The Jade Garden (The Barrington Patch Book 2)

by Emmy Ellis

Francis: So he’s not in on this plan of yours?

  Lou: Fuck off, he’d go mad if he knew I was doing owt like I have in mind.

  Francis: Sounds serious.

  Lou: About as serious as it gets. So is Cassie going to watch Jason now then?

  Francis: Yes. We’re going to trap him.

  Lou: Good. He needs taking down a peg.

  Francis: Just like his mother.

  Lou: That’s just what I was going to say!

  Francis: [thumbs-up emoji] Night, duck.

  Lou: Night xxx

  Francis deleted the conversation and took her glass into the kitchen. It was so empty in there now without her husband, who at this time would usually be setting the dishwasher off if he wasn’t out working. He’d been a big man, and despite the size of the room, he’d still seemed to fill whatever portion he’d stood in. His death had left a Lenny-shaped hole inside her, one no other man could fill. She’d never see anyone else, never get back into the dating game. He was it for her, and no other bugger would do. Besides, what man would accept the shit she did behind the scenes while her daughter went out there and did the grunt work?

  She’d bet they wouldn’t understand how she loved this life, the drama of it, and would need it now more than ever to keep her occupied.

  Thankful Cassie had shared her thoughts and asked for advice, Francis placed her glass in the dishwasher and ignored the way the room seemed to stretch in four directions around her, creating an even bigger void. Tears stung, so she walked out and stepped into the hallway, glancing into the office. Cassie sat at the desk, her head bent, her hand moving across the page of a ledger. She had a lot of information to put in there and wouldn’t be seeing her bed anytime soon.

  Francis sighed—seemed she did that a lot lately—and made her weary way up the stairs—to an empty bed, another void without Lenny, and once again the tears would come. They’d taken his place, becoming her night-time companions now, along with the wrenching sobs and an ache in her heart that would never go away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doreen Prince was on a mission. Not only did she want to find out the real story behind Jiang supposedly going to China, but also, and without being obvious about it, she still had to suss out what the hell Karen and Sharon were up to. They whispered a lot in Karen’s kitchen under the guise of making cups of tea, but Doreen wasn’t stupid, you only needed one person to do that, didn’t you, so they were gossiping.

  She wasn’t vain enough to imagine it was about her, but then again, they weren’t best pleased Cassie had arranged for her to help them with The Life, so maybe they had nagged to each other regarding the new protocol, and that would have included slagging her off.

  Perhaps I’m vain after all.

  She thundered down her garden path, head bent, her mind on gathering as many clues as she could. Down the pavement she went, bumping into someone who couldn’t have seen her coming. She lifted her head and stared at a woman she recognised, that Jason’s mother, giving her evils because they’d clashed.

  “You should walk with your head up,” Gina said, all snooty, her hair like some old-fashioned woman in the forties, brown sausage curls resting on her shoulders. Red lipstick bled into the wrinkles around her mouth.

  Even Doreen knew you needed a lighter shade when you got a certain age.

  Gina glared at her. “Then you wouldn’t tread on people’s toes.”

  “I didn’t tread on your ruddy toes,” Doreen snapped, incensed at her cheek, “so you can piss right off on that one, madam.”

  Gina tsked. “You always were a gutter mouth.”

  Doreen wanted to lump her with her heavy handbag—she had a tin of Heinz chicken noodle soup in there in case her time at Karen’s ran over into lunch. Last time, they’d scoffed cheese-and-cucumber sandwiches without offering her owt, the rude baggages. “At least I stayed true to who I am. You swan about as if your shit doesn’t stink, when we all know it does.”

  Gina’s plucked eyebrows danced. “What do you mean?”

  “Your old man.” Doreen smiled, all smug at getting in a massive dig.

  “Ex-old man.”

  “Hmm. Forgotten who he was and what he got up to, have you? Half the furniture in your house was nicked, and he disappeared on you. Weren’t you good enough in the sack to keep him close?”

  Gina flushed. “That’s in the past.”

  Doreen tapped her temple. “It’s still in my head.” She peered over Gina’s shoulder. “’Ere, what’s going on there then?”

  People came out of Brett’s little house down the way a bit, and if Doreen wasn’t mistaken, it was Cassie’s cleaning crew. She thought back to the early hours, just after one, a load of clonking going on in the street. She hadn’t had the energy to get up and nose outside, and anyroad, Harry’s arm had pinned her down across her stomach. She supposed she should have investigated, considering she had to report any strange matters to Cassie.

  But if this was to do with Cassie, Doreen was in the clear.

  “You should mind your own business.” Gina walked around her, flouncing off in her pretending-to-be-posh way.

  Doreen ignored the silly cow, finished with winding her up now, and rushed forward, catching a curvy woman by her elbow. “Has Brett moved out or something?”

  The cleaner nodded. “Did a bunk. Owes Francis some rent.” She shook her head in consternation.

  “Oh, what a divvy git.” Stealing from a Grafton. He’s right in the shit.

  Pleased she’d know something before Karen, if Cassie hadn’t got hold of her to put the snippet in an emergency pamphlet, she’d pass it on and watch Karen squirm at being one of the last to know.

  Doreen tromped the chilly streets, wishing she’d driven her car the wind was so fierce, making it to Karen’s inside five minutes. She knocked, expecting her usual wait, which she swore Karen did on purpose, but the door flew open pretty sharpish.

  “Hurry up, we’re in the middle of compiling a new edition.” Karen turned and trotted off down her hallway and into the living room.

  Someone had got up on the wrong side of the bed, hadn’t they.

  Doreen went inside, glad of the warmth, and joined them. Karen and Sharon sat side by side on the two-seater sofa, so Doreen had to take an armchair. She didn’t mind, she could observe them better by being opposite.

  “Brett’s legged it, owing Francis rent,” she said, an eager beaver for their reaction.

  Karen snapped her head up from looking at her notepad. “Brett Davis?”

  Doreen nodded. “Someone was down the street moving all his gear in the middle of the night, and Cassie’s cleaners are there this morning, which is understandable. Francis won’t want to rent it out all dirty, will she, and you can guarantee it’d be that with Brett living there, filthy swine that he is. I only hope we get someone decent in. I can’t be doing with young people who have parties.”

  “Are you sure it was regular cleaners?” Sharon asked—unusual, as she normally let Karen be the foghorn.

  Doreen hadn’t thought of that. Cassie had two types of cleaners, one for vacant houses and one for…well, washing away bad things. They sprayed special products that masked blood better than bleach, the kind those firms used when going to crime scenes.

  She kicked herself for being so dim and covered it with, “Um, I didn’t take much notice, just that they were coming out with cloths and mops.”

  Karen and Sharon stared at each other, then got up at the same time, as though they’d telepathically agreed they would, and skittered into the kitchen, shutting Doreen in the lounge.

  What was that in aid of?

  Sick of them chatting without her, she got up and pressed her ear to the door, her breathing heavy from her rapid jaunt across the carpet.

  “She’s got to fucking go,” Karen said, hissy and angry. “Sounds like she’s had Brett offed for not paying rent. That’s a minor violation, just needs a warning. Lenny would turn in his grave.”

  “She’s trying her b
est to do the right thing.”

  Doreen imagined Karen glaring daggers at her friend for that.

  Sharon coughed up a lung, a usual occurrence every time Doreen came here.

  “’Ere, have a drink,” Karen said.

  Water from the tap sloshed.

  “Thanks.”

  “We’re going to have to do what I said,” Karen went on. “I know you don’t agree with it, but Cassie can’t go round bumping people off willy-nilly.”

  “Neither can we. We’re not as young as we were, remember, and even back then I couldn’t kill anyone.”

  Doreen’s whole body went funny, limp noodles with a chunk of raspberry jelly thrown in. Kill anyone? They wanted to kill Cassie? That wasn’t on, the lass was only following her dear departed father’s orders, running the estate like he would have wanted. If Brett had messed him about, she was sure he’d have made him disappear, too, especially if he’d pissed him off previous to that.

  “What’s your plan?” Sharon sounded wary, not interested in helping Karen out.

  “We’ll get her down Sculptor’s Field one night,” Karen said, “make out we want a chat with no eyes and ears, then impale the nutty bitch on The Beast’s tail—after I cut her guts out, because that’s what’s got her into this mess. Too much guts and bluster. She’s not right for the Barrington, we are.”

  Through her horror, Doreen smiled. Karen and Sharon wanted the Barrington back? That was a joke. They were much too old for that now, didn’t have the backers they used to, the once-burly men who’d step up and dish out a few punches for them. Those types were past it, had run to fat, no muscle on them anymore, and any others who were fit enough still worked for Cassie and weren’t turncoats. Everyone had given their allegiance to Lenny and now his daughter. How did these two silly mares think they were going to take over? So many people would grass them up if they approached them to help out in this mad plan.

  And it was mad, riddled with potholes.

  “Look,” Sharon said, her voice raspy from her coughing fit, “I won’t have owt to do with offing her, I told you that last time you said about it. Knocking her off her perch, yes, but outright murder? No. And as for stringing her up on The Beast… Now who’s the mental one?”

  “I’m not mental, I just want what’s ours.”

  Sharon cleared her throat. “Listen, let’s go back in there before Doreen gets suspicious.” She sounded relieved the conversation might come to an end.

  Doreen scuttled away from the door and plopped into the armchair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, feigning forty winks. The kitchen door creaked, and the shush of footsteps came closer, then the humph of air as the women sat on the sofa.

  “Didn’t you get much kip last night, Doreen?” Karen asked. “You can always go home, you know. The Life will survive without you, like it has for years.”

  She’s always got to get a dig in. Doreen opened her eyes, acting well out of it. “Eh?”

  “Go home, Dor.” Sharon smiled. “You’re done in.”

  With the perfect excuse to leave without it looking off, Doreen pushed up and nodded. “I reckon you’re right. It was the clonking of that removal van that did it. Brett must have done a midnight flit.”

  “Moonlight,” Karen corrected.

  “Yeah, one of them an’ all.” Doreen hung her bag in the crook of her elbow and left them to it, waiting until she’d got to the end of the road and around the corner, then she took her work burner out. What was it Cassie had told her to say if it was a life-or-death situation? Bloody hell, she couldn’t remember. She prodded the screen.

  Doreen: Massive problem.

  Cassie: How massive? I’m having my hair done at Cheryl’s.

  Doreen: Kill you massive.

  Cassie: Fucking hell. Come to the salon. We’ll talk there. And don’t say shit like this in messages again.

  Doreen: You should use that WhatsApp thing. My Harry says it’s encrypted.

  Cassie: Not a bad call. Now get down here, no pissing about along the way.

  Doreen stuffed her phone into her bag and rushed on, keen to get the news out of her head and into Cassie’s. Karen had more than a few marbles loose, but it seemed Sharon had held on to hers. Doreen would let Cassie know it was all Karen’s doing and Sharon didn’t want owt to do with it. She’d never really liked that Karen anyroad.

  Years ago, when they’d run the Barrington—if you could call running it knocking on doors and threatening to punch someone if they nicked so-and-so’s flowers from their garden again—she’d got Doreen’s back up. Accused her of shagging one of Karen’s current flames, some hairy fucker who didn’t know what a bath was. Well, Doreen had assured her she didn’t want owt to do with that particular man on account of his bad breath and manky hair, and Karen could keep him, thank you very much.

  “Are you saying my taste in men is bad?” Karen had raised a fist.

  “So what if I am?” Doreen had quaked a bit, as you do in your twenties when you’re unsure of yourself and don’t know how far to push someone. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Karen had slapped her one around the face, and the sting of it brought tears to Doreen’s eyes. Doreen had punched her in the nose, and the scrap that ensued had many a resident coming out into their gardens for a front-row gander. In the end, Doreen had come off worse, some of her hair pulled out, her scalp screaming blue murder, a black eye, and a split lip. Karen had also sported war wounds, her nose ballooning and bleeding, wider than its usual fat self. Well, guess who’d be coming off worse this time?

  Not me.

  Doreen chuckled and turned into the street where the hairdresser’s was. It stood on the right-hand side of The Donny, The Pudding on the left, and she contemplated nipping in the pub for an early lunch after she’d seen Cassie—sod the noodle soup. Geoff would sort her a bacon sandwich with a side of cheesy chips if she asked nicely, he was good like that. Then again, if Cassie had been in there prior to getting her hair done and told him about Brett legging it, Geoff might not be in a very good mood if he’d had to cough up the rent money.

  She’d judge it when the time came. For now, she had her new boss to contend with.

  Doreen pushed the door open, the bell above seeming to giggle, and the scent of hairspray, dyes, and all manner of hairdo gubbins drifted up her nose. Cassie paid her five hundred a week to spy on Karen and Sharon, and she could afford to get her hair done here now instead of her inexperienced neighbour dropping by to do it. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

  Cassie nodded at her from a chair where Cheryl was finishing putting a permanent wave in, taking the wide rollers out. The look Cassie gave was one that said: Not yet. Doreen nodded back and approached the little reception desk.

  “Got any emergency appointments, duck?” she asked Michaela, a nice sort, the youngest granddaughter of a woman Doreen had gone to school with.

  Michaela checked the ledger. “Fiona’s free.” She glanced across at the stylist. “Twiddling her thumbs, see?”

  Luck was with Doreen today. “That’s grand. Sign me up.”

  It didn’t take Fiona long to get her looking marvellous, a nice new dye (less brassy), then a cut and blow-dry working wonders on not only how she appeared but how she felt an’ all. Harry would think it was his birthday when he turned up later. While Fiona had been doing her magic, Doreen had made plans to dress up, put a bit of slap on, and take Harry out for a meal—not in The Donny but one of those fancy places in town. She might even splash out on a new dress, too. There were plenty of nice ones on the market.

  Cassie was finished at the same time, and she was right pretty with wavy hair. They waited at the desk to pay, and Doreen brought her purse out.

  Cassie rested a hand on her wrist. “I’ll be sorting that. Go and wait outside for me.”

  Doreen blushed. “Oh, well, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  Cassie turned to Cheryl. “I’ll be back for that chat I mentioned in a few. Just got to hear
Doreen out.”

  Doreen walked outside, blinking away the emotions of Cassie’s kind gesture, same as she had with the perfume she’d bought her. She was conscious of her fancy barnet, thinking the people strolling past were staring at her, but they weren’t. She’d better get used to this posh hair lark, especially if Cassie kept her on as a spy.

  She leant against the wall between the salon and The Donny, annoyed the wind blew, panicking it’d wreck what Fiona had done. Not for long, though. Cassie came out, gripped her elbow, and guided Doreen to her car.

  “Get in.” Cassie blipped the locks and headed round to the driver’s side.

  Doreen settled in the passenger seat, sniffing not only the spray on her hair but the heavy scent of leather from the flash interior.

  Cassie got in and locked the doors. “What’s this all about then?”

  Doreen took a deep breath and blurted her story.

  “That fucking bitch,” Cassie seethed. “My dad said I had to watch my back with her or she’d stab it with an extra-long knife.”

  “Not Sharon, though. She was disgusted, you could hear it in her voice.”

  “Yet she hasn’t contacted me to tell me what her best pal’s plotting, so she’s just as bad in my eyes.”

  “Maybe she hasn’t had the chance.”

  “But you said they’d clearly discussed it before, so she has had time to let me know.”

  “What if she wanted to wait and see if Karen really meant it. Like, she thought Karen was just messing the first time and now she knows she’s serious. Plenty of times I’ve said I’d kill someone, but I didn’t mean it. They’re working on The Life. She can’t just up and leave without Karen sussing something.”

  “Hmm. I’ll let her off then. This time. Now, I want you to do something for me, passing on a message. It’s worth a grand.”

  A grand? Bloody hell. Doreen could book her and Harry into a hotel an’ all, and they could have a right old time of it. She’d heard they had a jacuzzi in some rooms, but that might mess up her hair.

  She’d think on that a bit more.

  “I’ll do whatever you want.” Doreen gave Cassie her best smile.