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

to be free and unencumbered! Like me! I am always free to do whatever I want!”

And what Iris appeared to want right now was to chase after the two boyishly handsome moving men carrying the dresser inside the house while aggressively barking orders at them.

Which was her German way of shamelessly flirting.

Chapter 4

Sam Emerson always had this rascally twinkle in his eye that could be intoxicating and exciting. He had a certain way about him, locking into you, making you feel as if you were the only person in the world he wanted to be with at that very moment in time. In other moments, he could also be infuriatingly remote, uncommunicative, private, which unfortunately would on occasion put Poppy on her guard. She had known Sam since her Hollywood years in the 1980s when the ex-cop was a consultant on her series Jack Colt.

The mustachioed cowboy and sharp-shooter who lived in a beautiful cabin high up in the mountains of Big Bear, California, was an old friend with whom Poppy had reconnected when she began this strange odyssey to become a private detective. And he had stuck around, wining and dining her, casually making himself a part of her life again. She reveled in his attention. There had always been a strong chemistry between them that still crackled, and tonight was certainly no exception.

Sam picked up his bourbon and knocked it back, slamming the glass down on the table and staring at Poppy with those sparkling eyes and laconic smile. “I turned down a job today.”

“What kind of job?” Poppy asked, sipping her chilled Sauvignon Blanc.

“Consulting on a new thirteen-episode police procedural they’re making for FOX. The script was well written, but way too dark. Another serial killer show where they just try to come up with the most grotesque, gruesome ways to kill people and shock the audience. Been there, done that.”

“Was it good money?”

“It’s always good money,” Sam laughed. “I need more than that to come down off the mountain and move to LA, even temporarily.”

“You should let people know you are officially retired and not interested in working in Hollywood anymore.”

“I like to keep my options open,” Sam said with a playful wink.

The waiter arrived with their starters, Hawaiian Ahi Tacos and Miso-Ginger Glazed Cauliflower. They were dining at a Palm Springs staple, Copley’s, a rustic chic cottage once owned by Cary Grant in the 1940s that was now a lively, casual but sophisticated desert dining hotspot. Perfect for a date night. Poppy and Sam had been seated outside in the garden as it was a balmy, pleasant evening. The restaurant was only half full, allowing them a more intimate setting at a private table away from the other diners.

Once the waiter set the plates down and scurried off, Poppy excitedly picked up her appetizer fork and dove into the delicious-looking cauliflower. “So what would bring you down from the mountaintop?”

“You, obviously,” Sam said with a grin.

“Besides me,” Poppy chuckled, popping a piece of cauliflower in her mouth.

Sam picked up a taco and shoved it into his mouth, chewing slowly, thinking about the question. “I think I’d like to do more traveling before I get too old and I’m grappling with all the health challenges that come with being an old geezer.”

“You’ve got a ways to go before you’re there, Sam.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Ha, it’s closer than you think.”

“Where would you like to go?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve been browsing some Web sites online in my spare time. There’s a Viking river cruise to Kiev, the Black Sea, and Bucharest, all places I’ve never been, in May that sounds interesting. Also, Istanbul is on my list and there are parts of Germany I still haven’t seen.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Of course, it would be more fun if I had someone to go with,” Sam remarked, eyeing her cautiously.

Poppy slowly set down her fork.

She suddenly knew where this conversation was going. Poppy took a deep breath and exhaled. “Sam, you know I would love nothing more than to drop everything and traipse across the globe with you—”

“I feel a but coming.”

“But . . . we both know I can’t.”

Sam stared at his glass as he jiggled the melting ice cubes around in it. “You should be very proud of what you’ve accomplished, Poppy,” he said quietly before raising his eyes to meet hers. “You’re in a much better place than you were when the two of us reunited a couple of years ago. You found yourself drowning in an abyss and you crawled out of it, spectacularly I might add.”

“Thank you, Sam,” she said.

“I read about your recent purchase in the Desert Sun,” he said, signaling the waiter to bring him another bourbon.

“Oh, God,” Poppy groaned. “So did everybody in the Coachella Valley. If I had known Ava Gardner had once lived in that house, and it would turn out to be such a big deal, I never would have bought the place!”

“I think it’s great, you carrying on the tradition of living in a home with a long history of beautiful and talented actresses.. . .”

“Now, you’re just teasing me,” Poppy scolded.

Sam leaned forward, suddenly serious. “I just think you ought to enjoy the fruits of your labor, take a long vacation, let Iris and Violet and . . .”

“Matt,” Poppy reminded him.

“Right, the great Matt Flowers, let them run things for a month or two while you run away with me on a little adventure. Treat yourself. Or better yet, let me treat you. The way you deserve to be treated.”

He was convincing.

And she could not deny how kind and generous and, yes, sexy she had found him since they had rekindled their friendship. There was also a big part of her that was afraid if she did not commit just a little more to him, she might lose him. And she didn’t want to fathom that thought. But still, she knew it had not been an accident that the Desert Flowers Detective Agency had