Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer Lee Hollis (best motivational books for students .TXT) 📖

Poppy swiveled her head around. “What are you talking about, Violet?”

“You are feeling guilty about calling the police to report Don Carter all those years ago. You somehow feel it’s your fault he died, and that is simply nonsense!” Iris barked, hands gripping the steering wheel as she kept her eyes fixed on the road.

“How do you two know me so well?” Poppy sighed.

“Because we’re your best friends,” Violet piped in. “And just to be clear, you absolutely did the right thing. What if Don had been the killer and you didn’t make that call? Who knows how many more poor girls he might have gone after? Better safe than sorry!”

“But I ruined his life. . . .” Poppy whispered, consumed with guilt.

It would take a long time for her to come to grips with what she had done, how her actions had changed the course of Don Carter’s life. In her mind, the best way for her to cope now was to find out who smothered Danika Delgado to death because there was a very real possibility that this killer was the same one who had rampaged Hollywood over thirty-six years ago. And if she did find him, then perhaps she might find some belated justice for Don Carter, not to mention his first three victims.

Chapter 21

The house was located at the end of a dusty, deserted road on the outskirts of Desert Hot Springs. The structure appeared to be unstable and teetering, on the verge of collapse if suddenly buffeted by the stiff valley winds. There was a cracked window and large chips of stucco missing. A 2008 Toyota Corolla was parked out front and the license plate matched what Wyatt had found in the DMV records.

“Looks like we found him,” Matt said as he and Poppy both hopped out of his Prius and made their way toward the tiny house, which was actually more of a shack. They were about fifty feet from the front door when it was suddenly flung open and a young man emerged holding a rifle.

He cocked it. “Don’t come any closer!”

Poppy instantly recognized the man. The beady eyes. The beak nose. Acne-scarred complexion. Greasy black hair. This was the obsessive man who had cornered Danika in the gym before they spooked him and he managed to run off. This was Byron Savage.

Byron aimed the rifle in Matt’s direction. “I know who you are! You’re the guy who tried to beat me up!”

Matt slowly raised his hands in the air. “To be fair, you were accosting a friend of mine.”

“I wasn’t accosting anybody! I was just trying to tell her how much she meant to me! And then you had to show up and ruin everything!”

Matt took a small step forward. “Look, would you mind putting the gun down so we can talk—?”

Byron fired a shot that slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt near Matt, who stood frozen in place.

“I said, don’t come any closer!”

Matt nodded, hands still in the air, as Poppy hovered just behind him, still in shock from the sudden gunshot.

“Now turn around and get in your car and leave, and there won’t be any more trouble!” Byron yelled, waving the rifle around haphazardly, but still aiming in their general direction.

Matt kept his eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun as it moved around. “Okay, we’ll go, but if you won’t talk to us, you better be prepared to talk to the police.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything!” Byron protested.

“You stalked an actress, trespassed on a film set, physically held her against her will—” Matt said slowly, deliberately, taking another tiny step forward without thinking.

Another shot fired in the dirt to the right of Matt. More dust kicked up causing Matt to cough. Matt and Poppy did not dare to make another move. Byron stamped his foot, frustrated. “You’re twisting around what happened! I just wanted to meet Danika in person. I figured if she got to know me, she’d see how devoted I am to her, how much I care about her . . .”

“Maybe if you explain it to us, we can go to the police and tell them what really happened so you won’t have to,” Matt suggested.

Byron mulled this over before aiming his rifle right between Matt’s eyes. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“No trick, I promise,” Matt said, raising his hands over his head even higher, still standing in front of Poppy, shielding her from any flying bullets.

Byron finally lowered his gun, pointing the barrel toward the wooden porch steps. Then he waved for them to come inside.

Matt started walking toward the house.

“Matt, no!” Poppy whispered under her breath.

“I’ll be okay. But you better stay out here,” Matt said, locking eyes with Byron like a hunter would with a wild animal, trying to read whether it might suddenly spring forward and attack. Byron, at this point, however, appeared rather docile and almost welcoming.

“I will not allow you to go inside there alone,” Poppy said, following on his heels.

Byron opened the door and ushered them inside, making sure to leave the rifle perched next to the door outside so his guests would not be so jumpy.

Once they crossed the threshold, Poppy’s eyes were instantly drawn to a corner in the living room with a pristine glass case filled with framed photos of Danika Delgado, prayer candles, publicity stills, memorabilia, a small tablet playing her YouTube videos on a loop. It was so impressive and well kept and in direct contrast to the rest of the house, with its ripped, ratty furniture and stained wallpaper. The place was more downtrodden than Rosemarie Carter’s house. But the shrine was almost majestic. Matt inhaled sharply once he noticed it.

Byron beamed proudly. “It brings me great comfort during this sad time. I sit in front of it for hours and pretend she’s still with us.”

Both Poppy and Matt declined to comment.

Byron gestured toward the couch. “Would you like to sit down?”

Poppy glanced over