by Emmy Ellis
“He sounds dangerous. Could hurt you.”
“I can look after myself, and you’re well aware of that. I have my new weapon, no one would dare.”
“So you think.” He stuck his bottom lip out, the childish gimp.
Is he letting me know he’ll harm me? He’s implied as much before. She’d play dumb. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t have the weapon on you all the time. Not like me and my gun. And the whip’s in a bloody briefcase, which stalls you in getting it out. Precious time lost. With a gun, I can just take it from my holster and blow someone’s brains out.” He smiled, all weird and sinister, and mimed shooting a gun.
She supposed that was said so she thought he had his shit together and she didn’t, a jibe at her, and as for that grin—he liked killing, about the only thing they had in common.
Jason burbled on. “What if he comes up behind you in the dark, puts his arm across your throat, and you pass out? He could take you anywhere, and I wouldn’t be able to find you.”
Is that a part of his plan? Is he thinking of doing just that so if I’m kidnapped then returned, I rely on him more, ask him to be with me all the time? Get him to move in my flat above the garage at Mam’s to keep me safer? Not fucking likely.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere alone in the dark,” she said, “so that’s a moot point.”
“So you’ll only dump me as excess baggage in the daytime then?”
She smiled, pleased she’d riled him. “That’s really got your goat, hasn’t it, being left out today.”
“Wouldn’t it piss you off?”
“Um…no. Dad did it a lot in his last six months. There are times as right hands where you step back and trust who you work for. There are also times I don’t want you knowing everything, like he didn’t want me or Mam knowing everything.”
He turned to her, mouth slack. “Are you saying you’re keeping shit from me?”
“And? You act like you have the right to be completely in the know. Christ, you have a lot to learn.”
He shook his head, eyes glazed, and stared at the carpet, appearing dumbstruck. “But I thought… I thought…”
“What did you think? That I’d be divvy enough to show you all my cards? That’s not how it works, sunshine, not how my dad taught me, and if he told me one thing, it was to keep those cards close to my chest. Never let the opposition know you’re on a winning streak.” She didn’t think he’d get what she’d really said, he was too drunk.
“So I’m the opposition now?”
“Oh, get a bloody grip.”
“You can’t do this without me. You need me. You’ll fail if I’m not there to make sure you don’t fall.”
“Talk about a massive ego. I can run the place alone if I choose to. Or there’s Glen, he could come back. It doesn’t have to be you—Dad appointed you to work with me while he was ill, but it doesn’t mean I have to keep you on.”
He twisted to face her, his features screwing up. She sensed he was on the verge of letting rip, telling her exactly what he’d planned, and it took a lot of effort for him to hold it inside. Yes, he wanted to tell her all right, downturn her smug smile, but something would be urging him not to—the voice of his inner demon: “Don’t give it away. You’re so close to having it all…”
“This date isn’t working.” He manoeuvred round so he presented his back to her.
What a sulker.
She struggled not to laugh. He’d played right into her hands, the greenhorn.
“No, it isn’t, and I told you it wouldn’t many times, but you didn’t listen—as usual. You always think you know best. Maybe now you’ll see you don’t. If we can’t get along regarding work matters, we certainly can’t get along as a couple. I’m not into a relationship where we’d fight a lot.” She drank the rest of her lemonade, rising, slamming the empty glass down. “From what I’ve seen this evening, Glen may well take your place. Unless you smarten up your act, you’ll find yourself working back at the meat factory where you were before—if I decide to give you a job there.”
She flounced from The Donny, rushing outside and leaning against the wall between the pub and the hairdresser’s. Laughter flowed and clarity came—she finally saw him for what he was, an incompetent fool playing at being the hardman. A few drinks inside him, and his true self had peeked out. Maybe that was why he didn’t drink in front of her; he couldn’t risk her seeing beneath his well-constructed outer casing, one she’d also shrouded herself with. Except she hadn’t let hers slip, exposing the softness beneath. She’d maintained control throughout that conversation, but Jason, he’d fucked up.
Cassie, satisfaction winding through her, walked along to The Pudding, a visit she hadn’t managed earlier in the day. Inside, she smiled at the ding of the bell above the door, a sound she connected with childhood. Dad had brought her in here to choose birthday cakes or desserts for a treat. It always smelt the same no matter what was baked, a mixture of vanilla, cinnamon, and chocolate.
A large glass counter spanned the shop three-quarters in. Four square tables with duos of ladderback chairs dotted the space in front, pretty flowered tablecloths on top, vases with a fake pale-lemon rose in each. Behind the counter, black-haired Nicola Faraday glanced up from writing in a notepad, her dyed bun wonky at her crown—she was too old to not have any grey, so it had to have come from a bottle.
She frowned momentarily then swapped it for a smile. “What can I get you, Cassie?”
“I’ll have a whole strawberry cheesecake if you have one.” Cassie eyed the single slice left behind the glass, sitting next to a beige butter-icing confection, walnuts decorating the top. “And half of that coffee cake for Mam. What does Doreen Prince like?”
Nicola’s frown came back. Maybe she wondered why Cassie wanted to know, but to be honest, it was none of her fucking business, was it. How quickly Cassie’s good mood had died, her old self retreating, making way for the monster’s return. She read body language, a given in her profession, and didn’t like the way Nicola had silently queried Cassie’s question.
“She usually has a slice or two of Black Forest.”
“Have you got a whole one of those an’ all?”
“In the fridge out the back.” Nicola hesitated in going out there. “You’re paying for them, yes?”
Cassie’s blood thundered. If she wasn’t, again, none of Nicola’s fucking business, but what did she take her for? “Of course I am. You stump up protection money, there’s no need for extras, and if Dad took stock from you, he was wrong. Besides, since when have I not paid?”
Nicola squirmed. “It’s just that… Oh, don’t mind me.”
“No, spit it out. You start shit, you finish it.”
“You seem tense, like I’ve done something wrong.”
Am I that obvious? Or has she done something wrong and she’s trying to deflect? “I do have a question for you, but let’s get the sale out of the way first. Can you pop the cake boxes in a bag, please?”
Nicola pushed into the back room, and Cassie felt a tiny bit bad at stringing this out, getting the woman all worried, but if she’d done nowt, she didn’t have to fear her, did she.
Cassie admired a birthday cake, white, red roses on top, a spectacular lily nestled close. Nicola crafted them all herself, and the lily had shading on the petals, looked real. Lilies were for death, an apt omen for the events to come, and she smiled at the thought of placing a bunch on Karen’s grave, standing with the other mourners, pretending she was as shocked at her murder as everyone else. She’d have to make an outward show of finding the killer, but in reality she’d be doing jack shit in that regard.
Nicola came back, bag in hand, her pink shop logo on the front, and placed it on the counter. She smiled, a tad warily, and picked up a knife to cut the coffee cake.
“Sorry to mess you about, but I’ll take the whole thing.” Cassie was testing her, seeing if she snapped under the pressure. Cruel but necessary to work out whether Nicola
had something to hide.
Thankfully, she just went back through the doorway, returning with another box. “Having a tea party?”
“No, they’re celebration cakes.”
“Oh.” Nicola added the box to the bag and rang the purchase up.
Cassie passed over her debit card, watching for signs of deception—shaking hands, shifty eye movements, the shine of sweat on her cheeks.
There was nowt.
Card back in her purse, Cassie was finished with playing games. “Last night. Did you notice owt odd in the street?”
“Odd? Can’t say I did, no. It was quiet, so I made the flowers for that cake there.” She pointed to the one with the lily. “I had the usual pre-dinnertime crowd, then no one for ages. Graham Knowles came in—know him?—and bought a birthday cake and some desserts, and half an hour or so must have gone by before anyone else turned up.”
“Didn’t you even glance outside?”
“I did when Graham came in, but there were only a couple of lads out there—Cheryl’s kid and Ronnie Stevens, piss-arsing about by the lamppost.”
“What about a man up the road, opposite the Jade, standing by a hedge?”
Nicola frowned yet again. “I’d have to go to the window to see that far up, and I didn’t. Has something happened?”
“Nowt for you to worry about.” Cassie slid her fingers beneath the bag handles and strode to the door. “Thanks for your time.”
She left, putting the cakes in the back of the car, then moved on to the Jade. Several people sat inside on the built-in seating, and Li Jun stood behind the counter passing over a cardboard box with loads of food inside. He spotted her and paused, his grin for the customer waning, then he painted it back on and gave her a nod.
She entered, the customers seeming to shrink, looking at her cautiously. Li Jun raised the hatch, allowing her to go through. In the office, she waited while he asked Yenay to cover the front, leaving his sons and Nuwa, who must have come to help in Jiang’s place, to cook the food.
He entered and closed the door. “I am so sorry about Zhang Wei’s behaviour.”
Cassie sighed. “Me, too. He shouldn’t have done that.”
“No.”
She cocked her head and stared at him. “Why did you allow him to go to Helen’s?”
“I could not stop him. He was so angry, and I thought it better I go with him rather than let him go by himself. I had to stop him, and I was glad you were there. I think she would be dead if you weren’t.”
“I agree, and thank you for trying. How is everything?”
“He will not give you any trouble now. I explained things, reminded him how they work.” Li Jun smiled, although it was a sad one. “He seems to think now he is not on the estate that the rules do not apply to him, but you told him if he was on your patch it was your business, and I think that jogged his memory.”
“Good. I understand how he must feel, but I don’t believe Helen or Geoff should be punished for something Brett did—something they weren’t even aware he was doing.” And Brett was only following orders. The real man behind the robbery is the one to kill.
“I am of the same mind.”
“How are you bearing up, about Jiang?”
“We have happy faces out there and sad ones at home.”
His forlornness tugged at her heart, so she shut the emotion away. “I’m doing exactly the same but with Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Mam made a suggestion—maybe it’s time for you to choose someone to sit in here and protect the goods. I can supply the gun. I’d find someone, but I don’t want them asking questions as to why we need them. I’ll give you an extra grand a week to pay whoever you trust—it has to be someone who won’t raise an eyebrow over what’s in the fridge, and also won’t pass that info on.”
“I trust no one but my family; I do not want a stranger here. I have a gun, Lenny gave it to me. I will use it next time if something happens.”
“Fine. Why didn’t you use it before?”
He flushed. “I forgot to take it out of the safe and put in beneath the counter.”
“Oh dear. You won’t be making that mistake again, will you.” Harsh but true. “If you need owt, ask.”
She walked out, lifted the hatch, and once again, the customers eyed her with caution. So they should. She had the ability to end them, and it was in their best interests never to forget that.
Cassie drove home to let Mam know the latest. Doreen had gone home ages ago, and Cassie smiled at what the woman had said on the doorstep.
“This is going to ruin my hair, isn’t it?”
“Probably, Dor, but don’t worry about it. I’ll pay for another blow-dry tomorrow.”
Cassie had no such worries about hers. Blood wouldn’t show up on her red curls.
Chapter Twenty
By ten o’clock, Doreen had sat in the armchair at Karen’s for two hours. They’d agreed their alibi was getting the edition of The Life ready in advance, the one due after the February Fayre, so they’d been working on it, typing it up so there was evidence, a time stamp for Francis to look at when she came round asking questions once she found out Cassie was dead—so Karen thought. They’d say they’d worked on it until three a.m., covering their antics at Sculptor’s Field. Tomorrow, Karen had said she planned to tell Sharon she hadn’t wanted to bother her with it, saying Doreen needed to earn her wage at some point so it may as well be now.
Doreen smirked. You won’t be around to tell her owt.
“I need to get a few things off my chest before we go and stab her,” Karen said.
Doreen grabbed her bag and took her work smartphone out. “Two secs. I just need to remind Harry to lock my door when he leaves—brain like a sieve, he has. He’s had his dinner, said he’d watch the telly for a bit, then go to his place, but he hasn’t messaged to let me know he’s gone.” She prodded at the screen as if typing, laid the phone on top of the things in her bag, and placed it on the floor, the zip undone. “All sorted.”
She settled back ready to listen to Karen waffling on, her anger at being ‘shoved aside’ by Lenny the opening gambit of her rant.
“So, as you know, me and Sharon, we ruled here first. I mean, we were good at it, remember? Sorted out any neighbour disputes and whatnot, had everyone scared of us, even if the threat was just a punch on the fucking nose.” Karen sighed. “Then along comes Lenny—he sat right where you are now, except it was an old chair back then—and told me he’d be taking over, a structure would be in place, and I’d soon see how running an estate went. Properly, he’d said, emphasised it, like. Got right on my nellies, I can tell you. If he hadn’t asked me to run The Life and offered payment to be a grass, I’d have fought him all the way.”
What a load of horseshit. I bet her eyes lit up at the mention of money, the greedy cow.
“Must have felt like a right old stab in the back,” Doreen said.
“It was. Of course, Sharon took it lying down. Didn’t utter a word of complaint. Always has been a pushover deep down.”
Someone easy to manipulate, you mean.
A jab of guilt thumped Doreen’s stomach at how Sharon had struggled sometimes, despite Lenny paying her wages and her getting extra from being a cashier at Kwik Save, her kids going through the money as fast as you like. She could have done with financial support from Martin, and because of Doreen, that avenue had been closed. She’d always felt bad about it, but like Francis had said, he wasn’t exactly the type to pay up anyroad. Sharon would still have struggled if the man had lived, and hadn’t Doreen herself swum in skint waters, her old man pissing off without a by your leave, and she’d managed? She’d been shocked he’d left her at first but glad after. He had the makings of a tyrant, much like Martin Barnett.
“Well,” Karen said, “stab in the back or not, I thought it best I did what he wanted. You know what he was like. If I’d said no, he’d have sent someone round to beat the crap out of me until I said yes. So I told myself, I
said, ‘Karen, you bide your time, love, do what he wants, and one day you can take it back.’ I did that, then he mentioned his heart being dodgy, and I thought: Yeah, good things do come to those who wait. But he announced Cassie was taking over once he carked it and I must do whatever she said. Sorry, but taking orders from some kid? Not likely.”
“It must be difficult, having what was yours snatched away like that, and I know what you mean about Cassie. She’s a tough nut, that one. Listen, so I’ve got this straight in my head—I never did like not knowing things, it messes with my chi or whatever it’s called—will we be discussing suffocating Francis in a couple of days? I mean, we need to get that side of this sorted an’ all.”
“Yeah. We’ll get Cassie impaled then chat about her mother in a few days. Of course, we’ll visit Francis before that, offer our condolences and whatever, get her thinking we care—which we don’t, but that’s by the by.”
“Okay. How are you going to get the estate back after that, though?”
Karen grinned. “I had one of them epiphany things. Before we shove a pillow over Francis’ face, we get her to write a note saying she can’t go on, all that rubbish, and she’s leaving the estate to me and you.”
“I’m not sure I can run it.” Doreen stroked the chair arm. “It’s your baby, you should have it. I can offer advice if you want, but you’re the queen around here, always have been.” Did that sound wet?
Karen didn’t seem to think so. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I.” She puffed up her chest. “So, what do you think about the note?”
“It’s a good idea. No one will go against a Grafton’s word, even if they’re all dead.”
They cackled, Doreen’s laughter sounding fake, but again, Karen seemed unaware. Cassie had told Doreen to say whatever she needed in order to get Karen’s feelings recorded, hence Doreen messing with her phone earlier. She only hoped the device picked everything up. She’d asked Cassie why she needed the proof—didn’t she trust her?—and she’d said something telling.
