Poppy Harmon Investigates

by Lee Hollis

  Poppy was too busy running the remaining suspects through her mind, determined to find out who had actually killed Olivia Hammersmith, to take much offense at Matt, who was bordering on becoming a fame whore.

  Chapter 43

  Poppy could hardly blame Matt for so greedily soaking up all the attention after the arrest of Esther Hamilton and her son Sammy.

  After all, he was an actor.

  Actors took to publicity like a trout to a running stream.

  And the whole Matt Flowers scheme had been her idea.

  But because of his movie-star good looks and disarming easy charm, the press quickly turned ravenous for pictures of Matt and interviews with him and decamped in front of Iris’s house in order to capture the perfect image of his gorgeous mug and toss out an endless stream of inane questions about his dating life, instead of making any serious inquiries about his crime-solving techniques.

  Iris, who had become quite fond of the baseball bat she had wielded on the night they caught Sammy Hamilton breaking into Gladys Hackett’s house, waved it menacingly at the reporters who dared trample the small flower garden she had so lovingly attended to out in front of her house.

  In order to calm down Iris, who was now livid and was shouting four-letter words at the reporters, Matt swaggered out of the garage office, strolled down the walkway to greet the gaggle of reporters, and promised to answer all their questions if they would only back up and away from Iris’s prized garden.

  They dutifully obeyed the suave local celebrity’s simple request and then greedily snapped pictures and shouted out more questions.

  “Is there a woman in your life, Matt?” One reporter asked as she stepped off a crushed desert marigold in the garden.

  Poppy, who was watching the circus from inside the garage office, saw him smile brightly. She waited for it to suddenly dawn on him that the actual woman in his life had been purposely kept in the dark about his continued role in the Desert Flowers Detective Agency, and that all this relentless positive press about his heroics in solving the crime would surely find its way to her attention.

  Any moment he would realize what a mistake he had made by grabbing the spotlight, and would wish he could take it all back, all his humorously entertaining sound bites, his bright, toothy smiles for the cameras, his flirtatious banter with the prettier female reporters.

  Poppy saw the KMIR-TV news truck parked across the street. They were among the swell of reporters and cameras rapturously recording Matt’s every thought and move. Heather watched KMIR religiously, especially in the morning, when she made her coffee and whole-wheat toast with butter and jam. They were broadcasting live.

  Poppy swallowed hard.

  She tried to warn Matt with a frantic wave through the window, but he was so inebriated by the cameras and the attention, he didn’t notice her.

  He just recklessly answered more questions and posed for more pictures, intent on getting his publicity fix.

  And he was about to pay for it dearly.

  Because rounding the corner at the moment was Heather’s beat-up car, and it was racing down the street at an unsettling speed.

  For a moment, Poppy feared her angry daughter was going to plow right into the crowd of reporters.

  But she hit the brakes just in time and squealed to an abrupt stop.

  The driver’s side door flew open, and Heather emerged, wearing black leggings and a gray T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with a scrunchie. No makeup. Fuming.

  Poppy cringed as Heather stormed through the press, pushing them out of the way to get to Matt.

  When he finally saw her, his face fell.

  She shouted at him in front of everyone.

  Poppy couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her boiling rage told the whole story.

  There were lots of clicking cameras.

  Red-faced, Matt took her forcibly by the arm and guided her up the cement walkway, past Iris’s flower garden and toward the garage, so they could have a semiprivate discussion.

  The reporters tried to follow, but Iris kept swinging her bat in their direction, and fearing serious bodily injury, they ducked and scurried back to the edge of the sidewalk.

  By the time Heather and Matt entered the garage through the side door, Poppy had moved to the other end of the office, wishing she was invisible.

  Heather spotted her immediately but chose to ignore her as she laid into Matt. “You blatantly lied to me and made me look like a fool!”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetpea. I know it was wrong, and I’ve been a bad boyfriend, but just hear me out—”

  “I’ve listened to your crap long enough, Matt! I’m sick of it!”

  “I really wanted to abide by your wishes, but this role, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—”

  “I don’t care! We’re through!”

  This stopped Matt in his tracks.

  Poppy swallowed a surprise gasp, afraid that if she let it escape her lips, she would only draw attention to herself.

  And right now that was the last thing she wanted.

  “What?” Matt whimpered.

  “You heard me! Done! Finished! We’re breaking up!”

  “I know I fibbed, and that was wrong, but do you really—”

  “Yes! I can’t take it anymore. I tell you honestly how uncomfortable it makes me for you to take part in my mother’s shenanigans, and so instead of respecting me, you choose to lie and scheme behind my back! With my own mother! It’s just ludicrous!”

  “Your mother had nothing to do with my decision—”

  “Oh, please! She was the one who got you into this whole mess! You know what the irony is?” She glanced at Poppy, who averted her eyes away from her daughter and stared guiltily at the floor. “It was my mother who once said to me, ‘I will support any decision you make in your life, but please, God, just do me one favor. Never, ever date an actor!’ ”

  The words stung Poppy as they were thrown back at her.

  Mostly because they were true.

  “It’s probably the only time I should’ve listened to her!”

  Matt stepped toward her. “Heather, please . . .”

  She backed away from him, throwing up her hands to stop him from getting any closer. “No, I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say. I never want to see you again.”

  And then she fled out the door.

  Matt started after her but thought better of it and gave up. He bowed his head, and he looked as if he was about to cry.

  “She’s right,” Poppy said sadly. “This is my fault.”

  Matt wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve and sniffed. “Nope. You are not taking the blame for this, Poppy. This was all me.”

  His whole body was slumped over, crushed and defeated.

  It was obvious from the broken posture, the hand over the face to hide the tears, and the weak, distraught tone of his voice that Matt Flowers loved Heather deeply.

  And he had just lost her for good.

  Despite Matt’s denials, Poppy knew in her heart that she had played a very critical role in the eventual dissolution of the relationship.

  And that made her want to cry, too.

  Chapter 44

  Poppy stepped through the metal detector, retrieved her purse on the conveyor belt on the other side, suffered through an additional pat down by a severe-looking female officer, and then was escorted by another officer to a private room with peeling paint, a scuffed table, and one hard, uncomfortable metal chair. She waited about five minutes before the door opened and a third officer wheeled Esther Hamilton into the room.

  Esther was in an orange jumpsuit and looked tired. Her gray hair was long and stringy and unwashed; there were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days; and her gaunt face was free of makeup. She was wearing handcuffs, which the officer unlocked and removed before he parked her wheelchair across from Poppy.

  They sat in silence until the officer left and locked the door behind him.

&n
bsp; Esther waited another moment and then sighed.

  “Thank you for coming, Poppy.”

  Poppy nodded.

  She had debated whether or not she should visit Esther in jail when she received the call that Esther wanted to see her. But in the end, her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

  “What did you want to see me about?”

  “I know my son Sammy is in real trouble. . . .”

  “As are you, Esther . . . ,” Poppy said, gesturing to their surroundings. “You’re in jail, and you’re going to be charged with multiple counts of trespassing and burglary.”

  “I know. I don’t care what happens to me. I’m just worried about Sammy. I understand he pleaded guilty to the break-ins but not to the murder of Olivia Hammersmith.”

  “I read the district attorney is going to go for first-degree murder,” Poppy said solemnly.

  “He didn’t do it, Poppy! I know my son! He’s not capable of killing anyone!”

  “If that’s so, what can I do about it?”

  “The cops have already closed the case in their minds. They’re convinced it was Sammy. They’re not going to look at anyone else. But your agency can. Talk to your boss. Have him keep investigating.”

  “Shirley Fox got her jewelry back. That’s what we were hired to do. We’re no longer working for her.”

  “I have some money left in my savings. I can get it to you before the lawyers get their grubby hands on it.” Esther’s hand shook as she reached out and touched Poppy’s arm. “Please. I’m begging you. . . .”

  Poppy’s own intuition had been telling her Sammy Hamilton wasn’t the one who killed Olivia Hammersmith.

  And so she was inclined to believe Esther.

  “I don’t want your money, Esther.”

  Esther broke down and sobbed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. You were my last hope. . . .”

  “No, I will keep looking at suspects for you, but I’m not going to accept payment. You’re going to need that money for your defense.”

  Esther cried harder, with tears of relief.

  She grabbed Poppy’s hand and wouldn’t let go of it, clutching it tight like it was her only lifeline.

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Olivia dead?” Poppy asked.

  Esther sat back, sniffed, and wiped her nose with the back of her free hand before she nodded. “Yes. Dash.”

  “Shirley’s husband?”

  Esther nodded again. “I may have gotten a little carried away after the first few burglaries. I used some of the money we received after fencing some of the more expensive items we stole, and I bought some designer clothes and a few expensive pieces of jewelry and a new car for Sammy. Well, it didn’t take Dash long to notice, and he came right up to me at one of the club mixers one Friday night and asked me point-blank if I had come into some money. I told him a wealthy cousin of mine had died recently and left me a small fortune. Of course, I couldn’t tell him the truth. Well, after that, Dash began to flirt shamelessly with me and tell me how pretty I looked and how he’d always been attracted to older women.”

  “Did you believe he was sincere?” Poppy asked.

  “I’m a seventy-year-old woman in a wheelchair. I knew exactly what he was up to. He smelled the perfect opportunity to bilk a lonely old woman out of a big chunk of her newly expanded savings account.”

  “So how did you handle it?”

  “Very carefully,” Esther said. “The last thing I wanted was to make him mad. I didn’t need an enemy paying close attention to what Sammy and I were up to, so I just thanked him for being so kind and flattering me and avoided making any plans with him to meet for a drink sometime, which he kept pushing. After a while, he got bored and moved on.”

  “Moved on?”

  “To Olivia Hammersmith.”

  “You know that for sure?”

  “He moved in on her like a shark to chum. With such a steady focus, it was chilling. Lord knows how many other women he’s juggling behind Shirley’s back,” Esther said, shaking her head.

  “Did Olivia fall for his charms?”

  “I would say so. Sammy took me out for a stroll in my wheelchair early one morning so I could get some fresh air, and we saw Dash leaving Olivia’s house around six in the morning.”

  “So you think Dash is romancing other women in the Palm Leaf in order to con money out of them? But why? Shirley has plenty for both of them.”

  “I hear he’s a big gambler and has accrued a mountain of debt, and so he’s been trying to raise enough money to pay it off without Shirley ever finding out.”

  “If that’s the case, then perhaps Olivia refused to pay up when Dash came calling for cash, and he got angry and pushed her hard enough to kill her.”

  “That’s exactly what I think.”

  Poppy finally extricated her hand from Esther’s viselike grip.

  “So you’ll talk to your boss?” Esther asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.

  “Yes. I’m sure he will try to help clear Sammy,” Poppy said as she stood up.

  Esther cried some more, burying her face in her veiny, dry hands. “Thank you, Poppy. Thank you. . . .”

  As Poppy knocked on the locked door and waited for the guard to open it for her, she prayed Shirley Fox’s check had already cleared, because if the Desert Flowers Detective Agency was able to prove that her husband, Dash, had killed Olivia Hammersmith—which would send him to prison for life, without the possibility of parole—then Shirley certainly was not going to be writing a positive Yelp review for their budding detective agency as a satisfied client.

  Chapter 45

  Poppy couldn’t take her eyes off Shirley Fox’s hands shaking as she held the paper and stared at the list of names written on it. She recognized some people on the list, knew others well, but a handful drew a blank. But there were enough of them to cause her distress, and finally, after tearing her eyes away, she crumpled up the piece of paper and tossed it to the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” was all Poppy could think of to say in the moment.

  She felt so bad for Shirley, who had thought the case was finally neatly wrapped up after the arrest of Esther Hamilton and her son Sammy for all the Palm Leaf break-ins, and after her jewelry was returned, once it was recovered from a pawnshop in Desert Hot Springs and the police declined to impound it since they were already swimming in evidence.

  But sadly, nothing was over.

  Olivia Hammersmith was still dead.

  Murdered, according to the police.

  And if Esther and Sammy were to be believed, the real killer was still at large.

  The names on the list—exhaustively compiled over the past twenty-four hours by Poppy, Iris, and Violet, who had fanned out and talked to as many women in the Palm Leaf complex as possible in order to find out just how many women had been targeted by Shirley’s gigolo of a husband, Dash—numbered twenty-three and included Olivia Hammersmith.

  And that was a conservative estimate.

  They all had admitted to falling under Dash’s spell, some reluctantly at first, some more enthusiastically. None of them had denied writing Dash big checks for his promising new business ventures, although none of them had been the least bit fooled by his insistence that they would see their investment come back twofold. No, all these ladies had been around the block enough times, and they all had been well aware what they were really paying for, and Dash had been only too happy to satisfy the carnal needs of some very lonely women. It had just seemed much less offensive to be investing in Dash as a businessman rather than in his far more impressive talents in the bedroom.

  Poppy half expected Shirley to accuse these women of lying and to claim they were just jealous of her marriage to a sexy, charming, much younger man. But Shirley didn’t have the energy. She knew it was pointless to try to salvage any shred of dignity. Because she had always known what Dash was, and had willfully chosen to ignore the dark side of his nature.

  Matt, who had been hovering behind Po
ppy, dreading this meeting, because he never liked to see anyone in his orbit sad or upset, stepped forward, passing Poppy, and walked over to Shirley and kneeled down in front of her. He took her hands in his.

  “I know this is hard, and we are so sorry to put you through this, but we felt you should know . . . ,” he said.

  “Why? Because you believe he killed Olivia?”

  “We don’t know that,” Poppy said. “He has a firm alibi. According to you, he was here at home with you on the night Olivia was killed. That’s what you told us, and that’s what you told the police.”

  Shirley nodded. “I lied.”

  Matt’s mouth dropped open.

  Poppy was far less shocked by the admission.

  This was the outcome she had been hoping for, since she had suspected right from the beginning that Shirley Fox had lied about that night.

  Now she knew why.

  “Did Dash ask you to lie for him?” Poppy asked.

  “No, I was the one who coerced Dash into claiming he was home with me, because the fact was, I was here alone . . . all night. I was afraid that if I told the police I was at home by myself, with no one to back me up, they would continue to believe I was the one who had murdered Olivia, so I panicked and begged Dash to give me an alibi.”

  “Which gave him an alibi, too!” Matt exclaimed.

  “The irony is, he hasn’t even spoken to me since the revelation came to light about my affair with . . .” Shirley’s voice trailed off.

  She looked as if she wanted to kick herself.

  She hadn’t meant to bring his name into the conversation.

  Poppy’s jaw tightened.

  Chester.

  She was talking about Chester.

  Poppy had managed to bury all her rage and disappointment and sadness in order to carry on with the case, but now she could feel it all about to come to a boil all over again.

  There was an agonizing silence.

  Shirley kept her eyes fixed on the floor, not sure how to continue, so Poppy made it easy on her by finally speaking.

  “Did he ever tell you where he was all night?”