Dead Jealous (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Poppy stood at the bottom of the wobbly metal steps and watched Tariq. She should have known he was too good to be true. He’d fed her a line and she’d swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. She was so naive. Just like she’d been with Michael. For two whole minutes in the tipi she’d thought it might all be OK. And then he’d left. And now she had no idea what was going on.

Tariq was too busy furiously scrubbing the stainless steel worktop to notice her. A deep line cut between his wild eyebrows and he was holding the Brillo pad so tightly that his knuckles shone pale.

Even if he was a dealer, he was a darned cute one. A part of her couldn’t believe that he was even interested in her. Maybe seducing innocent schoolgirls was a bit of a thrill. Well, after spending another hour and a half in the company of Detective Sergeant Grant and his boss, she’d picked up a few interrogation techniques and she had some questions for Tariq.

Tariq straightened up and flung the Brillo pad at the worktop, cursing under his breath. Just then he saw her. He spun around, his mouth hanging open with not so much as a hello.

‘Thought you might want to buy me an aubergine burger,’ Poppy said. ‘Your treat, seeing as you can afford it.’

She walked away and left him fumbling with his apron strings.

In thirty seconds he was there beside her. They walked among the falafel and crepe vans. Poppy didn’t speak. That would make it too easy for him and she wasn’t in the mood to make life easy for any guy. Instead, she pretended to take great interest in each and every one of the menu boards. Tariq didn’t speak either, he just followed her around like a lost puppy. Eventually, after she’d spent a good five minutes umming and ahhing over the menu of Al’s Jamaican-Continental Diner, Tariq stepped between her and the chalkboard.

‘Look, I’m sorry!’

‘Are you trying to get out of me buying dinner? Man, that’s cheap for someone who earns...what? What does a dealer earn?’

Tariq glanced around nervously. ‘OK, I deserved that, but can you keep your voice down?’

‘Why?’ She carried on her journey down the food aisle. ‘Maybe that’s what you’re lacking – a really good marketing strategy. I mean, if you’re gonna do good business, people need to know that you’re the guy with the high. That’s it! We could paint a new sign for the burger van. Tariq –
The Guy with the High!
I think it’s catchy.’

A hand grabbed her wrist. Hard. And before she could object, she was being dragged towards the woods.

The afternoon sun had waned. It would be dark in the woods. Lonely.

She tried to yank out of his grip but he had tight hold of her and he wasn’t letting go.

‘Get off me!’ Suddenly she was frightened.

He stopped abruptly. She bumped smack into him.

‘You obviously have things to say,’ he said quietly, ‘which is fine, but do you mind if we go somewhere a bit more private so when you bawl me out the whole festival doesn’t hear?’

He let go of her wrist and she rubbed the throbbing indentations he’d left behind.

Her heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm and she was about to tell him where to get off, when she noticed that he was staring at her wrist. His cheeks reddened. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He took a tentative step towards her. His hand reached out towards hers.

‘Poppy, God, I’m—’

‘—Whatever,’ she muttered.

She headed into the shadow of the trees. Immediately the temperature dropped by several degrees. She couldn’t stop herself from shivering. She was aware of Tariq’s footsteps behind her and the voices of the food sellers on the vans. As long as she could hear them, they’d hear her, she told herself. Even if Tariq was unlikely to hurt her, she wasn’t totally stupid. She stopped and turned to face him, folding her arms, and giving him a ‘So?’ look.

Tariq shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look at her. He kicked at some rotting pinecones from last year’s drop.

‘I told you I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do,’ he muttered.

‘All that stuff about you being a law student, about your dad leaving, was that all lies?’

He shook his head. ‘That was all true.’

‘You needed money so you thought you’d try your luck on the other side of the law, huh?’

He sighed. ‘Yes. But I didn’t exactly plan it. There was a guy. He—’

‘—And you couldn’t get a job in McDonald’s like everyone else?’

He looked at her from beneath his heavy brow and his lip curled in an unwilling smile. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I did that too.’

‘Are you taking drugs?’

He glared at her. ‘Do I look like an idiot?’

‘But it’s OK to push the stuff to other people?’

‘I’m not a pusher!’ He shook his head in denial. ‘I don’t force anyone to take anything. I sell to adults who are entitled to make their own decisions. In some countries you can buy what I sell in pharmacies!’

‘We don’t live in those countries.’

Tariq rolled his eyes. ‘You really want to stand here and debate the Controlled Substances Act?’

‘No. I want to know what you sold to Beth.’

That had his attention. He rubbed a hand over his top lip, then stepped closer and lowered his voice as if the trees might be listening. ‘Poppy, I didn’t...’

‘That’s why you’ve been so worried, isn’t it? That’s why you didn’t want me asking questions. You were worried that your merchandise might have killed her.’

Again, he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He was so close, his eyes so dark, so serious.

Poppy’s pulse ticked in her temple. Her throat ran dry and for the first time she was aware of how much stronger he was than her. If he did want to hurt her he could do it. Hell, if he wanted to kill her, all he’d have to do was squeeze.

‘You have no idea what you’re messing with.’

‘Then you’d better tell me.’

His chest rose and fell with increasing speed, but still he said nothing.

‘That’s the trouble with drugs, isn’t it? Most of the time it’s fine. People have their little trips and they come back down to earth safely.’ Beth’s face floated before her. Drowned and dead. ‘But
sometimes
they end up in the lake, don’t they? You have no clue what you’re buying – what you’re selling on to people.’

Tariq stared at her, silently.

‘If you don’t tell me, I’m going straight to the police.’ She almost meant it.

‘No you’re not.’

She held his gaze. ‘Watch me.’

He looked away first. ‘OK – OK! I sold her an E. What do you want me to do? You want me to go and hand myself in?’

She sighed, not knowing whether she was relieved or sad. All she knew was that she felt washed out. ‘No. I don’t want you to hand yourself in.’

‘Was it...did it kill her? Is that what they’re saying?’ His eyes were wide and panicked.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Tariq. They found the drugs in her system, but that wasn’t what killed her. She was murdered.’

He rubbed his hands over his face and blew out a long slow breath. ‘You’re sure?’

Poppy nodded.

He put his hands on his hips and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Thank fuck for that. I thought maybe...’

‘You don’t have to worry about it. But they’re going to be looking for whoever sold it. Maybe you should do yourself a favour and get out of here.’

She turned to leave.

‘Wait! Poppy – I know I’m not what you thought I was, but I’m not a bad guy. All that stuff I told you was true. And I like you.’ He stepped closer. His hand slid into her hair. ‘A lot.’

‘It’s not what you do that’s the problem – I mean, it is – but...’

She didn’t get a chance to say anything else. His mouth was on hers, preventing any sound from getting out. He kissed her until she stopped struggling, then he nipped her bottom lip just hard enough to make her gasp. As he turned his attention to her neck, she couldn’t stop her hands from sliding into his hair.

Her heart was beating so hard, her stomach so squirmy and her legs so jittery that she almost didn’t stop him from one-handedly unbuttoning her jeans and pushing the denim over her hip. But his warm touch to the bare skin of her back was like a bucket of cold water over her head. She got both hands on his chest and shoved him away.

‘No way!’ she gasped.

He gave her a slightly confused, slightly amused look.

‘You think you can distract me like that?’

‘Seemed to be working,’ he said, moving towards her.

Poppy held out a hand to prevent him from picking up where he’d left off.

He sighed. ‘It’s that guy, Michael, isn’t it?’

‘No!’ She’d had so much practice that the lie slipped out easily. She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, it’s Michael.’

‘It’s pretty obvious he’s in love with you.’

‘He’s got a girlfriend.’

Tariq narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Were you using me to try and make him jealous?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Well, it’s worked. I’m surprised he hasn’t punched me yet.’

‘Michael’s got a very beautiful girlfriend. And I don’t think he really does love me. I mean, I know he loves me. But I’m not sure he loves me the way I love him. Maybe he did at some point. But I think I blew it.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. He’s spent a lot of time driving over here to see you.’

‘He’s like that.’

‘If you say so.’

‘What does that mean?’

Tariq shrugged. He was right on top of her again. His arms slipped around her waist. He smiled wickedly and kissed her cheek.

‘Don’t you care that I like someone else?’ she gasped.

‘You might be in love with him, Poppy, but you fancy me,’ he whispered. ‘And I’ll take what I can get.’ His hot breath tickled her ear. Damn her stomach, and legs, and every other part of her that was tingling. She kept her gaze averted. She wasn’t going to be drawn into this madness by beautiful almond-shaped eyes with irises the colour of rich chocolate. Damn it, she wasn’t this easily manipulated!

‘Poppy?
Poppy?
’ His lips quirked to one side into the cutest darned lopsided grin she’d ever seen.

‘Tariq, don’t...’ As his lips brushed against hers and turned her legs to water, there was the crack of a tree branch snapping. She pushed him away and spun around. ‘What was that?’

‘What was what?’

‘Police!’ a voice called from the darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Poppy glanced at Tariq. His cheeks had paled and his mouth hung open like he was about to start singing a few verses of
Jail House Rock
.

He leaned into her. ‘Did you...?’

‘No, of course not,’ she whispered back.

From the gloom between the trees, two burly policemen in flak jackets lumbered into the clearing.

One held up his warrant card. ‘Can I ask your names, please?’

Was she about to be arrested for illicit snogging? ‘Poppy Sinclair. What’s going on?’

‘Tariq Nasheed.’

‘Have either of you seen this guy?’ The taller policeman held up a picture of a guy with a shaved head and a smooth skull-like face. There was no green tuft, and there was a hardness in his eyes she’d never seen before, but it was definitely Kane.

Her heart leapt into her throat. ‘What’s happened? Where is he?’

‘We want to talk to him but he seems to have left the site.’

‘You mean you don’t know where he is?’ Poppy’s stomach lurched. Kane was out there. And if he’d run, that meant he was guilty, right?

The policeman’s radio buzzed. He took a step back and spoke quietly into the receiver.

‘Have you seen him?’ the other cop asked.

‘Not today,’ Poppy said.

Tariq shook his head. ‘I’ve seen him around, but don’t think I’ve seen him today.’

The tall policeman turned back to them. ‘Did you say your name is Poppy?’

‘Yeah.’

He smiled. ‘Your mum’s looking for you. And Mr Nasheed, we have a couple of questions for you.’

‘I’ve spoken to Sergeant Grant and he thinks it would be best if we went home.’ Mum was stuffing the contents of the tipi into bags like they’d just been told a hurricane was coming.

‘What?’

Mum glanced up, a worried frown creasing her forehead. ‘Poppy, he’s gone missing. He’ll know it was you who put the police onto him. We can’t stay.’

‘But...’

Mum stopped shoving cushions into bin bags and turned to her. ‘What?’

‘I just...’ Poppy sighed. ‘Nothing. You’re right. It’s time to go home.’ Except it didn’t feel like time to go home. It felt like everything had been stirred up and now she was leaving before getting to understand what had actually happened here. ‘I should go and say goodbye to Bob.’

‘Can’t you wait until Jonathan comes back and I’ll come with you?’

‘Oh, come on. I’m only going to Bob’s caravan. Have you seen how many police there are around here? If Kane’s got any sense he’ll be halfway to London by now.’

‘Jonathan’s talking to them now, to see if he can help find him. Kane’s got a record, y’know?’

Poppy swallowed a groan. ‘I’ll go straight there and straight back.’

‘Hmm...’

‘I’ll be ten minutes.’

Poppy gave her mum a quick hug before she could reply, and slipped out of the tipi. The light had begun to fade because of some whacking great clouds that were crowding the sky. She could taste the rain like a threat from above. As she started out across the festival ground towards Bob’s caravan, she reached into her pocket for her mobile. She had to tell Michael what was going on. She was pulling up his number when it hit her: she couldn’t phone him. She couldn’t text him.

Michael didn’t want to talk to her. Her best friend – no, she had to stop calling him that – the guy she was in love with was at his girlfriend’s eighteenth and wouldn’t want to talk to her. Tears clouded her vision.

In an hour or so she’d be back in her room at home. If she opened her window she’d probably be able to hear the sounds of the party coming from Julia’s.

She sniffed back the tears and tried to get herself together. She didn’t want Bob to see what a pathetic mess she was. She’d say a quick goodbye to him, and go back to the tipi via the burger van. She at least needed to find out what had happened to Tariq. It wasn’t as though she could ask the police if they’d arrested the festival dealer.

Bob was standing outside the multicoloured caravan talking to a policewoman and Pete from the farm. Bob was gnawing his bottom lip like he was chewing a wasp and Pete didn’t look too happy either. Bob spotted Poppy and motioned for her to join them.

‘Your mum found you, then?’ he asked, putting an arm around her. She smiled up at him.

‘Hello, Poppy,’ Pete said. It looked like his mouth was trying to smile but the farmer didn’t really look at her, as if he was still mulling over what they’d been talking about before she arrived.

‘Anyway, thanks for your help,’ the policewoman said brightly. ‘I’ll get back to you when we have more details of the press release.’

Poppy thought she felt a growl rumble in the old druid’s chest.

The policewoman smiled, seemingly oblivious to the waves of hostility rolling off Bob. ‘Er, could I have a quick word with you?’ she asked Pete.

‘What?’ A sullen, wary look crossed Pete’s face. He seemed as fed up as Bob. ‘Oh, yeah, OK.’ He shrugged and followed the policewoman over to one of the marquees the force had commandeered.

‘Press release?’ Poppy asked, squeezing Bob.

Bob nodded and his arm dropped from around her shoulders. ‘They can’t wait to tell the world that a ritual murder happened at a Pagan festival. By morning there’ll be television crews and protesters. After everything we’ve worked for – all that time trying to educate folk that Pagans are just normal people. Once the tabloids get hold of this they’ll turn us into a freak show. We’ll have to move the festival next year...and that’ll hurt Pete. That family relies on the money we gives ’em.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know.’ Bob cupped her face with his big paw of a hand and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. ‘So you’re going home, then?’

‘I feel like we’re abandoning you.’

‘Don’t be daft. I don’t want you here while Kane’s...’ He sighed. ‘I should never have sent you to see that lad.’

‘I’d have found him myself, Bob. You know me – dog with a bone.’

He smiled down at her fondly. ‘In’t that the truth.’

Dog with a bone, except she was about to walk away from it all. She was leaving Bob to deal with the media backlash, she was leaving Tariq to God knows what fate, and Beth – she was leaving Beth. And there were still so many questions to be answered.

‘Bob? There was something he said – Kane – he said that Maya was looking for her dad. Do you know who her dad was?’

‘Ye gods, Poppy!’ Bob exclaimed, shaking his head. ‘It’s a good thing you’re going home.’

‘She’s not found any more bodies, has she?’ a voice asked. It was Pete, stood behind her with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets. He was smiling, but Poppy could see he was making an effort. Losing the income from the festival had to be pretty bad news.

‘Not through lack of trying.’ Bob hugged her. ‘Thinks she’s a sleuth from an Agatha Christie novel.’

‘I do not! And I’ve got to go. I promised Mum I wouldn’t be long.’ She kissed Bob on his scratchy whiskered cheek. ‘Will you call in on your way home?’

‘Aye, reckon I might.’

She turned to Pete. ‘Thanks for everything.’

Pete shrugged. ‘You too – I mean, take care.’

She felt bad for him. It was rotten news, especially with a baby on the way. ‘Say goodbye to Sally for me.’

She set off in the direction of the tipi. As soon as she was out of sight of Bob, she switched directions and headed towards the food vans. The market stalls were nearly empty, everything sold or packed up. The tarpaulin roofs sagged with rainwater and filled black bin bags lay in piles. A sharp-toothed creature had mauled one of them, and the contents had spilled out over the sodden grass. Without fairy lights and the bustle of people, the stalls looked like nothing but piles of rusting bones. The magic was gone.

A cold gust of wind shuddered through the stalls setting metal poles clanging and ruffling the tarps. Poppy pulled her hoodie tighter around her. Her gaze was drawn to the tops of the fir trees on the fringe of the festival ground. They were all leaning to the left, bowing down as if to appease the storm that was brewing. The wind was really getting up. Mum would freak if it started raining when she was halfway through packing up.

Poppy picked up speed as she worked her way between the abandoned stalls. She was just about to step over a dropped veggie burger and fries when her eyes caught a movement between the stalls.

She turned, expecting to see another festival-goer, but there was no one there. Must have been a bird or something. As she turned to go, there was a flash of brown, so fast she didn’t have time to make out what it was. She whipped around.

She was alone in the metal forest of poles. The only people she could see were a couple of distant figures walking between the tents and caravans on the opposite side of the market. A little voice in the back of her head told her to turn back – go and help Mum dismantle the tipi. But that would mean not saying goodbye to Tariq, not knowing what the police wanted from him.

She took a deep breath and carried on walking, absently fingering the smooth black stone hanging around at her throat.

‘Poppy!’

She stopped. She didn’t breathe.

‘POPPY!’ a voice half whispered, half shouted.

She whirled around, searching for the person – if it was a person – who was haunting the empty market. Her gaze skipped from one market stall to the next, from shadow to tree to...
movement!

Someone was there. Coming towards her.

Poppy edged away, thinking hard, trying not to panic. She was midway between Bob and Tariq, but what if Tariq wasn’t there? If the food vans had closed down like the market she’d be stuffed.

‘
Poppyyyyyyy!
’ the voice hissed.

Her feet made the decision for her. She sprinted for the food vans. A figure lunged out from behind a sagging tarp right in front of her and she crashed into it.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and held her in place.

‘Shhhh!’ Kane whispered, pressing a finger to her lips.