Sarah realised the room was silent. All the parents had gone.
It was as if a wave had broken, sending kids, toys, mothers and fathers scattering away from a stormy shore.
There was just one little old lady in the kitchen. She was drying the coffee cups with a cloth, and watching them through the serving hatch.
Sarah picked up Archy and stood.
“Time for me to go, Caitlin,” she said. “I’d like to help you. Maybe I could?”
“We don’t need help. We just need to … leave.”
The whisper had vanished.
There could be no doubt about what Caitlin wanted to do.
Sarah nodded, accepting. Then a small smile.
“I’ll give you a hand with your stuff.”
And she helped Caitlin pack up.
It took a few minutes to put everything in the buggies and then together they walked down the path which ran alongside the church and down towards the High Street.
Sarah looked up. From here, through the trees, she could just see the little window at the back of her office. She really needed to take Archy home, and get back to work.
“Are you parked in the square?” she asked Caitlin.
“No,” said Caitlin. “Charlie’s picking me up. In fact — there he is.”
She pointed to the church gate — and Sarah’s heart plummeted.
There, leaning against a Ford pick-up, arms folded — was Charlie Fox.
It was too late to turn away. Charlie had already seen her. She’d have to brazen it out.
“Sorry Charlie, we were chatting and I just didn’t see the time,” said Caitlin as they approached.
“Chatting were you?” he said, stepping forward and standing face to face with Sarah. “I bet you were.”
Sarah spun the buggy round so Archy wouldn’t see this, and stood her ground. Charlie was angry — and frightening. But she knew he wouldn’t do anything here, right in the heart of the village — and not with children here too.
“Get Sammy in,” he ordered.
“What’s the matter, love?” said Caitlin, confused by Charlie’s anger — directed not at her, but at Sarah.
“Just put the damn buggy in the back and get him in — didn’t you hear me, woman?”
While Caitlin went round the pickup with her son and dealt with the buggy, Charlie leaned even further into Sarah’s face.
“I don’t know what your game is, but you stay away from my family — you hear?”
Sarah was glad she had Archy as a plausible prop. And Charlie didn’t have a shotgun.
“Mr Fox, Caitlin and I were just—”
“I warned you once. Now hear this — if I see you anywhere near us again — anywhere near my farm, my wife, my son — I swear I’ll …”
He hesitated, the word ‘kill’ seemingly on his lips.
“—do something. I swear to God.”
“Charlie, what’s—“
“Get in the car,” he said over his shoulder.
Sarah stood motionless, her body between the buggy and Charlie.
Then she watched Charlie, certainly not happy, turn and climb into the pickup and, with a roar of the engine, drive off.
Sarah instantly spun the buggy round to check on Archy.
He was fast asleep and hadn’t noticed a thing.
Babies …
Sarah let out a breath and realised she was shaking.
Was Charlie’s threat real? She felt out of her depth and wished Jack had been there.
Because — in her own village square — she felt scared.
10. Happy Hour at the Ploughman’s
Jack smiled at the barmaid, Ellie, and took his pint of Wadworth’s. Didn’t seem quite right to hit the pub after such a mystical experience with the mysterious and — ultimately — helpful Tamara.
But he felt that if people were talking about Charlie and the Curse, then the Ploughman’s might be rumour-central.
He turned around. And after months of feeling like he stood out as if he had walked off a spaceship from Planet USA, no one now seemed to take any note.
Could it be … he was accepted as a pub regular, still a ‘Yank’ … but able to stand at the bar, sip his beer, chat if he wanted to, or not, and just enjoy the moment?
If so, then that felt damn good. He had known that making a second home — especially after an amazing loss, after a full life — wouldn’t be easy.
But somehow, he might be, slowly, steadily, doing just that.
Ellie said, “Expecting anyone, Jack?”
Jack turned back to barmaid. “Nope. Just enjoying my beer, Ellie. Though I might stick for a bite. Anything good on the menu tonight?”
”Got the chef’s special meatloaf — least, he calls it ‘special’. Just tastes like the same old, same old, if you know what I mean.”
“Not much harm you can do to a meatloaf,” Jack said, and she laughed.
Jack turned away, taking in the room.
And if he was looking for people chattering, he found them.
The table in the corner was usually occupied by a random assortment of local farmers, and tonight was no exception.
Jack took his beer and sailed on over.
Thinking: Let’s see just how much of a regular I really am …
“Mind if I join you?”
Jack looked at the three men at the table. He knew Pete Butterworth already from when he and Sarah had helped the man recover a valuable Roman plate that had gone missing.
“Jack, sure. Know this lot?”
Jack pulled over a wooden chair from a nearby table. He could tell the other men were eyeing him a bit. Which made sense. By now, the fact that Jack got involved in local matters — missing items, missing people — was well known.
And who didn’t have secrets that they’d rather keep just that — secret.
“Tom Hodge, Phil Nailor,” Pete said making introductions. The two men nodded.
Neither seemed delighted at the new person at the table.
Jack nodded back.
Tom Hodge. The man who Charlie had fired.
Pay dirt, as they say.
He knew he had interrupted whatever they were talking about — another odd sign. Being fired, Tom must have a big grudge. Pete might also know things, be able to help, though the club of farmers was probably tightly knit and protective.
“Helluva thing, hmm?” Jack said.
Always good to lob out something that has people wondering … what are you talking about?
Pete took the bait. “What’s that then, Jack?”
“The troubles on Mabb’s Farm, all that talk of a curse. Something going on?”
And that was all Tom Hodge needed to hear.
“Too right something’s going on. That Charlie is daft. A nutter when it comes to running a farm. I’m amazed he doesn’t try to milk them cows from their ears.”
The men laughed, and Jack joined in, taking a big sip of beer.
“No talent for farming, eh?”
“Talent?” Tom snorted. “The man shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a farm.”
“A real screw-up,” Phil Nailor added.
Jack turned to look at Phil.
Amazing how much people wanted to talk about things, Jack thought.
Especially when they had a beef with someone. Tom had one for sure. Did Phil, too?
“Come on, Phil,” Pete said. “That was an accident, could’ve—”
Phil turned to Pete. “Charlie and me went fifty-fifty on that damn spreader, and when I get it back, the thing is a wreck. Couldn’t operate the bloody machine, money down the drain!”
Tom laughed. “Guess no one told Charlie that you had to put some oil in the thing.”
More laughter, but Phil still glowered, clearly not in a forgiving mood.
“A write-off, huh?” Jack said.
“Too bloody right. So my machine and my money, are gone!”
Jack nodded. Two men here, both with no love for Charlie Fox.
He turned to Pete. At least he didn’t seem to have an axe to grind.
“So tell me — if Charlie is so bad at farming, what’s he doing with a farm?”
“Good question that, Jack. Bit of a story too. You see, his dad—”
“Harry?” Jack said.
A pause there, perhaps as they realised that Jack wasn’t simply idly interested in the events on the farm.
“Yup. Right. Harry. In his will, he left the property, the farmhouse, left it all to Ray—”
“Now there was someone who knew farming,” Tom pronounced.
“Nothing for Charlie?”
“I guess,” Pete continued, “that his dad could see that Charlie didn’t have it in him.”
“Unlucky Charlie is what we call him!”
“Ray did well?”
“Sure, good crops, excellent dairyman. Place ran like a clock. Right, Tom? You worked with Ray before Charlie took over, didn’t you?”
Another pause.
Interesting …
Then: “Yep. Place hummed, it did. And as soon as Ray left, it started going straight down the tubes.”
Jack looked around at the three of them. “And Ray?”
“Left a note,” Pete said. “A bit about ‘time to move on’ … so he did.”
“Police weren’t curious?”
Pete shook his head. “No sign of foul play. Man’s free to do what he wanted. There were rumours of a woman somewhere, Australia I think. And the note said that Charlie could keep an eye on the place until … or ‘if’ he came back.”
“Strange,” Jack said.
“Why’s that?” Pete said.
“Ray must have known Charlie would screw it all up. And yet—”
Jack paused. The men had nothing to say about that.
And that’s because, Jack thought, it is strange. Foul play or no foul play, there’s something odd there.
“And the Curse?” Jack asked.
“If stupidity is a curse,” Phil said.
But Tom nodded. “Tell you what though, there’s something not right about that place, that’s for sure. Always got a bad feeling, especially when I was on the hill, away from the farmhouse. You could feel it.”
Score another believer for Team Curse, Jack thought.
“All bollocks to me,” Pete said. “Man simply shouldn’t be running a farm.”
Jack noticed that with more questions, more chatter about Charlie, that Phil Nailor had grown quiet.
Could be something.
Or not.
Jack was about to order another beer, maybe a round for very helpful table.
When his phone buzzed.
Sarah.
“Hi, glad you called, I was thinking—”
But Sarah’s voice on the other end stopped him cold.
“Jack — something’s happened.”
“The kids, you … all right?”
“Yes.” The shrill tone hadn’t faded. “But can you come to mine quickly? You’ve got to see this …”
“Be right there.”
Jack looked at the men.
“Gotta run. Thanks for the company.”
And the men nodded as Jack raced out of The Ploughman’s.
11. A Dire Warning
Sarah was at the door waiting for Jack.
She looked scared, her voice hushed.
“Thanks for coming so soon. Kids haven’t seen it. Has me spooked, I tell you—”
“Hang on — what does?”
Sarah looked left and right, as if checking whether Chloe or Daniel were within earshot.
“Come and see …”
She led Jack to the back door that opened onto the small garden.
“It’s weird, Jack,” Sarah said before pushing open the door.
At first, all Jack could tell was that the rain seemed to be going sideways. It had turned that nasty. Worse, a steady breeze made the bushes and trees bend one way, then the other before — in a sudden lull — snapping back into place.
Like hurricane weather, Jack thought.
And yet we’re not exactly on the tip of Cape Cod.
Both he and Sarah now getting splattered by the rain.
“Want me to get you a waterproof?”
Jack shook his head.
“What am I looking at?”
Again Sarah looked away, checking on the children. Whatever it was, it was something she didn’t want them seeing.
Then she just pointed. “That!”
And Jack looked out to the garden, only scant light from the kitchen windows, then … he spotted something standing in the middle of the grass.
At first it was hard to say what it could be. But then—
“It’s—”
He turned to Sarah.
She finished his sentence.
“It’s part of the Wicker Man. Right. A charred arm, looks like, with that claw-like hand. Stuck in the ground.”
“God. Someone put it there.”
“The Curse…” Sarah said, a half-hearted attempt at humour.
Jack quickly turned to her to make sure she didn’t mean to be taken seriously. An uneasy smile confirmed that fact.
Still …
“Why would someone stick that in my garden?” she asked.
Jack shook his head. He had grown fond of Sarah, really fond of her, her kids.
And he didn’t like this at all.
“I don’t know,” he said.
He didn’t want to make her any more concerned, but right now he was most definitely alarmed.
“Jack, there’s something else. I haven’t gone out there. But it’s holding something in its hand. I can’t make it out. But there’s definitely something.”
Impossible to see from here. A lump, something dark clutched in the burned-black wicker hand.
“Only one way to find out,” he said. “Got a couple of brollies?”
Sarah nodded, and walked back into the house, while Jack shut the door and waited, thinking, more than anything else, worrying.
Stepping outside, the wind began ripping at the umbrellas. Even with the dome of each umbrella facing directly into the wind, it seemed like the struts would soon give way.
“Nasty night,” he said.
Pointing out the obvious.
They got soaked even as they walked the few steps to the stump of the Wicker Man.
A quick look, then inside, Jack thought.
A line reverberated.
‘T’isn’t a night fit for man and beast.’
As they reached the arm, that line seemed more than apt.
Sarah remained standing, letting Jack bend over to look at the thing in the Wicker Man’s brambly hand.
“It’s a bird,’ Jack said. “Hard to say what it is, it’s small though, a raven maybe? Or one of those magpies.” He took a breath, knowing that both of them had to be thinking the same thing.
Who had put the arm there, and who had gone to the trouble of placing a dead bird in its grasp?
Creepy didn’t quite capture it.
“Let’s go back inside,” Sarah said over the rat-a-tat of the rain on the umbrellas.
They sat at the kitchen table. Sarah had grabbed two towels so they could dry off. Daniel and Chloe surfaced but they were used to Mum and her detective friend, so no awkward questions were asked.
Later Sarah would go out, when the rain eased, dispose of the thing.
She had brought out a half-full bottle of Glenmorangie, and two tumblers.
“Ice?” she said, “Water? Sorry, I don’t have the fixings for a martini. Promise to rectify that.”
Jack smiled as she poured him a couple of fingers. Having him here made things feel a lot better, though she was still rattled: someone had invaded her space and marked it with a sinister message.
“Hey, I’d have to be some kind of idiot to complain about a drop of one very fine single-malt. This — neat — will do fine.”
She smiled and poured herself half as much.
“So what do you
make of that?”
She knew him well enough by now to know that, when he was quiet, it was because he was mulling things over. He still radiated strength and concern, but he was silent, like he’d gone somewhere dark and deep.
He took another sip.
“Guess you’d have to say, it’s a kind of warning.”
“To me? Why warn me? What have I done?”
Jack smiled as if he had heard similar protestations before — which she knew he most certainly had.
“Okay, look at it this way, Sarah. We know that there is no Curse. Someone is terrifying that poor couple, for reasons unknown, and now you’re trying to help them work out what’s going on.”
Sarah nodded.
“In fact, I probably have the other arm waiting on my boat somewhere. Though Riley would do a good job of chasing off anyone with that idea. Reminds me — you should get a dog.”
“That’s exactly what the kids say. I’ve got enough to do, thank you very much.”
He grinned at that. “Man and woman’s best friend. And if you plan on sticking with our amateur detective work, it could be useful to have one. Nothing like loud barks from a really large dog to scare people away.”
“I’ll consider it. So that out there, it’s a warning? And the bird?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that. Does it have some significance, a dead raven, the Wicker Man … or is it just more mixed up mumbo-jumbo?”
“I don’t know but either way, the message is clear.”
“I agree. ‘Stay out of this.’ Which, I can guess—”
“—I’m not going to do.”
“Now how did I know that’s exactly what you’d say?”
He told her about his pub chat and she described her not-too-friendly encounter with Charlie.
“Maybe this means we’re onto something?”
“Not sure about that. We have Tamara testifying to the work of evil forces, and of course Tom Hodge and Phil Nailor both would have it in for Charlie.”
“And there is the odd fact that neither Charlie or Caitlin seem to want any real help at all.”
“Right. And yet Charlie really is scared. I’ve seen fear — and that man has it.”
“It doesn’t make sense …”
Jack didn’t respond to that. More deep thoughts churning.
Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm Page 6
