The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3) by Emmy Ellis (smart books to read .TXT) 📕

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