The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3)

by Emmy Ellis

  “Um, yes, they are nice but out of my price range,” she barked, the need to run immense, gripping her tight and begging her to get away from him, to take herself to safety, far from those eyes.

  He smiled, coming off as an all right sort, and she felt bad for snapping.

  “I wonder if you can help me. This might sound a bit weird, but I’ve been looking for someone, asking around, and the woman on the veg stall said to ask you. I arrived this morning, so just getting a feel for the place. It’s confusing trying to find someone in a new town.”

  “Who are you after?” Fear clutched at her heart, even though he seemed kind and was as polite as owt.

  “Lou—that’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid, no surname. Do you know her?”

  “What if I do? What business is it of yours?” Fucking hell, why was he looking for her? And why hadn’t she asked: Lou who?

  “It’s just that she’s my brother’s girlfriend, and I need to find her. He hasn’t phoned home for around a month, nor has he written us any letters, and we’re worried. Mam’s going frantic, because his landlady hasn’t heard from him either and wants her rent—Vera at the B&B. Mam thinks we might have to phone the police, report him as a missing person.”

  Doreen felt so sick she swallowed bile and had to steady herself with a hand on a pair of black patent high heels. “Lou doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “So you do know her.”

  Doreen sniffed. “Listen, it must be the wrong Lou. Loads of people are called that. It’s short for Louise, so yeah, lots of those about.” She needed him to go away. This was getting a bit much. How could you feel cornered when you weren’t in a corner? But she did, blocked in by his presence, his blue irises.

  He smiled again. “The veg lady said I’d got it right. Lou works at Betty’s Blooms, Steve said so.”

  “Steve?” ‘S’. It had to be Stalker he was on about.

  “My brother. I’m off there next as it happens, now I’ve been given directions. Steve wrote and said where she worked, that he’d met her in there.”

  I bet he didn’t tell you what he did, how creepy he was, and that he followed her home so he’d know where she lived cos he’d planned to break into our house.

  Her body went rigid, and she clutched his forearm, desperate to put an end to this. “I’ll come with you. Let…let me speak to Lou first, before she sees you. She isn’t into men, you see, not at the moment, so you saying she has a fella will throw her. Or maybe she is seeing him and wanted to keep it a secret. I’ll get it out of her, because she won’t reveal owt like that to a stranger.”

  “Okay.”

  In a bizarre turn of fate, Doreen led the way through the crowded market, the string bag with Mam’s cauli and carrots banging her calf. People didn’t bother shifting out of her way, so she had to elbow-barge them to part, and then there were the dirty looks, the “Oi, watch where you’re bleedin’ going!” The man kept pace beside her, and she at last found space, going down a ginnel that led to town. Betty’s was two buildings along, so she stopped him outside the sweet shop.

  “Stay here. I’ll come and get you.” Doreen walked off, checking over her shoulder that he wasn’t following and, thankful he’d remained in place (browsing the jars of sweets in the window, a finger resting beneath his nose), she entered Betty’s, nervous as anything, her chest tight with apprehension.

  The woman herself stared at Doreen from behind the counter, the insolent cow, beady eyes assessing and finding Doreen wanting. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Doreen didn’t like being referred to as a dead mouse but held back giving her the usual nasty retort. She needed Betty on her side so had to be nice. “Sorry about this, but is Lou in?”

  “Yes.” Betty picked a leaf off a rose stem, one of many she was clipping. She tossed it on a blue tray beside the flowers.

  “Can I see her?” Doreen fidgeted, waiting for a negative answer.

  Betty scowled. “I don’t pay her to gossip to the likes of you during working hours, you know. You don’t earn money for talking—I assume that’s what you two will be doing, chatting when she’s meant to be making something for a customer.”

  “Please, it’s important. I wouldn’t normally ask, you know that, but I really need to see her.”

  Betty sighed. “She’s out the back doing a bouquet for Mrs Watson. Her husband, Sid, asked us to make one as a surprise. Go through—but be quick about it. No dilly-dallying.”

  “Thanks.” Doreen pushed through the doorway to the side of the counter, stepped into the flower arranging area, and shut them in.

  Lou glanced up, a big smile transforming her somewhat pinched face—the murder had given her a haunted look, her skin sallow, faint shadows beneath her eyes.

  Do I look like that?

  “Ay up, Dor. It’s great to see you, but we promised—”

  Doreen flapped her hand, needing to stop Lou from blathering on, because she would, given half the chance. “I know, but fucking hell, something bad has gone on. Like, really bad.”

  Lou widened her eyes. “Oh God, is it your mam or dad? Has owt happened to them?”

  “No. It’s to do with Stalker.”

  Lou whimpered. She glanced at the door and pointed to it with a pair of small shears. “Whisper in case Betty’s got her ear pressed on that, you know how nosy she is. Shit, Dor, what’s going on?”

  “Stalker’s brother came up to me at the sodding shoe stall, didn’t he, saying he’s looking for you. He knew your name.”

  Lou went white, and she blinked. A lot. “Why…why would he ask you?”

  Doreen poked at the air in the direction of the flowers. “Because the stupid bitch you’re making that bouquet for told him to.”

  “Mrs Watson?”

  Was Lou being deliberately thick, or was Doreen cruel by thinking that?

  “Yeah, he asked her on the veg stall. It doesn’t matter how it went down, just that it did. He said he’s looking for his brother’s girlfriend, and that’s you.”

  “But I’m not his bloody girlfriend. Why would he think that?”

  Doreen stamped her foot. “I know, but he says you’re it, Stalker told him you were—and he’s called Steve, by the way.”

  “Who, the brother or Stalker?”

  Doreen whimpered herself, frustration mounting. “Stalker!”

  “How do you know he’s owt to do with him, though?”

  “He’s got them weird eyes, hasn’t he, just like him, and he said he hasn’t heard from his brother for about a month.”

  “Oh shit. That ties in with…”

  “Now you get it. I left him at the sweet shop.”

  “What?” Lou shrieked and dropped the shears. They clattered off the bench and onto the floor. She ignored them. “He’s outside? Why?”

  “Because he was coming here anyroad, and I thought it best I warn you. If he’d come on his own, you’d have shit yourself.”

  Lou turned away and fiddled with a white carnation petal, her bottom lip wobbling. “What are we going to say?”

  “There’s two options. One, you don’t know who he’s talking about, but then if he comes back here when you’re not around, Betty’s going to stick her ruddy great oar in, or you can say he was your fella but you haven’t seen him for ages either. The problem with that is, he said his mam’s on about phoning the police, so if they come to speak to you because you’ve admitted he was your boyfriend, they might find him down the well.”

  “Stop it, Dor. You’re panicking. They won’t find him down the well. They’d have to suspect he’s there for a start, and why would they? No, the first option. I’m telling the truth, that he came in here being a weirdo, then just didn’t come in anymore. Betty will back that up.”

  “Right. Come on then.”

  “Betty’s not going to let me leave, I’m not due a break or lunch for ages, and I don’t think I can face him. You tell him. Get him to talk to Betty if you have to, but stay with him so you know what’s said.”
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br />   Doreen walked out, disregarded Betty, and rushed outside. The man had moved along and now stood next door at the butcher’s, although he didn’t study the meat but looked across the high street. She reached his side, and he turned to her and gave her that lovely smile. If he wasn’t owt to do with a murdered man, she might have considered asking him out.

  “I’ve had a natter with Lou. She’s not his girlfriend, but he did come in a few times about a month back, buying flowers then giving them to her, writing strange poems on the cards—which is a bit odd, don’t you think? He asked her out for a drink, but she said no; he came back about five times after that, then she didn’t see him again. Lou’s busy at the minute, but come and see Betty, she’ll tell you.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him into the florist shop.

  “Not you again,” Betty said, then copped the man. “Oh, you look like that fella who was after Lou.”

  A conversation ensued, him explaining why he was there, Betty telling him all about the flower-buying shenanigans.

  “But he’s not Lou’s boyfriend,” Betty said. “I know her mam really well, and she hasn’t said owt, and neither has Lou.” She addressed Doreen. “Is he her bloke?”

  “No! Lou hasn’t seen him since the last time he bought flowers.”

  Betty tucked some straggly grey hair behind her thick-lobed ear, a gold daisy earring clipped so tight the flesh bulged around it. “Neither have I, come to think of it.” She eyed the man. “Sorry, duck, we can’t help you. Gone missing, you said?”

  “Hmm.”

  Betty slammed a palm on the counter. “Then it’s a police matter. I’m happy to speak to them, tell them he came in here, but as for knowing where he is, I don’t have a clue.”

  He nodded his appreciation. “Thank you for your time. I’ll visit his landlady next. Vera.”

  Doreen’s stomach hurt. “Good luck.”

  He walked out, and she sighed with relief.

  “Nice man, that Steve—that’s what he said his name was, wasn’t it?” Betty asked.

  “Yes. Can I just nip back in to Lou, tell her what was said?”

  Betty gave a rare smile. “Only if you make me a brew while you’re out there. A splash of milk, three sugars.”

  Doreen darted into the back room, closing the door. “He’s gone. Betty saved us.”

  Lou rubbed her watery eyes. She must have been crying. “God, this is so awful.”

  “I know.” Doreen patted her friend’s arm. “But…secret forever.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  God, Jason was so irritating. Just seeing him tested Cassie’s patience. There had been times since becoming Dad’s right hand where she only had to look at certain people and she wanted to punch them in the face, for no reason other than they had a way about them that set her off. She’d often wondered whether her angst at having to run the patch instead of becoming a teacher surged to the fore during those times. Did she want to take her rage out on them, on anyone, so she felt better?

  Someone would suggest a therapist next. “Get your head tested, Cassie, you’re off your sodding rocker.”

  Maybe she was.

  Or was she, despite thinking otherwise before joining the family business, born bad? Born to hurt and maim and kill? The nature versus nurture subject had taken up a lot of headspace at first. After all, she’d thought she was a ‘normal’ person, someone who didn’t like violence (especially when Dad had told her exactly what he did), but perhaps his teachings had encouraged that part of her out from where it had been slumbering deep inside her.

  Or he’d fashioned her monster all by himself, moulding her mindset like some creepy cult leader, changing her views, her ideals, keeping on and on until she accepted herself for who he’d created. Except she hadn’t accepted it, not fully. Instead, she’d compartmentalised. There was good Cassie, then there was the monster.

  How could he do that to her, his child?

  More and more, she was coming to the conclusion he wasn’t as idol-like as she’d thought. A man who could direct their wife to do what she did, what Jason did, what all the residents did, then got Cassie to do the same… He wasn’t right in the head. And as for Mam, well…

  Cassie shut those thoughts off; too painful, too revealing. She glared down at Jason. He didn’t return it, his gaze on the bookshelf, making it so obvious he either wanted her to know she wasn’t important enough for him to look at or he plain didn’t want to. Stubborn dickhead. Maybe he thought she was beneath him, someone not worthy of his attention, taking a leaf out of his mother’s book by snubbing her. Or perhaps he couldn’t stop staring at what was on top of that shelf and he was shitting bricks.

  But he’d maintain eye contact eventually, she’d make sure of it, even if only for a brief second—that would be victory enough. His breathing indicated his agitated state, although his body language portrayed nowt. Here was a man who’d taken Lenny’s teachings to heart: Never let your opponent know what you’re thinking.

  She smiled. He’d wish he’d never taken Lenny’s offer of working for him by the time she’d finished with him, or perhaps he already did—was regret suffocating him? No, knowing Jason, he thought this was a torture warning and she’d get Dr Flemming to sort his leg and face in some underground operating theatre—like that was even a thing. Flemming was good, but not that good.

  And Cassie was lenient sometimes, but not that lenient.

  Her work phone bleeped, and she checked WhatsApp.

  Mam: Two bacon rashers found. Being dealt with.

  It was inevitable but sooner than Cassie had hoped. She’d thought the darkness in the yard at The Lion’s Head would have prevented anyone from seeing the bodies should they go out there to smoke. Tomorrow morning would have been better for the discovery of the pigs, but so long as Gary Branding was in charge, things would be smoothed over. If they weren’t and the police paid them a visit, none of the neighbours would admit Cassie, Mam, and Lou had gone out at a certain time, returning later. Then there was Nicola from The Pudding. Cassie had told her they were having a night in, and she’d force her to say just that if necessary. And if Branding didn’t shush this up, he’d be meeting Marlene. Alive. Cassie and Mam would watch the mincer scoffing him up, listen to his screams…

  Cassie: Okay.

  She slid her phone in her pocket and eyed Jimmy, who stood by the window, the top half of his shadow large and misshapen on the blind. The bottom appeared elongated, the thighs stretching down the old-fashioned yellowing radiator with its tumbleweeds of dust on top, shin shapes on the floor, the feet joining his, as if the shadow were his soul and couldn’t bear to break contact.

  “He’s ever so rude, don’t you think?” she asked him.

  Jimmy started, clearly uncomfortable with being brought into this, to have to give an opinion. “Yeah, well rude.” He gave an awkward smile that said: Sorry, I’m not used to this shit, but I’m trying.

  She shifted her attention to Jason again, studying his gross bottom lip, and the urge to squeeze it between finger and thumb overcame her. Christ, what’s the matter with me? She wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt him, no holds barred. What was it, driving her to do it? An in-born need, a Lenny-manufactured one, the proof Jason wanted the estate?

  Or was it his betrayal?

  Once again, she shut her thoughts down. “Where were you going to get the anti-depressants from to drug me and my mam? Which seller were you going to approach? Or have you already done that? If it’s someone working for me, I want to know about it. But then again, you’re not thick, so I bet you were going to the Sheffield lot, or maybe the pushers in Doncaster.”

  Jason continued ogling the bookshelf as if she hadn’t spoken, no tells to indicate which option was the correct one. He must want her to think someone else in her pay was a mole, prepared to go against her. He’d know damn well that would drive her up the wall trying to work it out.

  Was he imagining the pain he’d go through when she used what was on top on the bookshelf? How many times sh
e’d inflict it? How long before she administered the fatal move and all this ended? Did he want it to end? Was he in that much pain he wished he was dead, even if that meant leaving his mother?

  “I’d have gathered what you were doing to us anyroad,” she said. “We’d have noticed how we felt, groggy or whatever. Especially because you told Jimmy you planned to put it in my coffee and food when we went out on dates, get me dependent, then chat enough shit to convince me to let you move in, then you’d start on Mam. My mam, Jason. That’s so wrong. How would you feel if I planned to do that to yours?”

  His lips twitched.

  “You really are a minger. Disloyal. Still, Jimmy was loyal, which brings us to this point. Did you really think you’d get away with it, that he wouldn’t tell me?”

  He ignored her.

  “I bet Gina will be on my earhole soon, asking if I’ve seen you—note she hasn’t bothered to yet. That must sting, your mammy not caring enough to find out where you are.” She smiled, the perfect piss-him-off words forming in her head. “I’m undecided on what to do there. You know, tell her you went missing in the proper sense, just walked off after we’d had a falling out… Or that I barbed your face up then shot you in the leg with a fucking nail, and then, I killed you, minced your body, and scattered bits of it all over the Barrington. I might even go as far as to mention the foxes that may have eaten you, the birds pecking at the meat. Can you imagine the horror and pain she’ll feel when she hears that?”

  He growled, just like those foxes. “Uck you.”

  “It’s fuck, Jason.”

  “Izz ov.”

  “No. There’s still so much to discuss. Let’s see…” She rested a finger on her cheek, drawing things out and loving it. The monster had arrived. “Nathan Abbott. A man down on his luck, then Lenny came along and offered him a job looking after that set of sex workers, got him back on his feet. Is that why you chose Nathan? I mean, you must have thought you were the only man Lenny felt something for, yet here comes Nathan, being looked after by him, too. I can’t believe you’d do this to my dad. Lenny cared for you.”