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

flourished these past few months. It had been a direct result of their hard work, grit, and determination. And she feared if she relaxed, let up on the gas pedal even just a tiny bit, this ascension could stall and die out. And at least at this point, Poppy was not willing to take that risk.

“I’m sorry, Sam, but this whole private eye endeavor is just too important to me. I need to stay focused. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I’m in control. And it would be too hard for me to give that up, at least right now.”

He reached out across the table and took her hand in his. “I understand.” But his face couldn’t lie. He was disappointed. And she knew it. So he felt the need to add, “Honestly, I do.”

Poppy’s phone buzzed.

She knew without looking it was a text from Matt.

He had been sending her texts all evening with quick updates. He was currently on the set of Palm Springs Weekend shadowing their client Danika Delgado, making sure she was never left alone while they were shooting some night scenes at the resort. Poppy assumed this was one more briefing, just to let her know all was quiet so she could enjoy her Roasted Scottish Salmon entree at Copley’s. As she scanned the text, her mouth dropped open in surprise. This was not what she had expected.

Sam picked up on her reaction immediately. “Everything okay?”

Poppy shook her head. “No. My daughter just broke up with Matt by text and he’s devastated.”

Chapter 5

Poppy, overcome with nausea, fled to the bathroom of her private room in the Sundial Luxury Resort with its sunken Jacuzzi tub and expensive marble sink, and threw herself down on her knees, flipping open the toilet lid and lowering her head over the bowl. She waited, her stomach churning, her head pounding, but she didn’t get sick. It was a false alarm.

After waiting another moment just to be sure, Poppy climbed back up to her feet, checked herself out in the wall-length mirror, scooped up a perfume bottle of her favorite Dolce & Gabbana fragrance, and sprayed a light mist onto the side of her neck. Then, she took a deep breath and silently prayed she would somehow get through this.

She had been holed up in her room all morning studying her script, making sure she had all of the lines down for her first scene to be shot. Despite being strong-armed into accepting the role, she had decided to just do her best with the hope that she would not embarrass herself. Matt had told her acting was like riding a bicycle. Once you learned the craft, you would never forget how to do it. Of course, Poppy had not been on a bicycle in over thirty years either so she could not be sure Matt even knew what he was talking about.

The scene was a simple one. Poppy behind the reception desk of the resort checking in a rowdy gang of college kids for a wild weekend of fun, their client Danika Delgado’s character, played in the original by Connie Stevens, among them. She had a few easy lines, nothing too taxing or complicated. It should be a breeze. But the fear of freezing up, of drawing a complete blank when her admiring director called, “Action!” was almost too much to bear and it was suddenly taking a physical toll.

There was a knock on her door.

Poppy knew the makeup and hair team would make sure she looked presentable when the time came to shoot the scene, and so she decided to ignore the fear and self-doubt that was making her sick to her stomach, and just get on with it. She left the bathroom and crossed over to the door, opening it to find the bright-eyed production assistant Timothy smiling at her.

“We’re ready for you on set, Ms. Harmon,” he said in a chipper tone. It wasn’t hard to pick up on her nerves and so in an effort to calm her, he added, “You’re going to crush it!”

“I don’t even know what that means. Is it good or bad?”

“Good! Crush it. Like, nail it, do great.”

She squeezed his arm, which she found surprisingly muscular. “From your mouth to God’s ears, Timothy.”

“Shall we?” He crooked his arm so she could slide her own through it and escorted her out to the set. The kid was certainly a gentleman, not to mention a reassuring presence for which she felt grateful.

“Would you like me to swing by craft services and get you a cup of coffee?” Timothy asked.

“Lord, no! I’m jacked up enough already. The last thing I need is a shot of caffeine!” Poppy wailed. “But thank you, Timothy.”

“Okay,” Timothy chuckled. “By the way, last night after we wrapped, I looked up some old clips of your show Jack Colt on YouTube. Trent was right. You were awesome. You totally—”

“Crushed it?”

“Yes! There was a scene of you surfing in Hawaii while helping Jack tail a Honolulu gangster’s sister at the beach and you were wearing this cherry red bikini, which was super hot!”

“That bathing suit got more fan mail than I did,” Poppy cracked.

They arrived on the set, which was bustling with activity. Danika was joking around with a couple of her younger co-stars who would be appearing in the scene, and Poppy noticed Matt hovering in the background keeping a watchful eye on the client, but also a respectful distance.

Trent shot up from his director’s chair and ambled over to Poppy, enveloping her in a hug. “How are you feeling? Ready to do this?”

“I still think this is a monumentally bad idea,” Poppy moaned.

“Nonsense. I have no bad ideas. And this one, I promise you, is one of my more inspired.”

The makeup and hair people descended upon Poppy, fluffing her hair and slapping powder on her face to get rid of any lingering shine. Poppy zeroed in on a small piece of black tape on