The Noble Murder (The Barrington Patch Book 5)

by Emmy Ellis

  As far as she could tell, there were no other secret diaries and certainly no clues as to what had gone on in Mam’s life as a child. If she’d been messed with like Jimmy had suggested, she hadn’t kept any reminders. The only thing Cassie had found was Wilbur, Mam’s old teddy, stuffed in the back of the wardrobe inside a carrier bag with a coil of rope and a gun. Wilbur had matted fur and was a right old state, what with only having one eye these days, the stuffing coming out of the ragged fabric socket.

  How many secrets had Mam whispered to Wilbur?

  So far today, Cassie and Jimmy had paid a visit to all those who’d remained at the grave after the shooting—people who hadn’t run off in fear, those either loyal to Francis or just plain nosy, wanting to know what was going on right until the end, gathering information they could chew over with a gin at The Donny for months to come, discussing Mam as a spectacle rather than a human being. But was she human in that sense? She had too many traits of a nasty creature to really be what was classed as truly human. Branding had spoken to them already, but there was nowt like hearing it for herself, watching expressions—to see if someone was acting shifty, hiding shit. Lenny had taught Cassie that reading faces could save her life.

  All the women so far had seemed genuine enough. Shocked, a couple of them distraught at being so close to drama that had turned fatal, one of them gleeful about it, and another who hadn’t stopped shaking the whole time Cassie had questioned her. Whether that was through fear of Cassie or from reliving the events, Cassie wasn’t sure, and usually, in leader mode, she wouldn’t care, but a big part of her did—the part that Lenny and Mam hadn’t been able to corrupt, the piece she’d kept hidden, just for herself and her sanity. She’d asked the woman if she’d be okay, if she needed owt, and for those few seconds felt better for being marginally kind instead of a bitch. Then the anger had come back—directed at Mam for whatever she’d done to bring Cassie to this point.

  Now, they sat outside Mystic’s place in a street that never gave Cassie any trouble. People behaved here, just wanted to get on with their lives—or maybe they did as they were told in case Mystic saw their secrets and futures and they didn’t want to appear on her radar. Whatever, it was time for the old bag to cough up some revelations. The psychic had known something like this would happen—why else would she have warned Cassie about not walking away from the Barrington?—and then there was that waffle she’d spouted after Mam had got shot, and the passing over of that little bag of crystals: “The spell worked then.”

  Cassie had been too stunned to take it in properly at the time, hadn’t cared about spells or the bloody crystals, or chakras, another thing Mystic had said, but after Cassie had mentioned it to Jimmy first thing, he’d grimaced.

  “That’s well dodgy, that is,” he’d said. “She basically implied she knew your mam would die—that she’d done a spell to make sure it happened. And it had to be her. Who else do you know who dabbles in shit like that?”

  Who indeed.

  Cassie had purposely visited the other women first so her anger over Mystic filtered through to them, letting them know she wasn’t mucking about here and needed to know if they’d seen owt, heard owt. Cruel but necessary. It stopped her from visiting the crystal ball lover and walloping her with the fucking thing, cracking her skull open. Mystic was more valuable to her alive than dead, though, and Cassie had to remember that if things got to boiling point. No matter how much her monster wanted to take over, she couldn’t allow it, not this time.

  That gave her pause for thought.

  She turned in the driver’s seat to look at Jimmy, needing his help here. “Despite what I say to the contrary in there, if I go for Mystic, you have to stop me, right? I can’t hurt her. She knows things, shit that might be useful, now and in the future, and while I expect she’ll be all mysterious and whatnot, or spouting client confidentiality, we need to know what she knows—and whether she did a death spell or whatever the chuff it’s called. Also, why would she want Mam dead?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe someone asked her to do it, paid her, like. Or maybe they have a past. Francis could have been rotten to her and Mystic wanted revenge. And what about this… Don’t you want to kill Mystic for basically being an accessory? Her doing the spell could have prompted someone to shoot your mam.”

  Cassie saw his point. Ordinarily, she’d be gunning for Mystic. “I should do, but something’s stopping me. Maybe the spell is a load of crap and Mam was going to be shot either way. You might not understand my way of thinking, how I can even contemplate being okay about someone murdering my mother, but it depends on the why. Mam may have deserved it. She did just for making sure those lads got sorted, and Dad taught me that no matter who it was, if someone’s been bad, they have to be punished. I’m not sure he meant Mam, though he did mention something about me possibly offing her. But what else did she do? What would make a crazy old tarot woman take matters into her own hands?”

  Jimmy hmmed. “She must have seen something, you know, in her ball or whatever, or in those creepy cards of hers.”

  We’re on the same wavelength. “Exactly. Come on, let’s get this over with. And remember, if I go for her, stop me from going too far, got it?”

  “Got it, boss.”

  She left the car and led the way up Mystic’s path, her stomach in knots—one knot was clenched tighter than the others, the one regarding her love for a mam she’d adored, and she had to remind herself that she hadn’t known her mother at all, just a fake version Francis had presented to her and everyone else she’d duped. Mam had to be a psychopath to be able to pull that off, to appear the same as everyone else once she’d given birth to Cassie, melding into society, fitting in, when all along she’d kept the secret that she was a kid killer.

  Jimmy stopped beside Cassie in his dapper grey suit and black tie, his nice white shirt that he’d said Shirl had ironed, and she smiled at the change it created. Jimmy in a onesie or trackies meant he looked like any other twenty-something bloke on the estate, but in a suit, he appeared important, someone to take notice of, and with his acne cleared up, he had much more confidence. And Glen Maddock had something to do with that, too, building Jimmy up.

  Good. Together, they presented quite the front, but deep down, the pair of them sometimes quaked in their boots. It was a comfort for Cassie to know someone else was in the same boat as her—both of them taught how to behave regarding estate business, neither of them truly wanting the jobs they had, but for whatever reason, they did it regardless.

  She felt wretched that she was the one doing the manipulating when it came to Jimmy, the teaching, the changing him from who he’d been into someone new, but what else could she do? She needed a right hand now she had no family to turn to, and for purely selfish reasons, she’d have to warp Jimmy in order to get what she wanted. Needed. She hated being the one Dad had influenced, yet here she was, standing in his too-big-to-fill shoes, doing the same thing to someone else, a lovely bloke at that.

  Once again, Mystic’s prophecy reared its ugly head, and Cassie had the sweeping urge to run, to pack up and leave Moorbury, fuck whatever she left behind—and to set Jimmy free before he got roped in too far; there was still time to save him from total corruption. While he was already fathoms deep beneath his old innocent surface, there was still time to pull up the anchor holding him to her, letting him rise and escape, breathing pure air again instead of the rancid crap that swirled around them now.

  “I don’t think I can keep doing this, Jim,” she said quietly, hugging herself to ward off the cold.

  “What?” He gawped at her, confusion in his eyes.

  “I’m doing to you what Lenny did to me. What a fucking hypocrite.”

  He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she let him. Jason would never have got away with that, she’d have bitten his handsome head off, but Jimmy was different.

  Maybe they were kindred spirits.

  “I agreed to do it,” he said. “You don’t get to choose my opt
ions—not those kinds anyroad. I know what I’m letting myself in for.”

  “Do you, though? Do you really?”

  “Glen’s told me enough, showed me enough, now pack it in.”

  He took his hand away. She wished it was still there, lending her strength.

  Jimmy knocked on the door, probably to show her this was the end of that particular conversation, and she was grateful for it, for someone else taking the reins for a second. He was letting her know he was directing his own path, that she wasn’t to blame for who he’d become. But despite his protestations, she was—if she hadn’t approached him about being her ears, he wouldn’t be standing here now. He’d stopped working for Lenny, and she’d reeled him right back into the viper’s nest.

  “I worked for Lenny, remember,” he said. “All right, I was just a runner, but I knew what I was getting into then an’ all. I’ll struggle, like you do, but we have each other to lean on now. No one else needs to know we brick it from time to time. Let’s get on with finding out who killed your mam, then we can move on. You can run the Barrington your way, with a softer hand and more kindness; I know that’s how you’d prefer to play it. You don’t have to be a carbon copy of Lenny anymore, not now your mam’s not here to make sure you do. You can be yourself—well, more yourself anyroad.”

  The door opened, cutting off Cassie’s response—“I’m so glad you’re on my side, Jim.”—and the strange old lady stood there, her expression giving nowt away. Her wrinkles seemed more pronounced today. She’d tied her long grey hair in a low ponytail and, as usual, the snake of it draped over her shoulder. She had a weird gown on, some silk effort, cerise with darker swirls all over it, a kimono of sorts. She must have taken to wearing it as a uniform. Christ.

  “I’ve got a client in half an hour,” Mystic said, curt. “So get inside, say what you have to say, then bugger off.”

  Cassie’s monster poked its ugly head out, stiffening her spine, pushing her back into work mode, away from the floundering fool she’d been with Jimmy. How frightening that she could switch like that. How had Lenny managed to programme her brain this way? Or was she more like Mam than she thought, a psychopath underneath it all?

  Cassie shuddered at the thought. “Considering you no doubt orchestrated my mam’s death, I don’t think you’re in a position to dish out orders, do you?”

  She barged inside, going straight to the consultation room (the living room Mystic used for her readings), plonking herself in one of the two horrible purple armchairs. She stared over at the stack of tarot cards beside the crystal ball on the little cloth-covered table, and her earlier idea of smacking the latter against the old biddy’s head returned. Cassie chuffed out a snort of derision. Mystic didn’t need those props. She knew things without them. Whether it was from that stupidly named world Mystic called the Unknown to You, or from spirits who spoke in her head, the woman got her information from somewhere—and accurate it was for the most part, too.

  The eerie woman herself shuffled in, gown swaying with each step, and took the other seat by the window, settling herself, ankles crossed, daft silk slippers on her little feet. She apparently struggled to keep her expression serene. She must have known Cassie would turn up. How could she not when Mystic had said about a spell?

  And those ghosts or whatever would have warned her.

  Jimmy stood beside the door, hands clasped at his groin, legs apart like Glen had taught him. Jimmy oozed a confidence he probably didn’t feel, and Cassie understood that completely. They were a pair of charlatans, hiding their true feelings behind granite façades, showing the world what they wanted it to see, concealing themselves behind cruel personas so they got the job done.

  Did it have to be this way, though? Did violence and fear have to be the main agenda? Couldn’t Cassie run the patch like Jimmy had said, her being kinder? Would people take notice if she did? Or would they think she was a pushover? That was why she’d stormed into her role this way in the first place, so people didn’t take the piss just because she was a woman—and because she wasn’t Lenny.

  “I suspect you want to know about the spell and why I did it,” Mystic said, her voice robotic and bland.

  Tired. The ancient baggage was tired.

  “You could say that.” Cassie glanced at Jimmy to let him know she was okay, she wasn’t about to erupt, then she focused on Mystic. “You did one to kill Mam.”

  “I did. I told you in so many words after the shooting, although I didn’t think you’d heard me. I wasn’t hiding what I did, nor am I ashamed for chivvying things along. Francis was the Devil in disguise, and when the voices whispered, told me all about her, I had to act. You’re the one who should rule, not her. Never her.”

  Mystic didn’t seem perturbed about her admission in the slightest, that she’d orchestrated a murder, and Cassie wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Mystic knew more than she’d let on before now—she’d said the voices had whispered, but what had they whispered? And as for gathering toads legs or whatever, you didn’t just cast a fucking spell to end someone without a bloody good reason, did you. Mystic didn’t seem the murdering, vindictive type, so whatever she’d been told had to be bad.

  “Go on then, stun me with your excuses,” Cassie sniped then wished she hadn’t been so abrupt. Why did she continue to keep falling back on her hard persona when she hated it? Because Dad drummed it into me during his little chats, and now I can’t get the advice out of my head. That needs to change now folks have got my measure.

  “They’re not excuses, they’re facts,” Mystic jibed back. “Francis was a spiteful cow—and that’s a kind term for her. No matter what she went through as a child, she didn’t have to be the woman she’d become. She could have taken a better path. There are millions on this planet who’ve suffered, but you don’t see them turning into maniacs, do you.”

  She paused, perhaps ready to deliver a damning statement.

  Cassie held her breath.

  “She killed before she got Lenny to murder them lads, did you know that?”

  Cassie’s heart thudded too hard, disorientating her for a moment. “Fuck, not another child…”

  “No, she killed someone who deserved it. I remember him, the weird bastard, and I have no idea why I didn’t pick up on what he was doing. There were rumours, but never did the Unknown tell me owt concrete about him. No one likes a kiddie fiddler, and I should have been made aware, so I could warn folks it wasn’t just idle gossip.”

  “What?” Cassie stared at Jimmy: You were right about Mam?

  He widened his eyes, clearly as shocked as she was. Mystic had just said something in the same vein as he had, and: No matter what she went through as a child…

  Just what had Mam endured? And did it excuse her behaviour in later life? Cassie needed to know everything so she could make an informed decision.

  Mystic hummed in that bugging way of hers, where she listened to whoever told her this bollocks.

  Except it isn’t bollocks, is it, she’s proved that already.

  “You’ll find out what she did soon enough, just give the Unknown time to tell me more, although they’ve told me ample already, hence why I cast the spell.” Mystic closed her eyes and smiled, the creepy mare, and stroked her ponytail. “Shirl’s been busy, and she’ll tell you what you need to know about your mother’s childhood—or you’ll put two and two together eventually. Who am I to steal Shirl’s thunder?” She clasped her hands over her belly, her fingernails a grim shade of mustard where they were so thick and gnarled. Old. “Francis had plans, terrible plans for the Barrington. A curfew, would you believe, men patrolling the streets. If someone was out past ten p.m. without a legitimate reason, like work, she’d want to know about it. She had it in mind to hurt anyone who broke the rules. She’d even given Marlene consideration as the end destination for those who went against her.”

  Cassie’s ire was up. Who the hell did Mam think she was? Plotting behind Cassie’s back to take over? Yes, she was a cow all right,
and all that time she’d gone on about Jason plotting, Mam had been doing the same. It made sense now, why she wanted Jason gone. He’d have been a spanner in the works. “I wouldn’t have allowed that.”

  “You would, eventually. After she’d ground you down. She was no better than Jason, a knife poised at your back, the sharpest one there is, considering she was your mother. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t take to him—they were too alike in wanting to bring you down.”

  Had Mystic just reworded Cassie’s thoughts?

  The old bag continued. “She admitted a few things in my tent at the Fayre, do you remember? Things about you.”

  “Yes,” Cassie said.

  “She didn’t want children. At all. She lied to Lenny by saying she’d have one but took the pill on the sly so she’d never get caught with a bun in the oven—because she wanted a permanent in on the estate and what he was doing. Do you know why? Because she felt the Barrington owed her—no one had stopped her childhood and what went on, so she wanted to rule them all. She wanted the money, the little bit of local fame being his wife would bring her. She wanted the power of control. But she got pregnant anyroad. Having you ruined her dreams. She was good at pretending to love you, but I saw deep into her soul that day at the Fayre, she must have slipped up and dropped her inner shield, and pretending is exactly what she did. Francis was nowt but an accomplished liar.”

  A dart of emotional pain had Cassie gasping. Mam had been brilliant when Cassie was growing up. How could it have been a lie? How could someone act so convincingly?

  “Because she had to,” Mystic said.

  “I fucking hate it when you do that. Reading my mind.”

  “I don’t. The Unknown to You tells me what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, tell them not to poke into my head, nosy bastards.” Hurt had sent Cassie snappy again, but she shouldn’t treat the woman this way—she needed her. How much info did she have? What would the revelations do to Cassie?

  Thank God I have Jimmy to help me through it. And what has Shirl discovered?