The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3), Emmy Ellis [electric book reader txt] 📗

it a secret. I’ll get it out of her, because she won’t reveal owt like that to a stranger.”

“Okay.”

In a bizarre turn of fate, Doreen led the way through the crowded market, the string bag with Mam’s cauli and carrots banging her calf. People didn’t bother shifting out of her way, so she had to elbow-barge them to part, and then there were the dirty looks, the “Oi, watch where you’re bleedin’ going!” The man kept pace beside her, and she at last found space, going down a ginnel that led to town. Betty’s was two buildings along, so she stopped him outside the sweet shop.

“Stay here. I’ll come and get you.” Doreen walked off, checking over her shoulder that he wasn’t following and, thankful he’d remained in place (browsing the jars of sweets in the window, a finger resting beneath his nose), she entered Betty’s, nervous as anything, her chest tight with apprehension.

The woman herself stared at Doreen from behind the counter, the insolent cow, beady eyes assessing and finding Doreen wanting. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Doreen didn’t like being referred to as a dead mouse but held back giving her the usual nasty retort. She needed Betty on her side so had to be nice. “Sorry about this, but is Lou in?”

“Yes.” Betty picked a leaf off a rose stem, one of many she was clipping. She tossed it on a blue tray beside the flowers.

“Can I see her?” Doreen fidgeted, waiting for a negative answer.

Betty scowled. “I don’t pay her to gossip to the likes of you during working hours, you know. You don’t earn money for talking—I assume that’s what you two will be doing, chatting when she’s meant to be making something for a customer.”

“Please, it’s important. I wouldn’t normally ask, you know that, but I really need to see her.”

Betty sighed. “She’s out the back doing a bouquet for Mrs Watson. Her husband, Sid, asked us to make one as a surprise. Go through—but be quick about it. No dilly-dallying.”

“Thanks.” Doreen pushed through the doorway to the side of the counter, stepped into the flower arranging area, and shut them in.

Lou glanced up, a big smile transforming her somewhat pinched face—the murder had given her a haunted look, her skin sallow, faint shadows beneath her eyes.

Do I look like that?

“Ay up, Dor. It’s great to see you, but we promised—”

Doreen flapped her hand, needing to stop Lou from blathering on, because she would, given half the chance. “I know, but fucking hell, something bad has gone on. Like, really bad.”

Lou widened her eyes. “Oh God, is it your mam or dad? Has owt happened to them?”

“No. It’s to do with Stalker.”

Lou whimpered. She glanced at the door and pointed to it with a pair of small shears. “Whisper in case Betty’s got her ear pressed on that, you know how nosy she is. Shit, Dor, what’s going on?”

“Stalker’s brother came up to me at the sodding shoe stall, didn’t he, saying he’s looking for you. He knew your name.”

Lou went white, and she blinked. A lot. “Why…why would he ask you?”

Doreen poked at the air in the direction of the flowers. “Because the stupid bitch you’re making that bouquet for told him to.”

“Mrs Watson?”

Was Lou being deliberately thick, or was Doreen cruel by thinking that?

“Yeah, he asked her on the veg stall. It doesn’t matter how it went down, just that it did. He said he’s looking for his brother’s girlfriend, and that’s you.”

“But I’m not his bloody girlfriend. Why would he think that?”

Doreen stamped her foot. “I know, but he says you’re it, Stalker told him you were—and he’s called Steve, by the way.”

“Who, the brother or Stalker?”

Doreen whimpered herself, frustration mounting. “Stalker!”

“How do you know he’s owt to do with him, though?”

“He’s got them weird eyes, hasn’t he, just like him, and he said he hasn’t heard from his brother for about a month.”

“Oh shit. That ties in with…”

“Now you get it. I left him at the sweet shop.”

“What?” Lou shrieked and dropped the shears. They clattered off the bench and onto the floor. She ignored them. “He’s outside? Why?”

“Because he was coming here anyroad, and I thought it best I warn you. If he’d come on his own, you’d have shit yourself.”

Lou turned away and fiddled with a white carnation petal, her bottom lip wobbling. “What are we going to say?”

“There’s two options. One, you don’t know who he’s talking about, but then if he comes back here when you’re not around, Betty’s going to stick her ruddy great oar in, or you can say he was your fella but you haven’t seen him for ages either. The problem with that is, he said his mam’s on about phoning the police, so if they come to speak to you because you’ve admitted he was your boyfriend, they might find him down the well.”

“Stop it, Dor. You’re panicking. They won’t find him down the well. They’d have to suspect he’s there for a start, and why would they? No, the first option. I’m telling the truth, that he came in here being a weirdo, then just didn’t come in anymore. Betty will back that up.”

“Right. Come on then.”

“Betty’s not going to let me leave, I’m not due a break or lunch for ages, and I don’t think I can face him. You tell him. Get him to talk to Betty if you have to, but stay with him so you know what’s said.”

Doreen walked out, disregarded Betty, and rushed outside. The man had moved along and now stood next door at the butcher’s, although he didn’t study the meat but looked across the high street. She reached his side, and he turned to her and gave her that lovely smile.