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

Joshua Tree the following morning, Poppy had placed a call to Detective Jordan to bring him up to speed on what little information they had about Phil McKellan, whom they had clearly identified on the Parker Hotel’s security footage, and whom they suspected had bugged their office using Violet as his way to get inside. It wasn’t much. But it was something. Naturally, Detective Jordan had declined to take Poppy’s call, but the desk sergeant who took the message did at least sound mildly intrigued.

After parking her car at a base camp, Poppy and Matt hustled into a van and were transported about a half mile to the set. They had barely had time to get a cup of coffee at the craft services table and find the makeup trailer when they suddenly heard a man yelling at the top of his lungs.

“What the hell are they doing here?”

Poppy and Matt spun around, coffee in hand, dumbstruck as they saw Hal Greenwood in all his blustery, full-tilt rage, pointing a pudgy finger directly at them.

“I want them off my set! Somebody call security!”

Nobody moved.

Everyone was still in shock from the sudden, unexpected outburst.

Hal, his face as red as a ripened tomato, sweat dribbling down his chubby cheeks, stomped his feet in the desert sand like a petulant child, still pointing his finger at Poppy and Matt. “I fired you two! That means you’re trespassing and subject to arrest! And let me tell you, I’m gonna love seeing those smug, sanctimonious faces of yours behind bars!”

Poppy didn’t feel like she was being smug or sanctimonious. In fact, she was more confused than anything else. But she was not about to budge. She was going to stand her ground against this bully, at least until someone explained to her why they had been dragged back to the set if they were not wanted.

“Hal! Hal! Wait!” Greta called breathlessly as she scurried onto the set and physically placed herself as a barrier between her mercurial boss and Poppy and Matt. “I asked them to come.”

“You what?” Hal wailed.

Greta stopped momentarily to catch her breath, a hand over her rapidly beating heart, and pressed on. “Can we go talk somewhere privately so I can explain?”

“No! You can tell me right here!” Hal roared.

Greta glanced around at the small crowd, cast and crew, all gathered around, eyes glued to the big boss’s meltdown. “Okay,” she sighed, shrugging, figuring there was probably relatively little harm in letting everyone hear the truth. “The insurance company is covering the cost of recasting and reshooting the scenes with Danika that we lost, but not any additional scenes. I talked to Netflix and they’re happy with all the other dailies so it wouldn’t be financially prudent to let any more cast members go at this point—”

“I don’t care! I’ll cover the damn costs myself!” Hal erupted.

“We’re already over budget,” Greta pleaded. “They only have a couple of scenes left and then they will be done.”

Hal sputtered and fumed and swore to himself some more, but in the end, he knew his right-hand man, or woman, was making the correct call. “Fine,” he muttered before pointing his finger again at Poppy and Matt while yelling in Greta’s direction. “But I want their scenes done today, you hear me, today, and then I want them gone!”

“Yes, Hal, I can arrange that,” Greta promised, relief in her voice.

Hal stormed off, still seething, and Greta made a beeline over to Poppy and Matt.

“I have never felt more welcome,” Poppy cracked.

“I’m sorry about that. Hal is still a little rattled over you showing up at our office in LA unannounced and insinuating that he had something to do with Danika’s murder.”

Neither Poppy nor Matt had any intention of disavowing those suspicions and Greta bristled at their stony silence. But then, she quickly shifted back into producer mode, her primary mission to keep the peace and the production on track.

“Anyway, I appreciate you both keeping your commitment and coming back to wrap your scenes. Given how Hal has treated you both, a lot of actors would have stayed away. If there is anything you need, just let me know,” Greta said with a tight smile.

Before they could respond, Greta was off like a shot, ready to put out more fires.

“I suspect it’s going to be a very long day,” Poppy sighed.

“At least it won’t be boring,” Matt chuckled before something caught his eye. “Not boring at all.”

Poppy followed his gaze to the opposite side of the craft service table where a statuesque girl with a striking resemblance to Danika, smooth caramel skin, jet-black hair, beautiful and even doe-eyed from a distance. But as they approached, Poppy noticed up close a roughness around the edges. She was draped in a pink bathrobe that hung open just enough, on purpose Poppy suspected, to flaunt her ample breasts. A few crew members stopped what they were doing to gape at her as she hummed to herself and perused a platter of fresh fruit. As she settled upon a piece of melon and popped it into her mouth, the juice dribbling down her chin, there was almost an audible heavy sigh from her gaggle of male fans on the set watching her.

She circled around the table and made a point of walking up to Poppy and Matt. “Hi, I’m the new girl.”

“Matt Flowers.” He pumped her hand, a silly grin on his face. He made no effort to introduce Poppy as he was so distracted by this absolute vision of loveliness.

“And I’m just a random person standing next to him,” Poppy said, elbowing Matt in the rib cage.

“Oh, where are my manners? This is Poppy . . .”

“Harmon,” Poppy said, rolling her eyes at Matt.

“Joselyn Tremblay,” the girl said, breaking into a smile wide enough to compete with Farrah Fawcett on her famous poster from the 1970s. Joselyn wasted no time in giving them her full, unabridged biography, growing up in Santa Fe, the daughter of a painter and a