Free Dead Jealous by Sharon Jones

the other hand, there was stuff that she wanted to know.
    Poppy folded her arms. ‘That guy, Kane – the guy that was here last night.’
    ‘What about him?’
    ‘How do you know him?’
    ‘Eventually you get to know everyone.’
    She knew avoidance when she heard it. She was the mistress of avoidance. ‘I got the impression that he was seeing you professionally, as a patient.’
    Jonathan frowned. He dropped the hammer to the ground and stood up. ‘Poppy, where is this coming from? Why do you want to know?’
    ‘So he’s a friend, then?’
    ‘And again, I ask: why do you want to know?’
    ‘I want to know why you would tell him stuff about me. I want to know if you’ve been gossiping about me and Mum to some mate over a beer, or if you’re using me as some kind of psychological case study with your clients.’
    Jonathan’s brow tightened. ‘What?’
    ‘He knew stuff about me. It doesn’t take a genius to put it together!’
    ‘Poppy, why were you talking to Kane?’
    If she told him why she’d been to see Kane, he’d tell Mum and then she would insist that they left. ‘It doesn’t matter. Just please don’t talk about me.’ Poppy turned to leave but in a second Jonathan was in front of her, blocking her path. She tried to step around him, but again he shifted to block her.
    She looked up into his face and he stared steadily back.
    ‘Poppy, I haven’t told Kane anything about you. I wouldn’t do that. But I am concerned about why you were talking to him?’
    ‘He knew stuff. He must have got it from you.’
    Jonathan shook his head, glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘What is it that you think I told him?’
    ‘You told him I was screwed up about what happened. And I’m not, OK? So will you stop telling people that?’
    Jonathan swallowed and nodded, his eyes wide with understanding like she’d just revealed some big secret to him. ‘I didn’t tell him anything about you, Poppy.’
    ‘Then who did?’
    ‘Did you have your cards read? Is that what this is about? You know the cards most often reveal the things that are hidden in our own hearts. Maybe—’
    ‘Don’t!’
    She turned to run but he grabbed her arm before she could get away. ‘Poppy.’ His voice was quiet, sympathetic. ‘Why don’t we go and get a drink and talk?’
    ‘If you’re not going to tell me the truth, then there’s nothing to talk about.’
    Poppy snatched her arm out of Jonathan’s grip and made a dash for it. She stumbled between tents, fighting back the panic rising in her chest. Thoughts and feelings were flooding her skull like someone had opened a dam. If Jonathan was telling the truth, then how did Kane know so much about her? If he wasn’t telling the truth, then why was her stepfather lying to her? It was too much.
    She took a deep breath and tried to get a grip. She had to do something. Stop thinking. She needed distraction, now!
    The scent of fried food carried on the breeze.
    That was it.
    She followed the smell of chips all the way to the warm glow of the burger van.
    ‘What can I get you?’ the guy behind the counter asked. He was about a hundred years old, bald, and definitely not Tariq.
    ‘Er – I—’
    ‘Hey.’
    Poppy felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see Tariq. His hair had been mussed with wax, and it stuck out at odd angles. He wore a sleeveless black T-shirt that showed off the tattooed band circling his nicely formed bicep, which bulged because of the weight of the gym bag slung over his shoulder.
    He smiled, and Poppy felt like a ridiculous teenybopper faced with her boy-band idol.
    ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his wild eyebrows scrunched together in concern. ‘I was just coming to look for you, thought you might need your mind taking off – stuff. But I didn’t know whether that guy was gonna stay the night.’
    Ah. She forced herself to say: ‘Michael’s just a friend.’ After all, it was the truth.
    Tariq’s smile widened. ‘Won’t be a sec.’ He