Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis (famous ebook reader .txt) 📗

their fake gyrating and the tour group, led by Iris, wandered around the corner and all stopped. Everyone waited for Iris to speak.

Finally, Trent, who was sitting in his director’s chair watching his monitor, glanced over. “Iris?”

“Yes?”

“Say your line.”

“I forgot it.”

“The line is, ‘This was not in the brochure!’” Trent reminded her.

“Yes, of course. I am sorry.”

“No worries, let’s go again. Keep rolling. Back to one,” Trent instructed.

The tour group disappeared back behind the boulder. Trent yelled, “Action!” and the couple began simulating sex again. The tour group appeared on cue, with Iris in front. Everyone waited expectantly, Iris opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, but then got out “This was not . . .”

And her mind went blank.

There was an agonizing pause.

Violet finally whispered in her ear, “In the brochure.”

“I know, Violet!” Iris snapped. Iris sheepishly turned toward Trent. “I will get it this time.”

But she didn’t.

Four more takes.

Four more flubs.

Finally, desperate, Trent asked Violet to say the line and much to Iris’s chagrin, Violet delivered it effortlessly and with some bite, which made the crew snicker off-camera.

Poppy couldn’t believe it.

Violet was a natural.

“Cut! Moving on!” Trent declared with much relief. The scene was mercifully in the can.

Iris was not happy. As she and Violet marched over to her, Poppy could hear Iris berating her. “I was just a little nervous! You didn’t have to steal the part right out from under me!”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Violet protested. “I was just trying to help get the scene done.”

Iris was not assuaged in the least. “Who knew we had an Eve Harrington amongst us?”

Poppy was about to come to Violet’s defense when she suddenly noticed one of the extras she had heard introduce herself as Lulu to Iris and Violet earlier, over by video village, the area set up for the director and his monitors, conferring with Greta Van Damm. Lulu was a colorful character to be sure, bouncy, big blond hair, tiny frame but jiggling some huge assets that Poppy swore must cause the poor girl painful back problems. She had muscled her way to the front of the crowd of extras in the tour group securing a place right next to Violet, who was sure to be on camera. Surprisingly, Trent did not object to Lulu placing herself so prominently in the shot. Perhaps he was impressed with Lulu’s assets that she so proudly flaunted, and it was some kind of artistic choice.

Poppy chuckled to herself.

But now, what was so strange, was Lulu’s intense conversation with Greta. Poppy had worked on enough sets to know how unusual it was for an extra, probably the lowest rung on the film set totem pole, to be hobnobbing with one of the movie’s powerful producers.

Poppy casually meandered over to video village, hoping to eavesdrop on their exchange when Greta, who still did not see Poppy approaching, reached into her bag, extracted a wad of cash, and surreptitiously handed it to Lulu, who quickly and covertly stuffed it down the front of her shirt. Lulu winked at Greta, who gave her a withering, dismissive look, and then Lulu happily bounced away to join the rest of the extras eagerly lining up at the craft services table for today’s dinner of short ribs and macaroni and cheese.

Greta sighed, checked her watch and turned to go, then suddenly noticed Poppy staring at her. “I didn’t see your name on the call sheet for today. What are you doing here?”

Poppy still had not copped to the fact that she was part of the Desert Flowers team, at least not to Greta or Hal yet, and apparently no one else in the know had blown her cover either. “My friends Iris and Violet were part of the scene you just shot, so I came for moral support.”

“I see,” Greta said warily.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve appeared in the movies, a lot has changed over the years,” Poppy remarked.

“Yes, it’s a whole new world,” Greta sniffed, already bored with her.

“But I never thought I’d see the day when a producer paid an extra with cash out of her own pocket.”

Greta bristled.

“From everything I know, most professional productions have payroll companies to handle all that,” Poppy said pretending it was simply an innocent observation.

But Greta didn’t take it as innocent.

Poppy was clearly prying and she didn’t appreciate it.

“Well, luckily it’s not my job to explain to you how I run my business,” Greta snorted before storming off.

Poppy watched her go, curious as to why Greta was suddenly so rattled and anxious to get away from her.

Chapter 11

Danika Delgado ran across the wind-swept desert terrain, past a towering yucca palm toward the burning car wreckage. She stopped, shielded her eyes from the blazing hot sun with her hand, and stared at the lifeless body sprawled on the ground, having been thrown from the vehicle upon impact.

“No!” Danika wailed, as if she refused to believe her own eyes, and stumbled forward, sobbing, shrieking, until she reached the prone body and dropped down to her knees to see if he was still alive.

It was Matt, his body twisted and apparently broken from the crash, a nasty gash down the side of his face, barely breathing. Danika scooped up his hand and held it to her heart. “Don’t you die on me! I won’t let you leave me! Not after all we’ve been through!”

Danika squeezed his hand, but he didn’t squeeze back. She sobbed some more, unable to accept that he was gone. “No, no, no, no . . .”

She raised his limp hand to her face, softly caressing it against her cheek, then gently kissing it.

She closed her eyes, barely able to breathe she was so distraught, when suddenly, unexpectedly the index finger on the hand she was clutching twitched ever so slightly. Danika’s eyes popped open in surprise.

Matt was still unconscious, most of his bruised and battered body not moving, but his fingers slowly began to wrap weakly around the palm of her hand, and then she