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

He nodded. “I didn’t want to worry you.” Then, still holding hands, he shakily raised them up to his lips and softly kissed the back of Poppy’s hand. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Poppy was floored. For Sam to freely admit that much, well, he might as well have proposed to her. That’s how rare it was for Sam Emerson to show any overt emotion.

She was touched by it, and thankful that she was by his bedside now, too, because she knew he was going to need her support now more than ever. Her biggest fear at the moment was just how much Sam might be downplaying the current state of his health.

She wanted a blunt conversation with his doctor as soon as she could get one.

Chapter 32

Poppy spent the rest of the day running errands for Sam, picking up his mail at his remote house in the woods, buying some magazines and paperback westerns for him to pass the time with and a box of his favorite cookies at a nearby bakery, before walking up and down the halls of the hospital in search of Sam’s doctor to get a realistic idea of what they were facing regarding Sam’s overall recovery. She finally managed to corner Dr. Brad Levin by the elevator.

“Are you Mrs. Emerson?” Dr. Levin asked.

“No,” Poppy said quickly.

“Then I’m afraid if you are not family, I can’t discuss Mr. Emerson’s condition—”

“I’m his sister!”

Dr. Levin eyed her suspiciously. “Sister?”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Poppy asked evenly, an indignant look on her face. The actress was always prepared to deliver a convincing performance in a pinch, especially in an emergency.

Luckily Dr. Levin was not in the mood to argue given his busy schedule.

“My apologies,” he said before launching into a detailed explanation of exactly what happened with Sam’s heart.

As he talked, Poppy sized the doctor up, his baby face and boyish demeanor doing nothing to assuage her fear that Sam might be under the care of someone not even old enough to vote. But her mind was quickly put at ease by Dr. Levin’s meticulous description of Sam’s coronary blockage that resulted in the attack, how he had inserted two stents after an angioplasty in order to help keep the blood flowing and the artery from narrowing again, how he was going to prescribe a regimen of anti-platelet drugs and clot-busting medications for him to strictly follow in the months ahead. Dr. Levin may have looked like he was twelve years old, but he came off as exceedingly knowledgeable and competent.

“Will you be looking after him once we discharge him?” Dr. Levin asked.

The question surprised Poppy.

She had never imagined Sam might need home care.

Would he even allow her to move in and play nurse?

Probably not.

Sam could be frustratingly stubborn.

But that was a discussion for later.

“Yes,” Poppy answered. She thanked the doctor and walked back to Sam’s room where she found him cracking open a William W. Johnstone gunslinging novel.

He smiled warmly at her as she entered. “They say they’re going to keep me here a couple more days, to monitor me and make sure there are no complications from my surgery, so you don’t have to stick around.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Poppy said. “I want to.”

“Seriously, I appreciate all you’ve done, but I don’t want to be a burden, and I know you’re very busy right now investigating a case.”

“Sam, you’re a lot more important to me than any case. . . .”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his bed. She knew he despised being vulnerable or dependent on anyone. In his mind it was of utmost importance to project strength, and he was not going to allow a pesky little heart attack to chip away at that image. “Doc says the worst is over, I don’t need to be fussed over . . .”

Poppy sighed.

Frustratingly stubborn, indeed.

She decided to let him win this battle.

For now.

But the war was far from over.

Sam was going to allow her to help him through this heavy ordeal, whether he wanted her to or not.

“Fine,” Poppy said. “If you have everything you need, I’ll drive back to Palm Springs and we will pick up this conversation when I return tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? You don’t have to come back here—”

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.

Sam shrugged and threw his hands up in the air.

Poppy marched over, planted a firm kiss on his lips, which he most certainly enjoyed, and then spun around and left the room, stopping at the nurses’ station to leave her contact information in case there was any sudden change in Sam’s condition.

Within minutes, she was back in her car driving down the mountain. Matt had texted her earlier when she was at Sam’s house to alert her to the breaking news—Fabian Granger’s death had unsurprisingly been officially ruled a homicide. He did not down too many sleeping pills or drink too much liquor and accidentally drown in the tub. Someone had deliberately and cruelly held him under the water until his lungs had been filled with bathwater and he was dead. Now, on speakerphone, they were formulating a plan on how to proceed.

“I was thinking we could meet at the Parker Hotel where it happened, maybe get a look at who came in and who left the hotel during the time of the murder, if they’ll let us watch the security footage,” Matt suggested.

“I’m sure the police have already beaten us to the punch,” Poppy said, carefully maneuvering around a slow-moving Mercedes on the long, winding, downhill road.

“Yeah, but who knows? Maybe we’ll pick up something they missed.”

He had a point.

There was no harm in double-checking.

Matt’s gusto and thoroughness was about to pay off in dividends.

They met in the lobby of the Parker two hours later and approached the reception desk, this time manned by a handsome young, wiry Latino man who practically lit up like a Christmas tree when Poppy and Matt approached. “Good afternoon. Checking in?”

Poppy stood back, allowing Matt to take the lead since the receptionist couldn’t tear