by Sharon Jones
She didn’t quite know, but she had a horrible feeling she could guess. Poppy stepped away from Michael and edged around the mirror.
The air inside smelled stale, like the boys’ changing room at school. In the centre of the compartment a sleeping bag lay flung over an air mattress. Beside it was an industrial-sized torch and surrounding everything was a circle of white powder.
Michael crouched down and touched the circle. He crunched the substance between his fingers and then licked his thumb. He winced. ‘Salt?’
A circle of salt. She tried to swallow, but her throat had run dry. A circle of salt – she knew what that meant. Salt keeps out spirits. The spirits of dead people.
She’s everywhere, she’s even here, she remembered Kane whispering into the dark.
‘What’s going on? Why is the guy sleeping in a circle of salt?’ Michael asked.
No, it was crazy. This was crazy. But the air wasn’t just stale. It felt heavy as it settled in her lungs, like there was something dark here. Corrupt. Poppy felt the creeping sensation that someone was watching them. She spun around, half expecting to find Kane ready to charge at them, but there was no one there.
‘What’s wrong?’ Michael asked.
‘We need to get out of here,’ she whispered, urgently. And even to her it sounded like begging.
Michael grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the salt-circled room, out of the tent. They didn’t even stop to zip up the compartment. They headed to the nearby shelter of the woods.
Poppy leaned against an old oak tree and focused on the clean pine-scented air that was replacing the foul air from the tent.
Michael frowned. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, keeping a tight hold on her arm.
She nodded, but she wasn’t. She was shaking and she was cold, like her insides had been scraped out, put in the freezer for a couple of hours, and then dumped back inside her. If she believed in ghosts or atmospheres, she’d say that there was something wrong in Kane’s tent. Very wrong. But she didn’t believe in that rubbish, did she? It was the sweat lodge. She was dehydrated.
‘We should go and find Meg,’ Michael said.
‘No. I’ll be fine in a minute. I think I got too hot this morning at the sweat lodge.’
‘Sweat lodge? I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing any more.’
‘I’m not,’ she said, angrily, then shook her head. That’s right, she didn’t believe in all that crap. ‘Sorry. Long story. I was kind of strong-armed into it.’ She took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘Didn’t look like she was there, did it? Guess I got that one wrong. Come on,’ she said, stepping away from the oak tree. ‘There’s someone we need to find.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Michael followed Poppy, watching her strawberry blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders as she jogged through the crowds. She was moving surprisingly fast given the tonnage of secrets she was carrying around. He quickened his pace to catch up to her.
‘Who are you looking for?’
Poppy stopped abruptly, making him crash into her, and then she ran.
‘Where are you going now?’ he shouted, but she didn’t stop. What had got into her?
She darted between a couple of men, almost knocking one of them over. The guy had a hawk tethered to his arm. It flapped its wings and squawked its displeasure at being dislodged.
‘Watch it!’ the hawk man shouted.
But Poppy had gone. Michael gave a quick apology, edged past the sharp beak of the bird and took off after her.
He reached her just as she grabbed the arm of a guy Michael had never seen before.
‘Is she dead?’ Poppy shouted at the stranger. She looked wild.
The guy was six foot five at least. All his hair had been shaved apart from a green tuft at his forehead. He had on green combats and Doc Martens and looked like a member of the BNP or something. What the hell did she want with someone like him?
The guy looked down at her but he didn’t reply.
‘Maya!’ Poppy shouted, drawing interested glances from the people walking past. ‘Is she dead, Kane?’
‘Yes,’ the guy said, quietly.
‘But I saw her!’
‘I didn’t say she was gone.’ The guy said it so calmly that it sounded perfectly reasonable. But it wasn’t. He was making no sense at all, and neither was Poppy. Michael edged forward, trying to get her attention before...
‘Did you kill her?’
Oh shit! ‘Poppy!’ Michael grabbed her by both arms and pulled her back. ‘What are you doing?’
Her cheeks were red and her eyes wide like she was on something. He shook her, but she wouldn’t look at him – her gaze was fixed on the guy.
Kane took a step forward, closing in on her. Michael didn’t like the way that the guy looked at her – like that hawk back there when it spotted a rat. He shoved Poppy aside and put himself between them.
‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said, quickly. ‘She didn’t mean to accuse you of—’
‘Murder?’ Kane finished for him. His gaze drifted over Michael’s shoulder to where Poppy was. ‘This must be the King, Sceptic. Well, isn’t he gallant?’
King? What the hell was he going on about? He turned. Poppy’s cheeks had drained of colour.
‘Ready to rethink that rationalism of yours?’ Kane asked.
Poppy shook her head. Michael could see she was trying to act cool, but whatever this guy was going on about had freaked her out.
‘If you didn’t kill her, how do you know she’s dead?’ Her voice had returned to its normal pitch but her golden eyes stared at the guy, wide and unblinking.
‘I told you the last time you questioned me,’ Kane said. ‘We argued. She stormed off. I never saw her again. Not alive, anyway.’
‘What did you argue about?’
‘Her father.’
‘What?’
Kane glanced around, as if afraid someone might be listening. ‘He had money and she wanted it. No, correction: she thought it was rightfully hers. She called herself a child of Lughnasadh. Said she was conceived at one of these gatherings so I assumed Daddy was someone here. And maybe he didn’t want to pay.’
Poppy shrugged. ‘That’s all she told you?’
‘Maya only ever told you what she wanted you to know. Do you do that with his majesty here?’ Kane asked, nodding towards Michael.
Michael nearly laughed. The guy was talking crazy, but he’d got that right.
Poppy’s brow furrowed. ‘No. I’m not like her.’ She said it like she was trying to convince herself as much as Kane.
‘Really? I bet if we asked him he’d say different. I didn’t kill Maya, Sceptic. I was in love with her, regardless of what she was. I feel her now. Smell her scent. Catch a glance of her in the distance. She comes to me in my dreams. She haunts me, Poppy. I think maybe she’s haunting you too. She wouldn’t like that you were alive – a pale imitation of her.’ Kane leaned in to Poppy, and lowered his voice. ‘And it’s not just looks. You’re almost as bitter as she was.’
‘I’m taking it that was Maya’s boyfriend?’ Michael asked.
Poppy nodded but said nothing. He had no clue what half of that conversation had been about but it was clear she’d understood every word. At least now Kane had gone she wasn’t looking quite so strung out. For a moment there she’d gone so pale he thought she was going to faint. But now she was looking better he was going to get answers. He was sick of being kept in the dark.
‘C’mon,’ he said, putting a hand on her back and guiding her through the crowds. Ahead was the main stage – like something you’d get at a music festival. By the number of people sitting on picnic blankets it looked like someone was about to come on.
‘Do you want to check out whatever this is?’ he asked.
; She shrugged. She was back in her head. The barriers were up and she had no intention of letting him in. Well, tough.
‘OK, talk to me. What was that? Maya’s dead?’
She nodded.
‘But you said you saw her.’
‘I thought I did. It must have been someone else. It was dark, I must have got it wrong.’ She didn’t sound sure.
‘And you think that guy killed her?’
‘He’s sleeping in a circle of salt. It’s an old superstition that spirits can’t cross salt. You heard him; he’s got it into his head that she’s haunting him. But how would he know she’s dead if he hadn’t killed her?’ She hugged her arms across her chest and began to walk faster, as if she was trying to run away from him. Again, he speeded up.
‘OK, calm down. If you seriously think that’s what happened, we should go to the police.’
She looked away from him. ‘I tried this morning; they won’t listen to me.’
‘And you’re sure that guy killed her? Because I’m not sure he’d have said all those things if he’d murdered someone.’
Poppy stopped and turned to him. ‘I don’t know.’ Her face crumpled and she rubbed her forehead. ‘I don’t know anything any more.’
He wanted to put his arms around her, comfort her, but he didn’t dare. She was so jumpy at the moment and every time he touched her she pulled away. He took a deep breath and scanned the stalls, looking for something to distract her with. ‘You know what my gran would say at a time like this?’
Poppy’s face turned to him. ‘What?’
‘When you’re handed lemons, make lemonade.’
She blinked a couple of times and then screwed up her face. ‘That’s totally random!’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Not random. It just so happens that there’s real lemonade over there, made with real lemons, apparently.’ He pointed to the trailer van. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a real lemon lemonade.’ He forced himself to smile.
He led her over to the van.
‘Bet it’ll be disgusting,’ Poppy said, sounding more like her old self.
Michael shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘So, err – what was that Kane going on about? All that stuff about me being the king. I mean, I’m not complaining. Being king of the universe is clearly my destiny.’
‘Ha!’
‘Had you spoken to him before?’
Poppy folded her arms. ‘I went to have my Tarot cards read.’
He laughed. ‘What? After all you’ve said about that kind of stuff you take part in a sweat lodge and have your Tarot cards read? Are you changing your mind about—’
‘—It was research, that’s all. Bob told me that Kane was Maya’s boyfriend – he suggested going undercover.’
‘So what did your cards say?’ he asked in the spookiest voice he could muster.
‘The usual crap. Y’know, you’ll go on a long journey, meet a tall dark handsome stranger.’ Poppy bit her lip and there was a distinct red tinge around her cheeks.
Michael felt his grin drain away. Tall, dark, handsome stranger – he supposed she thought that meant Burger Boy. He really wanted her to have someone. He’d even thought about trying to set her up with his friend Mark, who definitely had a bit of a thing for her. But Burger Boy was too old for her and from what he’d seen that morning he was definitely into something dodgy, even if he was wrong about it being drugs.
Should he tell her about what he’d seen? She was in a state already. Was it fair to push that on her too? The last thing he wanted was to give her another mystery to investigate.
Sod it! He’d tell her and deal with the consequences.
He’d just opened his mouth when he was interrupted by a guy with long curly blond hair wearing a hideous Hawaiian shirt.
‘Excuse me, would you mind if I took a picture of you two for the festival archive?’ he asked in a broad Aussie accent.
‘Archive?’ Poppy asked.
‘Yeah, y’know, the one on the website. It’s my job this year and I don’t think I’ve got a picture of you guys yet.’
‘How far back does it go?’ Poppy asked.
The guy pulled a face. ‘Uhhh...since the start, I guess. Can I take a picture? Do you mind?’
Poppy glanced at Michael.
He shrugged and pulled her to him. Immediately he felt her stiffen. Her discomfort hurt, but he pretended not to notice and forced a smile onto his face.
The guy took their picture, thanked them and moved on to his next victims. Michael let Poppy go and she jerked away from him, like he was radioactive. That was it. He couldn’t keep ignoring it.
‘Are you OK?’ he demanded. But Poppy didn’t reply: they’d reached the front of the queue.
Poppy’s face creased with horror. Then she made gagging noises.
Michael laughed. The three quid was totally worth it just to see that face.
‘You’d better drink it,’ he warned. ‘That’s one pound fifty’s worth of lemons in that cup.’
‘Was there any sweetener back there?’
Michael sipped the lemonade. It was intense, and a bit sour, but not nearly as bad as she was making out. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Then you can have mine,’ Poppy gagged a few more times, her face screwed up comically. She handed him her cup and fished her mobile out of her pocket. She pressed a few buttons and frowned. ‘No signal. Again. Honestly, how hard would it be to put a mast up around here? I mean, it’s not like there’s loads of land or anything.’
‘Who did you want to call?’ he asked, and swigged back the first cup of lemonade.
‘No one. I just wondered if I could get onto the festival website.’
‘Why?’
‘If there’s photos going back to the beginning of the festival then maybe there’s a picture of Maya’s mum with her dad.’
‘That’s a long shot.’ More commonly known as a wild goose chase.
She stared blankly at the sky.
‘Does this mean that you think Kane is telling the truth? That Maya really was looking for her father?’
‘Not really. But if he’s right then Maya’s dad could be here and maybe he’d know something. It’s the only lead we have.’
At least she was saying ‘we’ now. Something inside him unknotted. He watched her thinking. Every thought, every emotion flashed across her face. He loved watching her. He’d never known anyone go through the whole range of human emotions as quickly as Poppy, and every one of them showed in her eyes.
Her gaze flicked around the festival ground, over the heads of the people sitting in front of the stage, back to where the wicker man’s head reared over the tents and marquees. Her gaze stalled, and he thought he heard a sudden intake of breath.
Michael followed her gaze across the festival ground. Standing beside the lemonade stall, Kane was sipping from a cardboard cup and making no effort to disguise that he was watching them.
Could be just coincidence, Michael told himself. Or he could be following them. What if Poppy was right and Kane had murdered that girl?
‘I’m going to talk to him,’ he said, but Poppy’s hand on his arm stopped him.
‘I wonder if a different network gets better coverage around here,’ she said, stepping in front of him, drawing his gaze away from Kane. Her grip on his arm tightened, making it clear she didn’t want him going over there.
‘What do you think?’ she prompted, when he didn’t reply.
‘Doubt it. My phone reception’s not too bad, but I’ve got no 3G. We could drive into the village if you like, it might be better there,’ he said. And suddenly it seemed like a good idea. He wanted her as far away from that guy as possible.
Poppy shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got it.’ Her eyes narrowed with determination and Michael’s hear
t sank. What now?
CHAPTER TWENTY
The rising humidity made the climb up the bluff to the farm property a real trek. By the time the barns and outbuildings came into view, Poppy was puffing and blowing like she’d run five miles. She glanced at Michael and was glad he looked just as out of breath as she was. He had no excuse: he spent every other weekend climbing mountains. She was glad to get away from the festival though. Well, glad to get away from Kane.
The farmhouse was built of grey stones that seemed piled on top of one another without any cement, as though gravity was the only thing keeping them from tumbling down. Poppy picked her way carefully across the uneven cobbled yard, afraid that if she took her eyes off the cobbles she’d go flying. She was relieved when they reached the gravel path that led towards the white front door.
‘You can’t just ask to use their computer!’ Michael muttered for the tenth time.
She waved at him to be quiet, wiped the sweat from the back of her neck and knocked on the door.
For a very long time, there was no reply. She was about to give up hope when the door swung open and they were met by a woman whose face was as round as the pregnancy bump that was stretching her checked shirt.
‘Yes?’ The woman clutched the door like she was ready to slam it in her face.
‘Hiya, I’m Poppy. Pete—’
‘Poppy!’ the woman gasped. Her eyes almost popped out of her face. It was like Poppy had just told her she was royalty or something. ‘You’re the girl who found the body!’
‘Yeah.’ Poppy glanced at Michael, who was looking more sullen than usual. ‘I just wanted to say thanks to him – for all he did.’
‘Come in, come in.’ The woman beckoned, smiling. ‘I’m Sally, Pete’s wife. Pete’s out seeing to a broken fence on the top field, but I shouldn’t think it’ll be too long before he’s back looking for something to eat. I’ve just made some lemonade, if you’d like some.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Poppy saw Michael’s down-turned mouth suddenly perk up. ‘That would be great,’ he said, eagerly. ‘Poppy’s a big fan of real lemonade. I’m Michael, by the way.’ He offered Sally his hand and a disgustingly sweet smile.