Chapter 31
Poppy yawned and rubbed her eyes while sitting at her kitchen table, sipping coffee, holding her cell phone out in front of her, the speakerphone enabled. “You’re going to have to repeat that.”
“I’m afraid our installation team will be unable to complete the job today,” the representative from Smart House Security said, trying to remain chipper.
Poppy sighed, agitated. “Why not?”
“We overbooked. I swear to you, this never happens,” the girl promised.
“Well, it just did,” Poppy said through clenched teeth. She was dead tired, having not arrived home until after three in the morning due to exhausting questioning from Detective Jordan at the Parker Hotel crime scene. Then, she had to set the alarm for six-thirty in order to be up in time to greet Smart House Security, which was scheduled to install her new home security system, but now was a no-show.
Poppy had waited over an hour before calling the company to find out what was going on. After another fifteen minutes on hold, a representative had finally gotten on the line. She cheerfully announced her name was Britney, and explained how excited she was to help Poppy with whatever she needed. But after a few clicks on her keyboard, Britney somberly delivered the bad news that her guys would not be coming today.
Then it was back to perky. “We have an appointment open in three weeks, how does Thursday the tenth sound to you?”
“It doesn’t sound good to me at all, Britney,” Poppy seethed. “This appointment today has been on the books for weeks. It’s very important to me I get this done. I scheduled this security alarm installation before I even moved into the house.”
Poppy wanted to explain why she was so eager to have peace of mind, knowing her new house was wired and being monitored by all the emergency services. How she was supremely uncomfortable with the local press excitedly documenting her purchase of this house, because of its pedigree and the fact that Poppy herself passed as a “celebrity buyer,” someone who had enjoyed a modicum of Hollywood success, if ever so briefly. It was enough to warrant an article in the real estate section of the Desert Sun. And then there was the run-in with Byron Savage and his brutish brother Axel. Both were currently on the run, off the grid, free to show up out of nowhere and strike at any moment. She wouldn’t feel safe until she had a direct line to the police in case anyone tried to break in to frighten her, terrorize her, or worse, as Axel had so ominously promised. She wanted to stress to this cheery young woman that if anything bad happened to Poppy between now and Thursday the tenth, then Smart House Security would be responsible.
But true to form, in the end, Poppy kept all that information to herself because she knew the young woman was just doing her job, and frankly, Poppy relating her fears would probably not do much good. She would just be seen as some paranoid old woman from Britney’s millennial vantage point.
“I can put you on a waiting list in case we have a cancellation between now and the tenth,” Britney offered.
“Yes, fine, do that,” Poppy huffed.
Poppy’s phone buzzed.
It was Sam.
“Great. You’re all set,” Britney said. “Now would you like to fill out a survey online about how your experience was with us today?”
“Believe me when I tell you this, Britney, you do not want me to do that. Good-bye,” Poppy said, ending the call and answering Sam’s. “Hi, Sam.”
“Hey, beautiful.”
Poppy grimaced. Always the flirt to be sure, but there was a detectable strain in Sam’s voice.
He coughed and cleared his throat. “I just wanted to apologize again for breaking our date. I’m sorry if I ruined your evening.”
“Sam, you cancelling was a disappointment, but it was a far cry from the cataclysmic event that really ruined my evening.”
“You got me curious.”
Poppy just did not have the energy to breathlessly recount her stumbling across the dead body of Fabian Granger in a bathtub at the Parker. Nor would Sam be shocked by that news, given her escalating habit of coming into close proximity with recent corpses. No, she was not going to go there, at least for now. “Never mind. I’m safe and sound, that’s all that matters. How are you feeling, any better?”
“I wish I could say yes, but after we spoke on the phone yesterday, things took a little turn for the worse.”
“Oh no. Did you go see a doctor?”
“Yeah, eventually. And now I have a full-time staff looking after me.”
Poppy crinkled her nose, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m in the hospital.”
Poppy gasped. “What?”
“Apparently I had a heart attack,” he said, disconcertingly calm. “I had been feeling weird all day, and then last night I felt chest pains, shortness of breath. I was going to drive myself to the emergency room, but then I thought better of it and called an ambulance.”
“Sam . . .” Poppy gasped, already looking for her bag with her car keys so she could drive herself up to Big Bear pronto. “I’m on my way.”
“Poppy, you don’t have to do that. It’s nothing serious,” Sam said.
“Don’t be that man, Sam,” Poppy admonished.
“What man?”
“The kind of man who downplays everything, pretends he’s got everything under control when he is actually in a very serious situation . . .”
Sam remained silent on the other end of the call.
“What hospital are you in?”
“Bear Valley Community Hospital. Pretty much the only one up here,” he said.
“Hold on. I’m coming to you.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Poppy jumped in her car and raced on the 10 freeway to Calimesa where she exited onto CA-38 in San Bernardino County, continuing on up the mountain to Big Bear. She made it in less than two hours. Her GPS got her to the hospital, and after parking, she was at the admitting desk. A receptionist directed her up to the second floor where Sam was recuperating.
When Poppy burst into his room, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of him. He looked thinner, weak, pale. It was so startling because she had only known Sam Emerson as a rough-riding, macho, strong-as-nails cowboy.
It was a dramatic change.
Sam seemed to notice her troubled reaction.
“The doc gave me two stents to open up the blockage. Says I’ll be as good as new in a few weeks so you can stop worrying.”
Poppy employed her acting skills to quickly cover up her obvious dismay and project a more lighthearted tone. “I’m sure you’re a terrible patient,” she teased.
“That’s not true. The nurses say I’ve been a dream,” he said, trying to sit up in bed. He winced, obviously in pain, and eased himself back down, hoping Poppy hadn’t noticed.
But of course she had.
“Oh, I’m certain the nurses have been dreaming about you. You’re a serial flirter.”
“Whatever gets me an extra Jell-O,” he said, smiling.
There was a brief silence before Poppy reached out and squeezed Sam’s hand. “I wish you had called me earlier.”
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.