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

to take the Desert Flowers Agency seriously, but instead of taking umbrage, she allowed the comment to pass unchallenged.

“Yes,” Poppy sighed. “Hal Greenwood has proven time and time again that he is a serial predator, making unwanted sexual advances on numerous actresses looking for a part, female assistants who just want to hang on to their job, any women who lack the power to stand up to him.”

“And you think he might have been trying to come on to Danika Delgado?”

“I’m quite confident of the fact. He is undoubtedly three times her size. He might have made a pass at her in her trailer, and when she rejected him, he became angry and forced himself on her. When she started to scream for help, he could have pushed the pillow down over her face to silence her until she stopped breathing. Perhaps it was an accident or intentional.”

“Sounds like an interesting theory, but I need proof, and you don’t seem to have any,” Jordan said, losing patience.

“Not yet,” Poppy sniffed.

As dismissive as Jordan was, Poppy was satisfied she had at least planted the thought in his mind now, and hopefully that would mean Hal Greenwood would remain on the detective’s radar during his investigation.

Poppy turned away from Jordan, pressed a button, and her treadmill came to a grinding halt. She stepped down and was about to walk away when Jordan called out, “That was quick.”

She spun back around. “What?”

“Your workout. You done already?”

“I don’t want to overdo it on my first day,” Poppy said tightly.

Jordan grinned as he sopped his sweaty face and arms.

“What?” Poppy snapped.

“Nothing,” Jordan said, looping the towel around his neck.

Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I only came here because I wanted to talk to you about Hal Greenwood?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it!”

“Maybe,” Jordan shrugged, still grinning.

There was no point in arguing with him any further because he was one hundred percent correct in his assessment. Poppy threw him an annoyed look and had started sauntering off when Jordan called out behind her, “I’ll follow up. . . .”

Poppy swerved around, expectant. “Pardon me?”

Jordan was reaching maximum impact level and was running as fast as the kid on the treadmill next to him. “I’ll look into Greenwood, I promise. . . .”

“Thank you, Detective,” Poppy said, clasping her hands together, and headed out of the gym. Her leg muscles were already starting to feel sore.

Chapter 27

Outside the gym, as she approached her car on the far side of the packed parking lot, Poppy stopped short at the sight of a folded-up piece of paper lodged underneath the windshield wiper, flapping in the wind.

Please, not a parking ticket, Poppy thought, dreading the idea of having to pay a fine. But the only restricted spaces in the entire lot were clearly marked for the disabled, and this was definitely not one of those. Poppy marched over and reached for the paper, realizing this was not an official document of any kind, but rather a regular sheet of paper torn from a notebook. She wrenched it free from the wiper and unfolded it.

Mary Pickford Theatres

Bradley Cooper

10:45 AM

Back Row

The Mary Pickford was a state of the art cinema complex in Cathedral City, named after the late, great silent film actress. Poppy was a big fan of going to the movies there with Iris and Violet several times a month. She knew who Bradley Cooper was, an Oscar-nominated actor whom she found particularly moving in the A Star Is Born remake with Lady Gaga that had come out a few years ago. Poppy assumed “Bradley Cooper” must mean a film he was currently starring in, and that there was a 10:45 AM showing.

Poppy checked her watch.

It was already ten-thirty.

Poppy hastily jumped in her car, and sped along Date Palm Drive to Highway 111, veered right, and was pulling onto Pickfair Street within five minutes. Parking in the large adjacent structure, she hurriedly clicked along the pavement to the box office to purchase a ticket. Once inside, she bypassed the concession stand, although it wasn’t easy, and checked the theatre number on her ticket. Nine. She followed the numbers down a long hallway until she located the right theatre, glanced around to see no one else around except for a lone uniformed employee vacuuming up some spilled popcorn in the hall, and then entered the theatre.

There were some coming attractions playing on the wide screen, and a smattering of people, mostly retirees, spread throughout the theatre. Poppy trudged up the steps to the back row, which was completely empty, and sat down in a large, plush leather seat close to the middle. Then she waited. After the last preview, the lights dimmed until it was completely dark except for the stair and floor lights so latecomers could see where they were going, and the feature began with the Universal Studios logo. Poppy kept an eye out for anyone new entering the theatre as the credits unfurled with ominous, pulsating music. This was obviously not a comedy, but some kind of edge-of-your-seat thriller.

Poppy’s eyes kept flicking toward the theatre entrance, but no new moviegoers arrived, and she was soon distracted by the story unfolding on the big screen, not to mention a shower scene with Mr. Cooper unabashedly in the nude.

He certainly is a fine specimen of a man, Poppy thought to herself, also grateful she had never been asked to do any kind of nude scene during her own short-lived acting career. Even if the role called for it, not gratuitous, tastefully done, she was not certain she would have had the guts to go through with it.

Poppy suddenly felt a presence next to her, and cranked her head around to see a handsome young man, late twenties to early thirties, sandy blond hair, sitting next to her, eyes glued to the movie, crinkling the paper bag of popcorn as he dug into it and shoveled handfuls of popped kernels into his mouth.

The young