Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis (most read book in the world .txt) 📕

swagger of his is just so manly,” Violet agreed, turning back to Poppy. “Anyway, Roy was kind enough to invite me and Wyatt for a ride in his helicopter once the film wrapped here in Joshua Tree. Wyatt was so disappointed he had school today and couldn’t join us, which is why Iris insisted on coming along to take his place.”

“But, Iris, you’re afraid of heights,” Poppy remarked.

Iris shrugged. “I will be fine. I trust Roy to keep me safe.” She turned to Violet. “And for the record, Violet, you already have one man, that corporate spy Phil McKellan, drooling all over you so why not be a good friend and let me sit up front in the co-pilot’s seat with Roy?”

“But it was me he personally invited not you—” Violet began to argue before Poppy pushed past them.

“I’ve already flown around with Roy in his helicopter so you two go on and have fun. I need to find Greta. . . .”

Poppy scurried off. Behind her, Violet called after her, “Is everything all right?”

There was no time to explain. She kept going.

As she neared the base camp, Poppy spotted Greta’s car pulling out of the parking lot toward the paved road leading out of the park. She practically threw herself in front of the vehicle in order to stop it. Greta slammed down on the brakes and the car jerked to a halt. She rolled down the driver’s-side window as Poppy approached.

“Are you crazy? I nearly hit you,” Greta snapped.

“I just wanted to have a quick word with you before you left,” Poppy said calmly.

Greta eyed her warily. Poppy could tell she had little interest in engaging in any kind of conversation with her, but then Greta softened a little and said, “I suppose I should thank you. It’s because of you Hal is behind bars. He’s finally going to pay for his depraved, unspeakable actions back in the nineteen eighties. Those poor women are finally going to get some justice.”

Poppy stared at Greta stone-faced, which made her uncomfortable as she pressed on. “I just want to make perfectly clear to you, Poppy, I had no idea Hal Greenwood was the Pillow Talk Killer back then. I never in a million years would have partnered with him, worked side by side for all those years. . . .”

Poppy held her tongue, resisting the urge to remind Greta that although she may have been clueless about Hal’s past as a serial killer, she had spent years covering up his gross sexual misconduct.

History would judge her role in those crimes.

“As satisfying as it is to know Linda Appleton and the others will finally get justice, I’m just frustrated we haven’t been able to find the Pillow Talk Killer 2.0, the one on the loose now, ready and able to strike again at any moment. Danika, and perhaps Fabian Granger, are still waiting for their justice,” Poppy said.

Greta studied Poppy, then almost as if brushing her off, said, “Well, I have faith that the police will find him or her eventually. It took forty years to finally expose Hal.”

Greta gripped the steering wheel, pressed down on the gas, and slowly started to drive away when Poppy grabbed ahold of the rearview mirror, almost running alongside the car. “It’s remarkable how similar the MOs of both killers are, Hal in the eighties and the one now. . . .”

Greta kept her eyes fixed ahead, speeding up some more, hoping Poppy would let go of the mirror and fall away so she could finally escape this conversation.

Unable to keep up, Poppy finally released her grip on the mirror and the car raced ahead of her, kicking up dust and sand. Poppy cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “It’s almost as if they both share the same DNA!”

The car screeched to a stop, engine idling.

Behind the wheel, Greta sat motionless.

Poppy slowly, methodically walked back up to the driver’s-side window, instantly noticing the stricken look on Greta’s face.

“Whatever wild, unprovable theories you may want to throw out there doesn’t make them true,” Greta huffed.

“I had no idea Timothy was your son.”

Greta flinched but kept her cool. “It’s hardly a secret. Everyone on the crew knows. You just didn’t ask.”

“You two look nothing alike,” Poppy noted, her eyes falling on Greta’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Does he take after his father?”

Greta flinched again, this time more noticeably. She let go of the wheel, flopped back in her seat, and sighed. “Look, there is no point in dancing around it. You obviously already know Hal is Timothy’s father.”

Poppy nodded solemnly.

“The result of a messy, drunken encounter at the Cannes Film Festival over twenty years ago. Hal made it perfectly clear he had no interest in being a father and I respected that. I raised Timothy all on my own. I suppose I should give Hal credit for continuing to work with me, encouraging me to produce his films that made me quite a lot of money I could use to support my son. But other than a financial boost, Hal was definitely out of the picture when it came to Timothy.”

“Does Timothy know who his father is?”

“Yes. I tried to keep it from him, but he was too determined to find out and figured it on his own. I admit Timothy takes after Hal in many ways, and has some challenging emotional issues, but he most certainly is not a killer!”

“You didn’t know Hal Greenwood was a killer until yesterday,” Poppy said quietly.

“Timothy has nothing to do with the Pillow Talk Killer, and if you try to pin blame, or even associate his name with any of these awful crimes, I will sue you with a vengeance,” Greta warned. “Believe me, I have the means to do it, so leave my son alone!” Greta cried as she stomped on the gas and peeled away.

Poppy watched her disappear in a cloud of dust. She could tell Greta was shaken because she simply could not even