by Sharon Jones
He blinked away the thought. The point was, there she was: Maya Flynn, reported missing almost twelve months ago by Beth Trimble. And she and Poppy could be sisters. That was more than a bit weird.
There was a mobile number and an email address for Beth, and a message asking anyone who knew the whereabouts of Maya to please get in touch. Then underneath there was a message from Maya’s mum begging her to contact the police, just so she could know that her daughter was safe. There were no replies and no updates.
Maya was still missing. Beth was dead. And Poppy, the girl who didn’t know when to stop, was probably investigating at that very minute.
But what if she was right and Beth had been murdered? How long would it be until Poppy asked the right person the wrong question?
With any luck, Poppy was holed up with Burger Boy, snogging the greasy face off him...even if there was something suspect about the guy, and he was way too old for her.
Michael grabbed his mobile. He’d just send her a text on the off chance it would go through.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Poppy gasped awake.
Arms were holding her fast. They had her locked against the ground. Dead arms. Dead hands. And someone was laughing at her.
‘Get off me!’ she screamed.
‘Shush-shhhhh,’ a voice whispered. ‘You were dreaming, Pops.’
‘What?’ The arms released her and she rubbed her knuckles into her eyes, trying to clear the sleep from her vision. When she looked up again she saw the blurred outline of Mum.
Mum reached up a hand and smoothed down her hair. ‘OK now?’ she whispered.
Poppy swallowed against her dry throat and nodded.
‘Come and have a drink,’ Mum said.
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s about four.’
‘A.m.? Mum, just go back to bed. I’ll be fine.’
‘We’re doing a swap,’ a voice said from the open tent flap. In the torchlight she saw Jonathan clinging to the sleeping bag that was wrapped around his body. They hadn’t talked since their argument earlier that night, but he obviously hadn’t told Mum about it.
Mum’s hand on her back urged her up. ‘This is totally unnecessary.’
‘Oh, believe me, it’s necessary. If only to give me a break from a certain person’s snoring.’ She looked pointedly at Jonathan.
‘Hey! I can’t help it! It’s the fresh air – opens up the tubes.’
‘Please?’ Mum asked.
Poppy sighed. There was no getting out of it. ‘OK. Just tonight though.’
The sudden sound of a duck quacking made them all start.
‘What the heck’s that?’ Mum asked.
Poppy grabbed her phone. ‘A text. But I thought there was no signal round here.’
‘What were you dreaming about?’ Mum asked, as Poppy stood near the centre of the tipi, fiddling with her phone.
Poppy forgot about Mum’s question the second she realised the text was from Michael. ‘Aha! Sorry about before,’ she read, ‘shouldn’t have lost my rag. That’s weird, I don’t normally get a signal here.’
‘It’s been dropping in and out. I think it depends on the weather. Is it from Michael? Did you fight again?’
‘It was nothing. He’s just being a grouch at the moment.’
The tipi was alight with the soft glow of several candles, all safely contained in lanterns. Poppy collapsed onto a pile of cushions. Mum handed her a bottle of spring water, and she screwed off the top and gulped it back. On the other side of the tipi, Mum dripped essential oils from small glass bottles onto a battery-powered burner. After only a few seconds the perfume surrounded her. She closed her eyes and tried to work out what the oils were.
At a guess, she’d say frankincense. Good for nightmares – so that would make sense. But there was something else. Something sweet and heady. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that maybe it was ylang ylang.
‘Why ylang ylang?’ she asked.
‘It’s a good all-rounder. So nice they named it twice.’
Mum unrolled one of her treatment mats, threw a red chenille throw over it and motioned for Poppy to lie down on it.
She smiled and did as Mum asked. She lay on her stomach and rested her head on her crossed arms. Even through the thick mat, she could feel the unevenness of the ground. Someone had forgotten to scout the site for stones. Jonathan might be into all that blokes running around naked in the wood stuff, reclaiming their masculinity, but he had a lot to learn about camping.
Her hair was brushed away from her neck and then she felt the gentle pressure of Mum’s magic fingers on her neck.
‘Just as I thought,’ Mum said, ‘you’re full of knots. No wonder you were having nightmares.’
‘Did I wake you?’ Poppy asked, thinking about the half-dozen other bodies lying within a stone’s throw of her tent.
‘No. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Beth – about how her parents must be feeling.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And – well – Jonathan told me what happened.’
The knots in Poppy’s shoulders tightened again.
‘You know he wouldn’t disclose information about you. Especially not to a client.’
‘Kane’s a client?’
‘Yes. Has been on and off for years. I’ve got to say that I was surprised to hear you’d had your cards read.’
‘I was just curious.’
‘Did you get the answers you were looking for?’
Answers were in short supply. ‘More questions than answers.’
Mum’s hands slid down Poppy’s back, massaging away the tension tied up in her muscles. For a while neither of them spoke. Only the strange night-time sounds of the campsite broke the silence. The sound of footsteps stumbling between the canvas. The hoot of a tawny owl. The occasional peal of drunken laughter. And there were other human sounds, that in previous years Poppy would have rolled her eyes at; but now they turned her mind to Tariq.
He hadn’t done anything but kiss her, but for the first time in her life he’d made her think about doing...it. Weird. She hadn’t thought about doing anything with anyone except Michael for a very long time.
As if her radar had picked up her thoughts, Mum asked, ‘How was your date? It was a date, wasn’t it?’
Poppy felt blood rush to her cheeks.
‘He’s a very good-looking young man,’ Mum continued. ‘I’m guessing he’s a bit older than you?’
Poppy rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow. Mum lay down next to her, mirroring her pose. ‘So?’ she encouraged.
‘Do you think I’m too young to...y’know?’
Mum’s face didn’t change; didn’t even flicker. She didn’t reply either.
‘I’m asking, Meg.’
‘I think you need to decide that.’
‘You do think I’m too young. I can tell.’
Mum smiled. ‘Poppy, you have never once held back from doing something you wanted to do because someone asked you not to. So what would be the point in me asking you not to sleep with this boy? Am I to gather from this conversation that you’re thinking about it – about having sex?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Tariq really is very good-looking. I could quite fancy him myself.’
‘Ugh, gross! You’re just saying that to put me off!’
Mum laughed. She reached over and caught hold of one of Poppy’s auburn curls. ‘You know you’re the most passionate person I’ve ever known. Apart from your father.’
Poppy rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, thanks!’
‘Your dad’s a passionate man. That’s why he did what he did. He can’t do anything by halves and neither can you. It’s just not in your nature. So if
now is the right time for you – and Tariq is the right person – then I can’t stop you. But I do have one question.’
Oh, here we go… ‘What?’
‘How will it affect things with Michael?’
Poppy felt like a rock had been dropped onto her stomach from a great height. She rolled onto her back and stared at the conical wall of the tipi. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Really?’
She didn’t know what to say.
‘Pops, your hormones may be screaming at you to sleep with Tariq. That’s normal for someone of your age. And if your heart is telling you the same thing then maybe you’re ready to take that step. But listen to your heart. If you don’t, it’ll be the thing that gets bruised along the way.’
Beth was floating on her back on a beautiful blue ocean. Her dark hair swayed about her like dancing black snakes. She splashed her hands, sending waves of white foam gliding towards Poppy, and laughed a full-throated laugh that wasn’t at all choked by the long pink and silver scarf wrapped around her neck.
Love’s a bitch that doesna let you go, Poppy!
When she woke this time, it was with a scream.
‘It’s OK, Poppy, wake up!’ Mum said.
‘The scarf!’ she gasped. ‘Mum, she had a scarf on when she was in the water.’
‘What? Pops, I don’t understand.’
‘When they pulled her out there was a pink scarf around her neck. It wasn’t hers. Beth wasn’t wearing a scarf. Someone must have put it there!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was nine before any police showed up at the campsite. Poppy followed the blue and white striped tape they’d used to cordon off the shore of the lake. DO NOT CROSS, it demanded. Someone had ignored it. There, on the grey and brown pebbles, at the place where Beth’s body had been dragged out of the water, was a homemade wreath of wild flowers; pink orchids and wilting cow parsley.
Poppy’s feet stopped moving. She should have thought of that. She should have asked Mum to drive her into the village to buy a bouquet. How could she have been so thoughtless? Beth deserved flowers.
The clouds parted, allowing the sun to poke its rays through. Her gaze was drawn to the sparkles of sunlight that skipped over the dancing waters of the lake like tiny diamonds being tumbled on the waves. When she was little, Mum had told her that those little lights were water sprites that lived in the deepest depths of the lakes. Theirs was a world so cold and dark that when they saw the first hint of sun, they would dash for the surface where they would dance and skip, trying to warm themselves. If you listened really closely, you could hear them singing until they would eventually sink back below. But if a little girl happened to step into the water as the sprites were sinking, they would drag her down to their kingdom where she would stay a prisoner forever. There was even a song that she was supposed to sing to the sprites so that they knew she meant them no harm.
Children of the lake and sea
Have nowt to fear from me
So leave me be and I’ll stay free
To live my life ’neath sky and tree.
It was a stupid song that tried too hard to rhyme, and she was pretty sure that it wasn’t an old folk tale at all, and that Mum had made the whole thing up just to stop her from going too near the lake. It had worked for a while. She would see those dancing lights and remember that although the lake was beautiful, it was a world of cold and darkness where children were captured by sprites and never seen again.
Those were her nightmares now. When she dreamed about drowning there were always hands dragging her through the water and she would hear the distorted sounds of the sprites singing.
If she listened too hard, she would hear them now, strange watery voices mixed up with the whispers of the breeze through the fir trees. Had Beth heard their song? Were there hands that dragged her down into the water and held her there until she stopped struggling? Were those hands human or did they sparkle and shine, beautiful but deadly in the moonlight?
‘Hiya Poppy, you wanted to see someone?’
Poppy was so caught up in her own imaginings that the interruption made her jump. It was the short sergeant. He was sipping coffee from a cardboard cup and rubbing his bloodshot eyes like he’d just that second got up.
‘Did you want something?’ he repeated.
Poppy swallowed. ‘The scarf around Beth’s neck,’ she said.
‘What about it?’
‘She was wearing a scarf? I didn’t dream it?’
DS Grant screwed his eyes shut. ‘What?’
‘She had on a pink scarf, right?’
‘Yeah? So what?’
‘She wasn’t wearing a scarf.’
‘What?’ He looked at her like she was talking in a different language.
‘When I saw her up on the bluff. She wasn’t wearing a scarf. My God, are you even awake? No wonder there’s so much unsolved crime.’
DS Grant scowled at her. ‘Maybe she put it on after you spoke to her.’
Poppy shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t wear a scarf like that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Clearly it isn’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.’
‘It’s pink! Do you really think Beth was the kind of girl who wore pink? Didn’t you see what she was wearing?’
‘So you think that because she was wearing a scarf that didn’t go with the ensemble she was...’
‘Murdered. And have you found Maya? You know she’s here?’
‘Maya?’
‘The girl Beth was looking for? The girl she was in love with? You are looking for her, aren’t you? People have seen her but she hasn’t registered for the festival. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd? A bit suspicious?’
‘Jesus, it’s too early for this. Poppy, thanks for telling me about the scarf. I’ll definitely pass on the information.’
And that was it. He lolloped away from her like a podgy Labrador retriever.
Poppy followed. ‘Is that it?’ she demanded.
The detective sighed. ‘What exactly do you expect me to do?’
‘I expect you to investigate! Isn’t that what the police do? Or is that only on the mornings you’re not nursing a hangover?’
‘Now, eh!’ DS Grant said, spinning around and glaring at her. ‘That’s out of order! Do you have any idea how many cases we have open at any one time? It’s not like the telly, y’know! We’re short-staffed. I’ve got friends being made redundant and a tragic accident isn’t exactly my number one priority. Now I realise that you’re upset, but just let it go.’
‘You said they’d have the postmortem by now.’
‘Yeah, well guess what? They’re short-staffed as well. Accidents happen, Poppy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual crimes to deal with.’
With that, he screwed up the empty cardboard cup, chucked it at the ground and stormed away.
‘That’s an offence, you know – littering!’ she shouted at his retreating back.
Poppy didn’t know whether she was more angry or upset. She ran a hand through her tangled hair and sighed.
‘Poppy Sinclair berating cops? Bob would be proud,’ a voice said.
The woman standing at her side had appeared with all the stealth of the wolf she was named for. Mo Little Wolf’s dark eyes crinkled with held-in laughter.
‘Mo!’ Poppy threw her arms around the woman’s neck and hugged her tightly. ‘I didn’t know you were here. I thought someone else was coming.’
Mo gave her a quick hug and then pushed her away, holding her shoulders and looking her up and down. She wasn’t much older than Mum, but the years had etched her face like rock carved by water.
Mo nodded approvingly. ‘You’ve grown. And are those…breasts?
’
‘Oh my God! Mo!’ Poppy gasped, and folded her arms over her chest.
A wicked grin flashed across the Lakota medicine woman’s face. ‘You English, you’re so squeamish. I love it. Hope you’ve drunk lots of water?’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re sixteen. After all the years of bugging me, you can finally sweat with us. I’ve just seen your mom and she said it was OK.’
‘Oh, wow…yeah, that’s…’ – the last thing she needed – ‘…great!’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning sun dipped in and out of clouds as Michael tried to avoid hitting any of the many craters and potholes in the track leading down to the festival site. His mum had already moaned to him about the mud splatters in the wheel arches. Thankfully she hadn’t noticed the small scrape on the bumper from when he’d got a bit too close to a dry-stone wall. What did she expect? Lake District driving was an adrenaline sport at the best of times: add a few sudden downpours and a lot of surface water and it became a cross between waterskiing and downhill slalom.
Further down the track, a big black four-by-four with monster wheels and blacked-out windows was parked up. Two blokes were standing beside it talking.
Michael’s foot slipped off the accelerator and the engine died.
‘Fuck!’ he hissed. ‘Bloody stupid car!’
His hand went to the ignition but something made him stop. One of the guys standing beside the four-by-four was Burger Boy, the guy who was into Poppy. The other guy was tall, about forty, and wearing a slick grey suit that wasn’t exactly suitable attire for a Pagan festival. Mister Slick opened the boot of the car and pulled out a black sports bag, the kind Michael used when he went to the gym, and handed it to Burger Boy. Burger Boy pulled a brown envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to Mister Slick, then the two shook hands. Mister Slick got into the car and Burger Boy strutted down the road like a guy who’d just won the lottery...or just done a very good deal.
Shit.