Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer, Lee Hollis [ebook reader 7 inch txt] 📗

paying a fortune for a kick-ass security detail while I’m here, but they’re not trained detectives. I want to be proactive about this. I want a local firm, one that knows this city, that can track down this lowlife creep and put him away for good before he throws acid in my face, or worse.”

Poppy swallowed hard at the prospect.

This young actress was doing a good job of keeping up her bravado, but it was clear on her beautiful, heavily made-up face that she was scared and feeling vulnerable.

“I have a lot of people looking out for me, with good intentions, but for my own peace of mind, I want someone who knows about things like this, who I can call day and night, who is not here to protect the movie or my brand, but to protect me! That’s where you come in, Matt.”

Matt sat up straight on the couch next to Poppy.

He nodded confidently. “Trust me, Danika, I’m your man.”

“I had a strong feeling you would be,” Danika said, smiling seductively.

Poppy wasn’t so sure.

Keeping a highly public figure with over a hundred million fans safe and secure seemed like a daunting challenge, not to mention the task of locating one of those millions of fans out in the world who was unstable and possibly homicidal, ready to strike at any time. But once Danika offered to pay triple their usual going rate, Poppy was suddenly feeling slightly more emboldened.

How hard could it be?

If only she had listened to her initial instincts.

Chapter 2

Trent Dodsworth-Jones raised an eyebrow as he took off his red ball cap and scratched his balding head while staring incredulously at Poppy. “Private investigator?”

“Yes,” Danika sighed impatiently. “I want Matt and Poppy on the set with me at all times so they’re going to both need a permanent security pass.”

“Of course,” Trent said, still in a state of shock. He then smiled at Poppy, impressed. “I had no idea. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Poppy Harmon?”

“She’s not a real detective. Matt’s the detective, Poppy’s just his assistant,” Danika sniffed, almost distastefully, as if Poppy was some kind of cautionary tale of what happens to actresses who age out of leading roles and no longer can find work in Hollywood. Danika’s dismissiveness bothered Poppy because that was a very simplistic view of her own story and a far cry from the reality, but she kept mum, staying focused on the task at hand. She couldn’t let her pride get in the way.

Trent nodded toward Matt, but kept his eyes glued on Poppy. “I’d be honored to have you on my set.”

“Thank you, Trent,” Danika said. “Now, where do you want me?”

“Your mark’s over there,” he answered, pointing Danika to a spot near the pool.

Poppy and Matt stepped back, out of the way.

Trent ambled over to his director of photography, a stout German man with frazzled hair and the long drooping face of a bloodhound. They privately conferred about the shot for a few moments before Trent returned to his director’s chair and hopped up on it.

“Okay, let’s do this!” Trent yelled across the set.

The makeup and hair people scurried onto the set, flocking around Danika like a gaggle of handmaidens, as the star appeared to be mouthing the lines of dialogue she would soon be delivering on camera.

The German cinematographer peered intently into the lens of his camera. The lighting guys finished their work and ducked out of the way, clearing the set.

A costumer zipped over to carry off the baby blue terrycloth robe that Danika had shed, revealing herself in a tiny dot of a bright green bikini.

Poppy gasped, stunned by the curvaceous figure of her client as well as the eye-popping, overexposed nature of her bathing suit choice.

The assistant director shouted at the top of his lungs, “Quiet, please!”

The makeup and hair people scattered, leaving Danika alone by the pool, camera aimed in her direction, all eyes focused on her. She lowered her head, mentally preparing for the scene, or at the very least, pretending she was.

There was silence.

“Camera rolling!” the heavily accented German man called out. “And we have speed!”

Poppy knew enough about film shoots to know that the next line they would hear would be the director yelling “Action!”

But he didn’t.

He never said a word.

She glanced over to see Trent Dodsworth-Jones just staring into space, as if lost in thought. He wasn’t even looking at the monitor in front of him where he was supposed to watch the scene they were about to shoot.

Danika patiently waited for her cue as a strong desert wind suddenly swept through knocking over the carefully placed flowers in the background. Danika shivered, visible goose bumps on her arms and legs, but gamely ignored the cold, waiting to begin the scene.

Finally, after what seemed like almost a full minute, Trent snapped out of his reverie and shouted, “Cut!”

The German cameraman glanced over, confused.

Danika sighed and hugged herself. “Can we fix whatever is wrong quickly before I freeze to death? I thought Palm Springs was supposed to be as hot as Hades.”

“Hold on, everybody, I just had a brilliant thought!” Trent said, leaping out of his director’s chair.

“I bet he has a lot of those,” Matt whispered to Poppy, still so excited to be on a real live Hollywood film set.

Everyone expected Trent to make a beeline for Danika in order to discuss some change of dialogue, or repositioning of her mark, or some other genius creative idea that would make the scene better. But instead, he marched straight over to Poppy, who took another step back, startled, not sure what was happening.

“I want to cast you in the movie!” Trent declared.

“What?” Poppy gasped.

“What?” Matt cried.

“There’s a small but pivotal role of the resort manager, Nomi, an older woman who has a romance with a football coach from LA and I think you’d be absolutely perfect for it,” Trent crowed.

The assistant director carefully intervened. “But Trent, what about Rita Rubio? She’s playing that part. We’ve already