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

Poppy glanced around the shop incredulously. “But there is no one here.”

Kale shrugged. “Believe me, there’s going to be a line outside around the block in about five minutes.”

“Well, this won’t take long—”

Kale cut her off. “Sorry.”

Poppy sighed, frustrated.

“How much?” Matt suddenly asked.

“For what?”

“A tattoo,” he answered.

“Depends on what kind and how big. Small ones start at a hundred and fifty.”

“Done. I’d like to get one.”

Poppy’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

Matt did not strike her as the tattoo type.

“Poppy, why don’t you leave me here, go do some shopping, and come back in a little while when I’m done,” Matt said before whispering under his breath, “I got this.”

“Okay,” Poppy said, hesitating, and then she left the shop. She drove around the city for an hour, stopping at a few clothing stores on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, establishments she had frequented regularly during her time as a TV actress but now scoffing at the exorbitant price tags, killing time before returning to the Melrose area. The streets were much busier now, and Poppy had a challenging time finding a parking space, but after paying the meter for an hour, she returned to the shop.

Kale had been right. There was now a line out the door with people waiting to get tattooed. She entered the shop to see Matt sitting in a chair with his shirt off as Kale busily drew a design on his upper left arm with her inks and needles. Poppy could see Matt wincing in pain a couple of times but otherwise maintaining a brave face. He had always told her he had a very low threshold for pain.

Kale finished her work finally, and stepped back and inspected it, satisfied.

Matt nodded appreciatively, then stood up and reached for his wallet in the back of his pants.

Poppy could not see the design as he was turned away from her.

Matt showed Kale the printed image of the Pink Floyd tattoo. Apparently now with a fresh sale, she was more open to answering questions.

“Yeah, I’ve done that design a few times,” Kale said.

“Do you keep records? Can I have their names?” Matt asked.

Kale burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? Look around. We’re a small operation. I don’t keep tabs on everybody who comes in here. I only remember tattoos, not faces.”

The spiky blond-haired kid emerged from the office and looked briefly at the image Matt was still holding up for Kale. “Unless they’re famous, like that one guy.”

Poppy snapped to attention. “What do you mean? Did someone famous come in here and get that particular tattoo?”

“Yeah, remember, Kale? I mean he’s not that big of a deal, not like it was Ryan Reynolds or somebody like that, but I’ve seen this guy in a couple of movies. What did he say his name was?”

“I don’t remember,” Kale said, thoroughly disinterested.

Poppy tried an educated guess. “Chase Ehrens?”

The blond kid brightened. “Yeah, him! How did you know?”

“Zip it, will you?” Kale barked at the young man before turning to Poppy and spitting out, “I don’t feel comfortable discussing my clients. They have a right to privacy.”

“Kale, we’re looking for Chase Ehrens because he physically attacked me, tried to kill me, and there is a strong possibility he may have had something to do with the murder of Danika Delgado.”

“I love her! She’s so hot!” the kid cried before realizing the inappropriateness of his comment. “I mean was. That was a real sad story.”

A light went on in Kale. She may have been trying to stay true to her professional ethics, but there was a hint of empathy at the mention of Danika. “He was in here recently with his girlfriend, or at least I assumed she was his girlfriend. I had never heard of him, but a few of the customers were buzzing about him being in the shop. When we were done, I remember thinking how odd it was he let his girlfriend pay for the tattoo. I mean, if he was such a big movie star like everybody said, why not pay for it himself?”

“Did she pay cash?” Poppy asked.

Kale shook her head. “No, I think she used a credit card.”

“Then you must have a record of her name.”

Kale wavered, not quite prepared to be that helpful.

Matt opened his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“A hundred and fifty.”

Matt handed her two one-hundred-dollar bills.

“I’ll get you some change.”

“No, keep it,” Matt said, locking eyes with her.

Kale finally relented. She took the bills and slid them into the register before asking, “So is this Chase guy really as bad as you say?”

Vigorous nods from both Poppy and Matt.

Kale reluctantly got onto her desktop computer and scrolled down a bit before she came up with a name.

Tracy Watson.

Her zip code to verify was 92202.

Somewhere very close to Palm Springs, California.

Poppy was confident Wyatt could locate her.

They thanked Kale and left the shop, walking a few blocks to where Poppy had found a parking space for her car.

Matt turned to Poppy with a grin. “You haven’t asked to see it.”

“See what?” Poppy asked, perplexed.

“My tattoo!”

“Oh . . . I’m not sure I want to.”

Matt lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal three small flowers on his bicep.

Poppy chuckled. “What made you choose flowers?”

“Not just any flowers. Take a closer look. There’s a poppy, a violet, and an iris.”

Poppy erupted in laughter. “I guess now you’re stuck with us forever.”

Chapter 38

Matt knocked on the door of the ramshackle crack den of a little house in a dusty, downtrodden, eerily quiet neighborhood in Indio. He had slicked back his hair and was decked out in a crisp short-sleeve white shirt, black tie, black pants, and black patent leather shoes. He clutched a book in one hand. He waited a few moments, then knocked again. Finally, the door opened to reveal a tiny wisp of a woman with flat blond hair, golden brown skin from laying out in the sun all day, sporting a revealing halter top