Dead Jealous (16 page)

Am arse of EPIC proportions. The Ben Nevis of arses.

She smiled and texted back:

True.

She waited, and sure enough, her phone buzzed again.

But u know I hate it when u figure something out b4 me.

The breath caught in her throat.

What did I figure out?

Silence. Poppy stared at the phone, willing another text message to appear.

What do u think?

She growled with frustration.

If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.

She’d kidded herself about his feelings for her so often that she refused to second-guess him.

I’m at ur tent. Where r u?

He was here. Poppy’s gaze sought out her tent. She could barely see the green nylon between all the bigger more elaborate tents, but she could see the top of Mum and Jonathan’s tipi, and yes, there was his mum’s car, sunlight sparking off its silver paintwork. She texted him back:

I’m on my way.

She ran, grabbed her bag from the edge of the bluff and was about to negotiate the steep slope down to the festival ground when she remembered the envelope Bob had asked her to post through the farmhouse door.

‘Bugger!’

She blew the hair away from her eyes and walked in the opposite direction, away from Michael. She hadn’t gone too far before she broke into a run.

The heat from the sun combined with tiredness, and by the time she reached the cobbled yard at the front of the house she felt hot and sick. Bright lights flashed before her eyes, the world tipped, and only a strong arm wrapped around her waist stopped her from toppling over.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

On her way from where? Michael glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair. Her texts had been unusually monosyllabic. Understandable – he’d hurt her. She was his best friend, and instead of being honest with her he’d walked away. Twice. She had every fucking right to be mad at him.

He thought about texting her again, but that risked coming over as pushy and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to do or say anything that would lead to them blowing up at each other again. He just wanted to see her, talk to her. Convince her, and maybe himself, that everything would be OK. Nervousness buzzed in his veins. It made him twitchy to do something – anything to pass the time until she got there.

He scanned the festival ground that was quickly returning to nothing more than a crescent-shaped field on the shore of Lake Scariswater. Cars were driving slowly over bumps and bouncing down into muddy dips, wrecking their suspension. And the only evidence that the wicker man had been there was the large black burnt spot at the centre. Most of the tents and caravans had gone; only a few of the food vans remained. Between two other larger trailers, he spotted the small white burger van.

Shit. Was that where she was?

He spotted Meg and Jonathan carrying what looked like a heavy box between them. He jogged over to them and took over from Meg.

‘Michael, what are you doing here? We’re just packing up,’ she said, rubbing her hands together and stretching her fingers.

Michael soon knew why. The box weighed a tonne. ‘What’ve you got in here? Rocks?’ he asked.

‘Yes, actually.’

He exchanged a glance with Jonathan, who grinned and shrugged.

‘So, err, where’s Poppy?’

‘She had a few things to do. I thought she’d be back by now,’ Meg replied.

Michael and Jonathan made their way to the boot of the Saab and dumped the box on the ground.

Jonathan opened the boot and frowned. ‘It’s never going to fit in.’

‘I can take them for you,’ Michael volunteered. ‘Or you could put that in Poppy’s seat and I’ll drive her home.’

Meg and Jonathan looked at each other and grinned.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

‘Are you all right?’ Pete asked.

Poppy blinked away the flashing lights. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped. ‘Got a bit hot.’

Pete smiled. ‘Think maybe you’ve had too much excitement over the last couple of days.’

She smiled. ‘Yeah. I don’t want
that
much excitement ever again.’

‘You and me both, love. What are you doing up here?’

‘Bob asked me to give you this.’ She grabbed the envelope from out of the bag.

The farmer snorted. ‘Not something else to bring on the baby? The last batch of herbal tea weren’t too successful.’ He opened the envelope and Poppy saw a flash of purple bank notes. Money? Maybe it was what the festival owed for the ground rent, but why would they send that as cash?

Pete smiled and shook his head. ‘Bob’s a good bloke.’ He handed the envelope back to Poppy.

‘But...?’

‘Tell Bob thanks, but we’ll be OK.’

She nodded. Bob was doing his usual fairy godmother trick – he’d said he was worried about having to move the festival next year and the impact it would have on the farm. Obviously Pete knew a handout when he saw it.

‘Sure?’

Pete nodded and so she stuffed the envelope back in the bag.

‘Thanks for everything, Pete. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there when I found...Anyway, I should get going. My mum’ll send out a search party if I’m not back soon.’

‘I’ll drive you down. Don’t like the thought of you climbing down the bluff if you’re not feeling too good.’

‘Oh – umm—’ Driving would take longer than walking, and if she didn’t head back to the festival ground soon there was a very real possibility that either she would chicken out of talking to Michael or her head would explode with nerves. ‘—I’ll be fine—’

‘—Nonsense! Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re as white as one of my sheep.’

Poppy laughed. ‘Oh, thanks.’

Pete nodded in the direction of the house. ‘Come on, I’ll just grab my keys.’

To say no would be rude. She had no choice, damn it! ‘OK. Thanks.’ She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Another text from Michael, no doubt.

The front door to the farmhouse wasn’t locked. Pete pushed it open and urged her in.

‘Sally? Sally, we’ve got company,’ he shouted up the stairs. ‘She’s supposed to taking a nap but she won’t like it if she finds out we had a visitor and I didn’t wake her.
Sally!
’ He sighed. ‘Why don’t you go into the living room and sit down. I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?’

Oh no, a drink too? ‘Just water would be great,’ Poppy said, trying not to sound too irked.

She headed in the direction that Pete had pointed, grabbed her mobile out of her pocket and opened the text.

WHERE R U?

Someone was getting shouty with the capitals. She was about to reply when she realised that the thick walls of the farmhouse had killed her signal. Great! She shoved the phone back in her pocket and sighed.

The hallway led into a living room dominated by a fireplace almost big enough to stand up in. On one of the whitewashed stone walls was there were the obligatory family photographs. Some were black and white, some more recent. Poppy forced herself to focus on the pictures rather than the queasy nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. Pete and Sally smiling on their wedding day. Pete and Sally sitting on the bonnet of an enormous tractor – him dressed in his usual checked shirt, Sally in the pink female farmer equivalent, a scarf around her neck. And one photograph of a guy with a long stubbled face that was strangely handsome in a Sean Connery, ancient actor kind of way.

‘That’s my dad,’ Pete said, nodding to the photograph. ‘He took over from his dad, and he handed it down to me.’

Poppy remembered Bob growling something about Pete’s dad being an old bastard. A handsome old bastard though. She looked back at Pete, who she guessed looked more like his mum. He had the same ruddy farmer’s complexion as his dad, and maybe the same hair colour, but the similarity stopped there.

Pete smiled and handed her a glass of water.

‘Thanks.’ Poppy took a sip. She spotted a walking stick leaned up against the fireplace. The handle was worn with use. ‘Does your dad live with you?’

Pete shook his head. ‘Died last year. He was out with the dogs rounding up the sheep. Heart attack, they said.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged and almost managed a smile. ‘It’s how he’d have wanted to go – out on the farm. This land was in his blood.’

Poppy glanced at the door. There was still no sign of Sally. OK, this was too much. She needed to get out of there. ‘Listen, I’d better get going. My mum’ll freak if I don’t get back to help her take down the tents.’

‘But Sally’s just coming.’

A scream itched to get out of her throat and her head felt like it was going to implode.

Pete’s big hand squeezed her shoulder. ‘You’ve gone awful pale again, you should sit down.’

At that moment, Sally walked in. Poppy smiled with relief until she saw the look on the woman’s face.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, frowning.

Pete spun around, knocking Poppy’s arm and sending water sloshing over her hand.

‘Lass isn’t feeling too good,’ he said, defensively.

Sally stared at Poppy, her expression going from one of disgust to despair, then her gaze slid over to Pete and for a moment she looked totally lost. Pete rushed over to her and pulled his wife into a hug while Poppy stood awkwardly watching.

What the heck was that all about? She couldn’t possibly think that she and Pete were...
ewww!

‘Sally’s hormones are all over the place, aren’t they, love?’ Pete said. ‘Sooner this baby comes the better.’

‘Yeah, I’m sorry,’ Sally whispered. ‘For a second there I though you were—’

‘—You should stay and look after Sally,’ Poppy said, cutting off Sally before she could say something that would embarrass them all. ‘I’ll be fine walking.’

Pete nodded.

‘And don’t worry, I’ll get that envelope back to Bob. Good luck with the baby, Sally, I hope it all goes OK.’

‘Thanks,’ Sally muttered.

‘I’ll see myself out.’ Poppy had to stop herself from breaking into a run. She marched down the hallway, let herself out and pulled the door closed behind her. She sighed with relief, set off across the cobbles and pulled the phone out of her pocket. Damn it! Still no signal.

Michael would think that she was keeping him waiting just to be awkward. At this rate they’d end up having a domestic to rival Pete and Sally’s. Poppy glanced back at the door to the farmhouse. Wow, had Sally really thought that she and Pete were up to something? He didn’t look the type to go chasing after younger women. Unlike his dad, who’d looked exactly the type.

Poppy’s legs stopped moving.

No! It couldn’t be.

With all that had happened, she’d forgotten that Maya had been looking for her dad. She’d assumed he was someone at the festival, but what was it Kane had said about this place being in her blood? It was just what Pete had said about his dad. The question was, did Kane kill her before she got a chance to meet him?

For a second, Poppy thought about going back to the house – Pete had a right to know if Maya was his half-sister – but talk about an awkward conversation.
Hey, Pete, is it possible your old man might have had an affair?
Nahh. She’d talk to Bob first, and see what he thought. Right now she had to get back to Michael.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

‘Excuse me?’

Michael looked up from willing his phone to ring. It was the detective who’d interviewed Poppy yesterday. Underneath his grey suit jacket, his shirt was creased and there was what looked like a coffee stain dribbled down his pale blue tie. He looked bloody rough and not at all happy.

‘Is Poppy around?’ he asked Meg.

She stuffed the bag she was holding into the back of the Saab and rested her hands on her hips. ‘Do you need her for something?’

The detective rubbed his fingers over his lip and his eyes scanned the dismantled festival ground. ‘Any idea where she’s gone?’

‘She wanted to say goodbye to a couple of people. I actually thought she’d be back by now.’ Meg folded her arms over her chest, just the way Poppy did when she felt uncomfortable. ‘What is it?’

Jonathan, who’d been taking down Poppy’s tent, came to stand next to Meg and slid an arm around her shoulder.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Sergeant Grant wants to see Poppy.’

Michael felt his chest tightening. There was something about the way the detective wasn’t looking directly at them that made him nervous.

‘Has she got her phone with her?’ DS Grant asked, pulling a radio off his belt.

‘She texted a while ago to say that she was on her way,’ Michael replied. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’

‘Would you mind giving her a call?’

‘What’s going on? Why do you need her?’ Michael asked.

‘Please, just give her a call,’ the policeman said, before holding his radio up to his mouth and turning away from them.

Meg squeezed Michael’s arm. ‘Try her again.’

He hit the speed dial.

‘Hi, this is Poppy, leave a message.’

‘It’s going through to voicemail,’ he said, waiting for the beep. ‘Poppy, it’s me. Can you call me as soon as you get this? I’m not mucking about. The police are here and I think they need to talk to you.’ He cut the call and sighed.

At the same time, DS Grant looked up from his radio and raised his eyebrows. ‘Any joy?’

Michael shook his head.

He put the radio back to his mouth. ‘She’s not here and nobody knows where she is. Yeah, ask the guys to keep an eye out.’

‘What’s going on? What’s the panic?’ Meg asked. Her voice had gone up in pitch and if the detective didn’t spill some information soon, Michael suspected that before very long there would be shouting.

DS Grant bit his lip, as if unsure what lies to tell first. He slid the radio back onto his belt and inhaled deeply. ‘A witness has come forward. Says he was with Kane the night Beth died. Says there’s no way Kane could have killed her.’

If Kane didn’t kill Beth, then who the hell did?

Michael called Poppy again. It went straight through to the answering service.

‘Shit!’ he cursed. Either she was somewhere with no signal, or she didn’t want to be disturbed or... His gaze settled on the few remaining food vans on the other side of the festival ground.

He cut the call.

Meg raised her eyebrows at him in a question.

He shook his head and looked out across the field to the food vans. ‘She’s not answering. I have an idea where she might be, though.’