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Authors: Margaret Blake
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used drugs?”
Poppy shook her head adamantly. “She hated drugs. Our mother was an addict. She never wanted to finish up like her. She said so. I don’t believe she took it, but someone might have forced it on her.”
God!” He smote his fist into his hand. “Was that what it was all about? The coming and going—was she mixing with scum from the drug world and then couldn’t pay them or something? She had only to ask me!”
Poppy spoke calmly and softly. “Seth, she would not take drugs. She might do a lot of silly things but she wouldn’t take drugs. I know that for sure.”
“What do you know?” he raged back at her. “You hadn’t seen her for years. How do you know anything about your sister?”
It was true; she didn’t know what Jasmine had been getting up to. They only recently had started to correspond and from Jasmine there had been nothing but negative statements about her husband.
And you, she asked herself, what were you doing while your beautiful sister lay dead on the moors for possibly a week or so. You were making eyes at her husband. Feeling your heart quicken, enjoying the nearness of him.
Guilt overwhelmed her; she sank into the folds of the sofa, nursing the glass between her hands. She wanted to scream, she needed to let go somehow but she hung on to a vestige of sanity. She had to get through this.
“There are a lot of things I didn’t know, or even didn’t want to know about Jasmine, but I’m certain she wouldn’t take drugs. Did she drink much?”
Seth shook his head.
“No, so you see, she saw mother wilt and spiral downwards; she always said she would never do that. Never lose control of her body and mind; never let something get a hold of her. Whoever did this terrible thing made it look like she took drugs, please believe me, Seth.”
“I don’t know. She used to get pretty high.”
“What do you mean?”
His voice was steady, his words perfectly enunciated; without emotion he told her how excited Jasmine used to get. Giddy to the point of hysteria. Certainly that could mean someone on coke but then Poppy knew how excited Jasmine could get over things. Yet was it conceivable she’d take something that would alter her mind. Perhaps she had changed. After all if her marriage was so unhappy would she not be tempted to have something, some kind of crutch? But drugs? She’d never even smoked a cigarette. It just wasn’t like Jasmine. Besides she wanted to retain her beauty. Poppy’s sister had known that drugs could be ruinous to your looks. Jasmine was very vain, she knew she was beautiful and nothing was going to rob her of that beauty. She wanted to say all of this to him but not yet, not now. Instead she adopted a reasonable tone, tried to see things from his point of view.
“Let’s say for argument’s sake that she did take drugs. That that’s what made her change. You can’t tell me it was normal behavior to keep taking off as she did. If she was unhappy—”
At her words he slammed his glass onto the silver tray. He sounded wretched. “No, we were both unhappy. Marry in haste, regret at leisure, I feel disloyal saying that now, but we had nothing in common. She loathed it here and I didn’t want to go to London. I had my career; she had nothing…just this emptiness.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Seth. Jasmine was a seeker of pleasure. She flitted from job to job, different boyfriends. She got bored easily. She was like a beautiful butterfly.”
Seth turned around, not looking at her but staring into space. It was as if he were analyzing her words, trying to grasp at the enigma that was Jasmine. “Whatever she was, or whatever she’d done, Poppy,” he said at last, “she didn’t deserve to be beaten to death and left in a ditch.”
A sob filled her throat. Poppy swallowed hard. The hot tears were there, burning the back of her eyes. She needed to be alone.
* * * *
The police came back—of course she’d expected it—the first suspect in
Poppy shook her head adamantly. “She hated drugs. Our mother was an addict. She never wanted to finish up like her. She said so. I don’t believe she took it, but someone might have forced it on her.”
God!” He smote his fist into his hand. “Was that what it was all about? The coming and going—was she mixing with scum from the drug world and then couldn’t pay them or something? She had only to ask me!”
Poppy spoke calmly and softly. “Seth, she would not take drugs. She might do a lot of silly things but she wouldn’t take drugs. I know that for sure.”
“What do you know?” he raged back at her. “You hadn’t seen her for years. How do you know anything about your sister?”
It was true; she didn’t know what Jasmine had been getting up to. They only recently had started to correspond and from Jasmine there had been nothing but negative statements about her husband.
And you, she asked herself, what were you doing while your beautiful sister lay dead on the moors for possibly a week or so. You were making eyes at her husband. Feeling your heart quicken, enjoying the nearness of him.
Guilt overwhelmed her; she sank into the folds of the sofa, nursing the glass between her hands. She wanted to scream, she needed to let go somehow but she hung on to a vestige of sanity. She had to get through this.
“There are a lot of things I didn’t know, or even didn’t want to know about Jasmine, but I’m certain she wouldn’t take drugs. Did she drink much?”
Seth shook his head.
“No, so you see, she saw mother wilt and spiral downwards; she always said she would never do that. Never lose control of her body and mind; never let something get a hold of her. Whoever did this terrible thing made it look like she took drugs, please believe me, Seth.”
“I don’t know. She used to get pretty high.”
“What do you mean?”
His voice was steady, his words perfectly enunciated; without emotion he told her how excited Jasmine used to get. Giddy to the point of hysteria. Certainly that could mean someone on coke but then Poppy knew how excited Jasmine could get over things. Yet was it conceivable she’d take something that would alter her mind. Perhaps she had changed. After all if her marriage was so unhappy would she not be tempted to have something, some kind of crutch? But drugs? She’d never even smoked a cigarette. It just wasn’t like Jasmine. Besides she wanted to retain her beauty. Poppy’s sister had known that drugs could be ruinous to your looks. Jasmine was very vain, she knew she was beautiful and nothing was going to rob her of that beauty. She wanted to say all of this to him but not yet, not now. Instead she adopted a reasonable tone, tried to see things from his point of view.
“Let’s say for argument’s sake that she did take drugs. That that’s what made her change. You can’t tell me it was normal behavior to keep taking off as she did. If she was unhappy—”
At her words he slammed his glass onto the silver tray. He sounded wretched. “No, we were both unhappy. Marry in haste, regret at leisure, I feel disloyal saying that now, but we had nothing in common. She loathed it here and I didn’t want to go to London. I had my career; she had nothing…just this emptiness.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Seth. Jasmine was a seeker of pleasure. She flitted from job to job, different boyfriends. She got bored easily. She was like a beautiful butterfly.”
Seth turned around, not looking at her but staring into space. It was as if he were analyzing her words, trying to grasp at the enigma that was Jasmine. “Whatever she was, or whatever she’d done, Poppy,” he said at last, “she didn’t deserve to be beaten to death and left in a ditch.”
A sob filled her throat. Poppy swallowed hard. The hot tears were there, burning the back of her eyes. She needed to be alone.
* * * *
The police came back—of course she’d expected it—the first suspect in
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