by Emmy Ellis
“Go back to Karen’s and stay outside, wait for Sharon to leave. Drive your car and sit in it. Once she’s left, knock Karen up and tell her you heard what was said—and that you’ll help her kill me if Sharon won’t. Organise with her to meet me at The Beast at two in the morning, say you’ll go so you can help her ‘impale’ me.” Cassie laughed. “What a joke she is.”
“Okay, whatever you want.”
“Then there’s another ten grand in it if you hold her down while I kill her.”
Doreen’s mouth flapped. “W-what?”
“You heard me. Now, are you in or out?”
Doreen didn’t have to think for long. That money would pay off all her debts and there’d be change to spare. She could buy one of those hot tubs for five hundred quid and stick it in the back garden, buy a marquee thing to go over the top, string up some fairy lights, all rather exciting. “I’ll do it.”
“I thought you might. Off you go then, and let me know if she’s up for it. If not, we’ll arrange another night, but you can bet on one thing, Karen will be disappearing soon.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Barrington Life – Your Weekly
FEBRUARY FAYRE ON SCULPTOR’S FIELD
Karen Scholes – All Things Crime in our Time
Sharon Barnett – Chief Editor
WEEKLY EDITION - FEBRUARY 2021
Just a reminder that the February Fayre is on at the weekend, so wrap up warm because it’s bloody snowing. Join in the fun. There are a few stallholders already signed up, and they include:
Joe Wilson: On behalf of Grafton’s Meat Factory
Lou Wilson: Pies and jams
Brenda Nolan: Knitted willy warmers (don’t ask, she has time on her hands)
Geoff Davis: Homemade wines and gins
Sandra Welton: Cakes, pastries, and handcrafted chocolates
Several knick-knack stalls, a hook the duck, tombola, and numerous others
If anyone else would like a spot, get a move on, because there are only five left. To rent a stall, contact me or Sharon. They’re twenty quid for the weekend.
As usual, we have the fairground feel, so the hot dog stall, the merry-go-round, and candy floss. A portion of everyone’s proceeds will go to the nominated charity the majority of you chose: The Lenny Grafton Homeless Fund. As you’re aware, he did a lot to prevent homelessness in this town, including buying the high-rise to ensure people had a nice warm place with affordable rents, so it’s only right we support it now he’s no longer with us. The money raised will pay for new bedding and clothing, plus tide-you-over loans for those still struggling. Dig deep, folks.
Sharon has agreed to run the face-painting booth this year. She’s done a fair bit of practising on me, and I have to say her tiger is one of the best I’ve seen. I might even give it a go myself in between doing the raffle. Once again, thank you for the donations given for that. We have some generous prizes, including a week-long stay in Spain, all inclusive, from Cassie Grafton, and it isn’t Benidorm either, like you lot are used to. Each ticket will be a pound.
See you on Saturday. Be there or be square.
Karen once again took to the streets to post her portion of The Life. She had her mind full of Doreen, not the howling wind or the snowy weather. While she’d been in that armchair when they’d come out of the kitchen, supposedly asleep, her chest had been going up and down a bit too rapid for her to have really drifted off. Karen wasn’t a stupid woman, she knew feigning when she saw it, and Doreen had tried to pull the bloody wool over their eyes.
Why?
Or maybe it’s my imagination, considering what we were talking about.
Hmm, that could be it. A guilty conscience, although she didn’t feel guilty about wanting to kill Cassie, more along the lines of feeling bad for upsetting Sharon, who really didn’t want to get involved. Never would she have thought her friend would veto the plan, and it just went to show, didn’t it, you thought you knew someone, then they turned around and surprised you by being honest.
I’ll do it by myself. Or ask Brenda to come in on it with me.
Decision made, she hurried through her leaflet deliveries then made her way to Brenda’s. Even if her best mate didn’t agree to jump on the bandwagon, at least she’d listen, hear Karen out. Talking would be good—Karen was so irritated she could punch someone, and Brenda had a calming influence.
She knocked on Brenda’s door, and her pal ushered her inside.
“I’ve only got ten minutes, though,” Brenda said. “I’ve got a bloke to fleece. Sid Watson, eighty-one, worth three hundred thousand. No relatives.” She smiled her devious smile and led the way to the kitchen, her backside twitching in her leopard-print jeggings.
They settled at the small table, teas steaming in front of them, and Karen jumped right in, explaining her plan and why she wanted Cassie out. Then she asked Brenda to join her in the murder, also giving her the option to be top dog alongside Karen running the Barrington. Sharon didn’t deserve that privilege now.
“Nope.” That was Brenda, no messing. “If you manage to kill her and take over the patch, I’ll be loyal to you then, but at the minute, Cassie’s my boss, and she lines my pockets. You know how I am—I won’t bite the hand that currently feeds me, but I will switch sides if it’s more beneficial to me; only once the takeover is complete, mind.”
Karen sighed. “I thought you’d say that, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, does it. I’ll manage it by myself somehow and nip round here when the patch changes hands.”
Brenda tapped her long red nails on the table. “Have you figured Francis into the equation? With Cassie gone, the Barrington then goes to her mother.”
Karen’s heart sank. “Shite. I hadn’t thought beyond offing Cassie. I’ll have to do Francis an’ all, won’t I.” That was an added complication she didn’t need. Why couldn’t things go her way for once? Why did her whole life have obstacles she had to continually hurdle? Just call her Sally Gunnell.
Brenda bit her bottom lip then released it. “Good luck there. She’s been by Lenny’s side for years and knows all the tricks in staying alive. You’ll have your work cut out for you. Why the need to take over anyroad—the real need?”
That was easy to answer. “I didn’t mind Lenny so much because he was always fair—but it did piss me off when he came along and took over what amounted to my patch, mine and Sharon’s. Since she’s taken over, Little Miss Bossy, she’s lowered the amount of warnings people get, which doesn’t give them much room to make mistakes. We’re all human, and she now expects folks to do as they’re told after one warning, then they’re dead. Take Brett Davis for instance. He—”
“Pissed off without paying rent. Yeah, I know.”
Karen got narked at that. Not only had Doreen found out before her, but Brenda had, too. Was she losing her touch? Were the people who were supposed to come and inform her of these things not doing it anymore? Had Cassie told them not to?
Wouldn’t surprise me.
She stood, readying herself to go home. “I’ll think on it some more and get back to you.”
“You haven’t even finished your tea.”
“I don’t want it anymore. See you.”
Karen walked out, heading straight for the comfort of her own home, the large flakes of snow gnawing on her cheeks. She could think better there and not feel like the world was out to get her—or forces she couldn’t see were stopping her from moving forward. Years she’d waited for Lenny to die, and now look, his daughter had taken over, Karen less needed than she’d been before. All right, she wrote The Life and found shit out before anyone else, but even that wasn’t the case now, was it?
“Fuck’s sake.”
She stormed up her path and told herself to switch her mind from Cassie to the February Fayre, get that out of the way then make fresh plans that involved murdering Francis. She couldn’t cope with all of it at once.
A car door shut behind her, and she turned to nose at who it was.
What was Doreen doing back here? That was all Karen needed, some confrontation or other, or even just a casual chat. Her head was too full, and she needed solitude. Her nerves prickled, nettle rash all over.
“What did you do, leave something behind?” she asked, aware she sounded tired and naffed off, but it was only Doreen, so what did Karen care about offending her?
“I need to talk to you.” Doreen glanced about, spy-like, her expression displaying fear, as if she shouldn’t be in the street and couldn’t wait to leave. “In private.”
Intrigued, despite not liking the woman much, Karen opened her front door and gestured for Doreen to step inside. They stamped the snow off their shoes on the mat. In the kitchen, she flicked the kettle on, hoping her unwanted guest didn’t plan to stay long enough to drink a cuppa. Hopefully, she’d be gone by the time it’d boiled. Karen had yet to chase up Clive the Clown and see if he wanted his usual pitch at the Fayre, then there was that bint who read fortunes, the one with the mad grey hair, and there were the last few stalls she needed to rent out, too.
Doreen settled at the table, and Karen sighed.
“Suppose you want a brew, do you?” Karen took cups off the drainer and frowned at Doreen. “Have you done something to your hair? It doesn’t look so yellow.”
“Had it dyed, cut, and styled at Cheryl’s. Look, I may as well come out with it. I heard what you and Sharon were talking about earlier.”
Karen’s stomach rolled over, cramps setting in. She’d need the loo if she wasn’t careful. This was the last person she needed knowing her business. As Doreen was a new recruit of Cassie’s, she’d be eager to scuttle off and tell her the ins and outs. Or had she already done that, which was shy she’d looked like she was shitting bricks out the front when she’d arrived, worrying Cassie had followed her and the game would be up?
“What exactly do you think you heard?” Karen dumped teabags in the cups, hating the fact her hand shook. She blamed it on age tremors to feel better.
“I don’t think owt, I know, and if Sharon won’t do it with you, I will.”
Karen laughed with relief, the sound tinged with her shock. Doreen, killing? This had to be some kind of joke. And why would she want to help her? They’d never really got on since Doreen had stolen her man. Doreen reckoned she’d done no such thing, but Karen knew she had. Well, she’d had a feeling about it anyroad, and feelings shouldn’t be ignored.
“What the fuck would you want to get rid of her for?” The kettle had boiled, seeing as it only had a bit of water in it, and Karen poured it over the teabags, steam rising to bathe her face that had frozen from the cold weather.
“She pisses me off, frankly. Bit of a bossy sort, up her own arse. These young people today, they act so entitled.” Doreen appeared sad, then her face changed to show off her hatred. “I thought she was such a nice kid when she was growing up, then Lenny got ill and she did the work for him, and things weren’t the same. Once he died and she took over for good, well, she’s off her rocker, isn’t she, upsetting the balance. I agree with you—you’d do a better job on the patch. I don’t want to work for that little madam. Do you know, she sent me here to spy on you because she thought you were up to something?”
Karen squeezed the teabags to stop her trembling hands being so obvious. Who’d told Cassie something was up? Sharon? It had to be. Brenda had been fine with her earlier, and anyroad, she’d never grass Karen up—not that she’d known what Karen was up to until half an hour ago. No, the only person was Sharon fucking Barnett.
The treachery stung.
“I see.” Karen sorted milk and sugar, dropping a spoonful of the latter, granules scattering on the worktop. “Fucking clumsy cow. Did you tell Cassie what you heard?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Karen wouldn’t answer that one. Her opinions on Doreen’s IQ wouldn’t go down well, and she couldn’t afford to antagonise her. “I’m not just talking about what you heard today either.”
Doreen huffed. “I told her you two never spoke about owt in front of me, plus if she thought you were up to something, it was all in her head.”
That was ballsy, but then Doreen always had opened her mouth without thinking. She’d done it so much at school she’d continually had to write lines: I must not speak out of turn.
“How did she take that?” Karen handed over Doreen’s cup and sat with hers at the table, glad to park her arse. Her legs ached from rushing around delivering The Life.
“She told me not to talk to her that way, being cheeky and whatever. That just got my back up even more. I mean, she’s in her twenties, and I’ve lived a damn sight longer than her and deserve a bit of respect. You said about impaling her on The Beast. It’s a great idea, everyone will see her there. I’ll come with you later and help you lift her.”
Karen didn’t quite trust her yet. “I’m going to stab her, loads of times so I make a big hole in her belly for the tail to go through. I won’t believe you’re on the level unless you stab her an’ all. If you’re in, it’s all the way, not just standing there while I do it.”
Doreen smiled. “I’ll bring my own blade. Harry only sharpened my kitchen ones the other day. Got a great gadget for it off Amazon. It sticks to the worktop and everything. There’s a little clip you press down to keep it still.”
“Fuck your gadget.”
Doreen sniffed. “Sorry, but it’s that good. Want me to set up a meeting? I reckon two in the morning is a better option. No time like the present either. We should do it as soon as, as in, later. I can’t be doing with living on a knife edge, excuse the pun, wondering if I’ll mess up, get a warning, then be killed if I do something else she doesn’t like. Loopy cow. Who does she think she is?”
Doreen’s face screwed up with so much revulsion, Karen believed she had a new partner in crime. Doreen really did hate Cassie, and together, they’d get rid of her.
“It’s not just Cassie we have to worry about,” Karen warned her.
“What do you mean?”
“The patch will go to Francis with Cassie dead.” It felt good to be the one to impart that news, rather than how she’d felt hearing her flawed plan coming from between Brenda’s sensible lips.
Doreen shrugged. “Then we’ll kill her as well then. After Cassie’s funeral. It’ll be easy to follow her home and pretend we want to sit with her after the wake, be friendly, a support system, keep her company. We’ll kill her while she has a nap. Suffocate her or something.”
Karen warmed to the theme, then, as if Brenda whispered another flaw… “But what about that Marlene woman?”
“No one would suspect us two. And you saying you’ll take over the patch for a bit makes sense—you used to run it before Lenny got his manky mitts on it. People won’t bat an eyelid if you say you’ll step in; you know the ropes already. Marlene will then work for you and finally show herself. We’ll get to see who she is. That’s always bothered me, the not knowing whether she walks among us, so to speak.”
“Sounds good to me. So, two in the morning, you say.” Karen’s suspicions still hung around. “Why that specific time?”
“Think about it. People are in bed, on Old and New Barrington bordering Sculptor’s Field. They’re most likely to be in REM by then and won’t hear owt—I’ve thought about this properly, you know. Anyone on late-evening to early-hours shift work would leave their job at two, getting home about twenty past. That gives us fifteen or so minutes to stab her, wedge her on The Beast’s tail, then sod off before we’re spotted.”
“I underestimated you,” Karen said.
Doreen smiled. “Most people do.”
* * * *
Brenda paced for some time after Karen had left, thinking about what her pal wanted to do and where Brenda stood on the matter. At the moment, she was on Cassie’s side of the fence—after all, Brenda already planned to trap Jason so she could tell Cassie the lad was a danger to the business. His confession to take over the patch was just as ridiculous as Karen’s, e
xcept Jason had more strength and could undoubtedly use his gun on Cassie. Karen’s stabbing idea had flaws if Cassie met her with her barbed weapon in hand. A whip like that would incapacitate Karen before she’d even had a chance to raise her kitchen knife.
While there was an unwritten law about best friends, Brenda couldn’t remain loyal to her. She’d lived long enough to know Karen was a fair-weather type, only round Brenda’s when Sharon wasn’t available, a second-best pal who’d do in a pinch. Lenny had given Brenda a good life in trusting her with the old men, and Cassie had done the same, so her loyalty was to that family.
The blunt truth of it was, Brenda cared more about money than upsetting Karen, and if she worked for her, the wages would be drastically reduced. She couldn’t see Karen keeping up with the Barrington business, the drugs, the sex workers, the scamming of old dodgers, amongst many other things. Then there was the high-rise to think about. With no other family for Francis to pass it on to, who knew what would become of that building. And Grafton’s Meat Factory, who would own that with Cassie and Francis out of the picture? It wasn’t like Karen would inherit it, was it, along with the vast revenue.
Karen hadn’t thought this through properly at all, but Brenda had.
She sighed and accepted the knowledge she was going to be late visiting Sid Watson today. The Barrington came first, and she had to contact her boss. Usually, Brenda would have to go through her handler, Trevor Bayliss, but Cassie wouldn’t want him knowing this kind of information before she did.
Brenda considered tapping out the code for extreme issues: problem. But this was life-or-death crap, and Cassie had said to phone for that.
Brenda pressed Cassie’s icon to connect the call and held her breath.
“Hello, Brenda. What’s the matter?”
“Karen Scholes.”