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

too far from where the Jordans resided in Rancho Mirage. That had to be where he was going after breakfast. It was still early enough for him to squeeze in a quick workout before heading into the office.

Poppy jumped up from the table, ran to her bedroom, and whipped open her half-empty closet. She had only managed to hang about a third of her outfits, and quickly realized her own workout clothes were probably buried in one of the boxes stacked against the wall. She frantically began cutting them open one by one with a box cutter, and got lucky on the third one. There were a bunch of sweats and T-shirts and leggings and even a pair of unused Nike women’s running shoes she had bought during the short time she had considered taking up jogging, which not surprisingly never materialized. Poppy quickly donned the appropriate attire, raced out of the house, hopped into her car, and drove straight to In-Shape.

After signing up for a guest pass, claiming to the sweet Latina girl at the front desk that she was still weighing options on what facility she was going to join full-time, it took all of forty-five seconds to zero in on Detective Jordan, in the same tank top he had been wearing in the Instagram photo, huffing and puffing on a treadmill, sweat pouring down his face, which he wiped away with a towel, his muscles glistening. Earbuds were nestled in the crevice of both his ears and his phone was perched on the display screen calculating his progress as he stared ahead, grim-faced, seemingly devoid of emotion.

The treadmills on either side of him were occupied, one with a bored-looking woman in her seventies who was checking out the butt of one of the male personal trainers doing squats on a nearby mat. On the other side was a young kid who had just started, increasing the speed of the belt until he was running full speed. Poppy figured her best chance was to wait for the woman to finish first. Sure enough, the same trainer she had been leering at ambled over and kissed her flirtatiously on the cheek before taking her hand and leading her off to her personal training session. Poppy made a beeline for the free treadmill and hopped on, taking a few minutes to figure out what buttons to press to get the damn thing going. Finally, she just pressed the manual button and the contraption whirred to life as the belt started to move and Poppy began walking at a leisurely pace.

She glanced over at Detective Jordan a few times, but he was so entrenched in his own thoughts he didn’t notice her at first. Poppy decided to be a little less discreet. She began gesturing her hand toward him, slowly at first, then a little more forcefully, and when that still didn’t get his attention, she started waving her arms spasmodically.

Jordan, finally alerted to the crazy woman on the treadmill next to him who appeared to be having some kind of seizure, jerked his head around to see Poppy smiling broadly at him. Confused, he reached up and took the buds out of his ears.

“Well, isn’t this the wildest coincidence?” Poppy cooed.

“Good morning, Ms. Harmon,” Jordan said gruffly. “I didn’t know you were a member here.”

“I just joined today!” Poppy said brightly, convincing herself this was mostly the truth and not a convenient fib. “I really want to try the cardio dance class, I hear it’s loads of fun, but I thought I would start out slow and take a crack at this treadmill.”

Jordan nodded with the thinnest of smiles and then put the buds back in his ears.

“What are you listening to?” Poppy yelled.

He didn’t answer her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“What are you listening to?” Poppy repeated, louder.

He flicked his eyes over in her direction to see her talking, and then with a heavy sigh, he popped the buds out again. “I’m sorry?”

“I was just curious what you listen to while walking on the treadmill. I’m searching for suggestions.”

“Oh, it’s a podcast. They talk about famous unsolved murders in US history, and revisit them, looking for clues that might lead to them being solved.”

“Wow, talk about taking your work home with you.”

Detective Jordan cracked a slight smile. “I know, my wife says the same thing. She’s always on me to listen to something lighter, like show tunes or comedy shows, but I don’t know, the dark stuff kind of relaxes me in a weird way.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to interrupt, I won’t keep bothering you, I promise. . . .”

Jordan nodded gratefully, and was about to shove his earbuds back in when Poppy quickly blurted out, “But I was curious if you were able to find Byron Savage?”

Jordan did not seem surprised by Poppy’s question, in fact he looked as if he had been expecting it. He dropped the earbuds in a plastic holder for keys and personal items and pressed a button to slow down the treadmill so he could talk.

“I’m afraid the trail’s gone cold on him, for now anyway, but we still have an APB out on him, and we’re hopeful someone will report something, and he’ll turn up. We are a little closer on locating the brother, Axel. We arrested a couple of his biker friends for possession of some unregistered firearms, and after some intense questioning, they told us Axel may be hiding out with a girlfriend, well, one of them anyway, in Barstow.”

“Barstow? He must really not want to be found!” Poppy joked.

Jordan chuckled.

Poppy considered it a triumph that she had managed to make the usually stone-faced detective crack a smile, if ever so slightly.

“There is someone else you should look into,” Poppy said casually, not wanting to push him too much.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Hal Greenwood.”

“The movie producer?”

“Yes. My agency has obtained information—”

Detective Jordan wiped his face again with his towel and snickered, “Your agency . . . ?”

He still refused