “What part of ‘She was sleeping with my husband’ did you not hear Poppy say, Violet?” Iris bellowed.

  “It’s terrible, I know, and if Poppy wants to drop the case, that’s her prerogative, and it would be totally understandable, but . . .”

  “But what?” Iris snarled.

  “Maybe this situation is not so black and white. . . .”

  “Yes, it is! That slut was having an affair with Chester behind Poppy’s back! We should have nothing to do with her!”

  Poppy listened to her two best friends as they argued in front of her, still thunderstruck and confused by all the recent revelations that had come to light.

  “It wasn’t just Shirley Fox. There were others . . . ,” Poppy mumbled.

  “What?” Iris bellowed.

  “Oh, Poppy, dear, I am so sorry. . . .” Violet cried.

  “You ought to be sorry, Violet, for taking Shirley Fox’s side!” Iris bellowed.

  “I did no such thing!” Violet cried.

  “Violet’s right. We should think about this before we act recklessly and abruptly drop Shirley as a client,” Poppy said.

  “What is there to think about?” Iris demanded to know.

  “Chester is the sole reason why I find myself in such dire financial circumstances. And it’s because he was a world-class liar and had a whole other secret life that he kept me completely in the dark about.”

  “Shirley is not blameless! It takes two to tango!” Iris argued.

  “I know that. But right now she seems to be a big part of the solution to my problems. She has already paid a tidy sum for a deposit, with the promise of a whole lot more if and when we retrieve her jewelry and officially clear her name.”

  “There is something called standing on principle!” Iris barked.

  “There is also something called paying your rent on time,” Poppy said. “And, at the moment, she’s the best chance I have to fight my way back to solvency.”

  “I agree . . . ,” Violet said, more forceful since she now knew that Poppy was on her side.

  Iris threw up her hands. “Fine. What do I care? She wasn’t cheating with my husband!”

  “Now, we may receive a call from Shirley any second, firing us, but until that happens, I say we just move forward with the case and try to make as much progress as we can so we have something concrete to report to her,” Poppy said calmly.

  “We can call her right now, because I have some good news she will want to hear,” Violet said, smiling, as she printed out a file from her computer.

  Poppy rushed over to the printer to retrieve the pages. “What?”

  “I have the results from the DNA test Shirley took at the police station,” Violet said, barely managing to contain her excitement.

  Poppy snatched the pages from the feeder and eagerly flipped through them. “And?”

  “She’s in the clear. The skin found under Olivia’s fingernails is not a match.”

  “Violet, how did you . . . ?” Poppy’s voice trailed off.

  Violet smiled demurely. “I have my ways.”

  “Please tell me you did not have Wyatt hack his way into the Palm Desert Police Department’s computer system.”

  “No . . . Well, I asked him if he might be able to, and he called me back a few minutes later and said they had surprisingly tough security and he couldn’t breach their firewall.”

  “Thank God!”

  “So I did the next best thing. I called Gladys Hackett.”

  “Who is Gladys Hackett?” Iris asked.

  “One of the women I play cards with. Her grandson Cleve works at the lab where the Palm Desert PD sends all its samples for testing.”

  “And he sent you the results, just like that?” Poppy asked, incredulous.

  “Well, not exactly. You see, Gladys owed me because I covered her bar tab at the club last month, and so she put in a call to her grandson Cleve. It turns out Gladys promised to leave Cleve some of her property when she passes on, so he has a good reason to keep his nana happy. . . .”

  “I get it. Nice work,” Poppy said as she plucked her phone off the desk and placed a call.

  She took a deep breath.

  After a few rings, she heard the unsteady, anxious voice of Shirley Fox.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, Shirley. This is Poppy Harmon with the Desert Flowers Detective Agency. . . .”

  “Poppy, I don’t know what to say. . . .”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I’m the one who called you. I have some very good news. Matt got his hands on a copy of the results from your DNA test, and I’m happy to report that you are one hundred percent in the clear for Olivia Hammersmith’s murder.”

  “Oh . . . thank you. . . . I’m so glad he convinced me to cooperate with the police. . . .”

  “Now he is going to focus all his attention on recovering your missing jewelry,” Poppy said, striking as professional a tone as she could possibly muster.

  “I appreciate that. Please tell him how grateful I am that he is working so hard on my case.”

  “I will,” Poppy said.

  “Poppy, I just want to say . . .”

  “He will be in touch as soon as he has more information,” Poppy said. And then she hung up on her.

  Iris and Violet observed her with trepidation, waiting to see if she was going to crumble after th
at very difficult call.

  But Poppy knew she was going to remain strong and persevere.

  She had to because it was her only option at the moment.

  She needed to be successful and solve this case.

  Despite the heart-wrenching curveballs that kept flying at her out of nowhere.

  Chapter 40

  The last name Poppy expected to hear again so soon was Gladys Hackett, Violet’s drinking pal and the grandmother to a lab tech for Riverside County, but that was exactly whose name popped up on her phone when Violet texted her, telling her to drive over to Gladys’s home immediately. That text was followed by another text with an address and directions. When Poppy texted back to inquire as to what this was all about, Violet instantly responded by writing, Big break in the case!

  So wasting no further time, Poppy jumped in her car and drove from Betty’s house straight across the Palm Leaf property to Sunny Dale Drive and the third house on the left, as instructed.

  An older woman with bleached blond hair piled high on her head, thick painted red lips, and an extreme face-lift that gave her a permanent look of surprise opened the door.

  “Gladys?”

  “Yes. Please come in,” she said in a high-pitched, girly voice as she pumped Poppy’s hand up and down a few times before pulling her inside.

  Poppy entered to find Violet clearing some plates with remnants of pie and empty coffee cups from the dining room table.

  “I want to thank you for helping us out yesterday, Gladys,” Poppy said.

  “My pleasure. My grandson Cleve will do anything for me. He has to because he wants me to leave him my lake house in Big Bear. He’s a sweet kid but a greedy son of a—”

  “Well, I’m very grateful,” Poppy interjected, cutting her off.

  “I’m sorry the place is a mess, but I just had some ladies over to play cards.”

  Poppy knew all about Violet’s biweekly card game with the girls. They met at a different house every two weeks so that none of them had to end up hosting all the time. Violet had mentioned that it wasn’t the card game with very small stakes—dimes and quarters, for the most part—that stoked their competitive side, but the baked goods that were served. They all considered themselves to be master chefs, and each woman spent the days leading up to the game when it was her turn to host whipping up tasty sandwiches and interesting salads and baking cakes, pies, and cookies to show up the food served at the last game.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee and a slice of my homemade coconut cream pie, Poppy? It went over very well with the other girls,” Gladys cooed.

  “No, thank you,” Poppy said, smiling, before noticing the stricken look on Gladys’s face, or what appeared to be one. It was hard to tell from her severe face-lift.

  “Oh . . . okay . . . ,” Gladys moaned.

  Violet signaled Poppy to just accept a piece of damn pie.

  “You know what, Gladys? I’ve changed my mind! A piece of your pie sounds absolutely delicious!” Poppy declared.

  Brightening, Gladys shuffled off to the kitchen.

  When she was gone, Poppy turned to Violet.

  “What’s this all about?”

  “Esther Hamilton. The woman you met at the party we threw at Betty’s house. The one in the wheelchair, with the germaphobe son,” Violet said.

  “Yes, I remember. What about her?”

  “Well, she was here playing cards today, and I overheard her talking to Gladys about how absentminded she can be and how she is always locking herself out of the house when she goes grocery shopping or golfing, so she has to keep a spare key hidden outside, under a flowerpot.”

  Poppy shrugged.

  “Okay. That’s not unusual. . . .”

  “And so Gladys offered up her own secret hiding place for her extra house key.”

  “So you think Esther was purposely luring her into revealing that information?”

  “Not at first. It sounded like a completely innocent conversation, but then Esther excused herself to go to the bathroom, and she was gone a really long time, and so I went to see if she might need some help, given her handicap, and I caught her wheeling out of the spare bedroom at the end of the hall, which Gladys uses as an office.”

  “Did she take anything?”

  “She had a small piece of paper in her hand and she appeared really nervous when she saw me. Esther claimed she had just been looking for a pen in the office to write herself a note. She said she needed a few groceries and wanted to write them down so she wouldn’t forget before she called Sammy to go to the store. Well, I pretended to believe her, but when she returned to the table, I doubled back to the office and saw that the paper in her hand was from a notepad on the desk. I could barely make out the impression left on the pad of what she had written, so I colored it in with a pencil to get a clearer picture and it was not a grocery list!”

  She handed a piece of paper to Poppy.

  On it was scribbled the numbers 41692.

  “Four-one-six-nine-two?”

  “My grandson’s birthday,” Gladys answered as she entered with a dessert plate with a heaping piece of coconut cream pie on it. She handed it to Poppy, along with a tiny silver fork. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you. It looks yummy.” Poppy ignored the slice of pie. “Why would Esther be writing down the date of your grandson’s birthday?”

  “It’s also the password to turn off the security alarm in the house,” Violet said solemnly. “Gladys has it written down in the owner’s manual she keeps . . .”

  “In her office,” Poppy said.

  “In the top left drawer of my desk,” Gladys said.

  Poppy’s mind raced as she put the pieces of the puzzle together, until she noticed Gladys staring at her with disappointed wide eyes and that disconcerting perpetual look of surprise.

  It took her a moment to figure out why Gladys appeared so sad.

  Poppy hadn’t bothered to try her pie yet.

  Poppy cut herself a healthy piece and stuffed it in her mouth.

  “Oh, Gladys, it’s scrumptious!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. This is one of the best pies I’ve ever tasted!”

  “Aw, you’re just saying that. . . .”

  Poppy shook her head. “No, I’m serious.”

  Finally, after a few more minutes of Poppy fawning over Gladys’s baking talents, they managed to get back on topic.

  “So after everyone left, Gladys and I sat down and went over who hosted the card games over the past few months, from when the break-ins started,” Violet recounted breathlessly. “And get this, Abigail Rogers hosted in April, and a week later her house was robbed. In June it was Dolores Connelly, in August it was Sylvia Whitfield, and then, this past September . . .”

  “Shirley Fox!” Poppy gasped.

  “Bingo. It was Shirley’s first time hosting,” Violet said. “It’s been hard to nail her down with her busy show schedule.”

  “It was also the mother lode for the thieves, since she had so much expensive jewelry lying around,” Poppy said.

  “My guess is that Esther attends the card games held at houses in the complex and sizes up the layout of the houses and finds out how they can gain access without resorting to forcible entry or setting off a burglar alarm,” Violet said.

  “And then she has her son Sammy carry out the actual burglaries!” Poppy said, the excitement inside her growing as the details fell perfectly into place.

  “Yes! We’re dealing with a mother-and-son team of thieves!” Violet cried, clapping her hands. “We cracked the case!”

  “This is a cause for celebration! I’ll get us some more pie!” Gladys said before swiveling her wide hips around and dashing back into the kitchen.

  “What about Olivia Hammersmith?” Poppy asked.

  “She played with us only once, most notably when Shirley was out of town, but she looked bored the whole time and never came back.”

  “So she never hosted a game?”

  “No
, never.”

  “So maybe Esther and Sammy found another way to gain access to Olivia’s house and somehow didn’t expect her to be home at the time. She could have surprised Sammy, and he panicked and perhaps pushed her away or something, maybe a little too hard, and she tripped and fell and hit her head on the coffee table and died,” Poppy said.

  “Which would make Esther and Sammy guilty of murder.”

  Chapter 41

  Poppy was unprepared when Iris slapped her hard across the face in front of everyone in the clubhouse bar at the weekly Palm Leaf Friday night mixer.

  She reached up to rub her stinging cheek and then, boiling over with rage, shouted, “How dare you? Get away from me!”

  Iris stood her ground, steely-eyed and determined. She held her hand out. “Give me back that necklace now!”

  The necklace in question was a Blue Nile signature floating diamond solitaire pendant in platinum from Tiffany, which Poppy had borrowed from an old pal, the ex-wife of a major Hollywood studio mogul. The woman had divorced the studio mogul in 2003 and had walked away with roughly twenty-five million dollars. This pendant was worth about five grand. Upon hearing that Poppy needed an expensive piece of jewelry to help solve a case she was working on in her new career as a private detective, the wealthy pal was more than happy to lend the necklace. She found this whole crime-solving enterprise of Poppy’s exciting and was just dying to be a part of it. Poppy promised to take good care of the pendant, because she knew if it got lost or destroyed, she had no means to replace it.

  “I told you, this was a gift. It doesn’t belong to you,” Poppy said, gingerly backing away from Iris.

  The crowd huddled around as the dramatic scene unfolded, watching in awe as the two women carried on with their very loud and public showdown.

  Iris advanced toward Poppy, who threw a hand over the pendant to prevent Iris from literally tearing it off her neck.

  “He had no right to give it to you! That was a gift to me on our tenth wedding anniversary!” Iris said, seething.

  “He told me he bought it while on a business trip in Paris! When he saw it in the window, he knew he wanted me to have it!”

  “Well, the bastard lied to you! He promised me I could have it when he filed for divorce, but then he stole it, and I’ve been trying for years to get it back.”