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

asked, ignoring the voice inside him that said this was wrong, all of it. Yeah, he’d grown up knowing what living on the Barrington meant, but there was listening to rumours and seeing it for yourself, two completely different things.

And he couldn’t unsee it. Would he tell Shirl everything? He didn’t know. She was a nice woman, kind, and it might upset her. But she worked for Cassie now, too, so was it better to warn her about this shit? Get her accustomed to what she might face? Was he even allowed to pass on the events of the night?

Jason intruded into his thoughts. Had he had time to feel that nail going into his heart, or had it been so fast he hadn’t registered it? Had Cassie shut down her emotions in order to kill him, or had she liked it, allowing those emotions to rule her with an iron fist that matched the one she employed on the Barrington?

Jimmy couldn’t decide. A mask had come down over her face when she was in what he could only assume was ‘the zone’, an impenetrable one where however much he’d scrutinised her features, he hadn’t been able to make out what she felt while triggering that last nail.

Did he really want to know, though? Finding out what made her tick was a step in the ‘I’m fucking mental if I do that’ direction. Her revealing feelings and, dare he even think it, enjoyment might mean he’d get infected with whatever warped creature inhabited her at these times, be changed, the old Jimmy no more.

Face it, pal, the old Jimmy has died now anyroad.

She’d gone out to the car and come back with a body bag—where the hell could you buy those, for Pete’s sake? Together, they’d placed him inside, and that zip going up, the rasp of it, had Jimmy shivering. It was such a final sound, so he’s dead.

Cassie had phoned her crew to come and rip up the carpet, wash the flooring beneath, and the walls. Then she’d arranged for some fella to nip by tomorrow to lay lino—“Much better for when we need to mop up,” she’d said. “I don’t know why my dad didn’t think of it, what with having to keep scrubbing that bloody manky carpet.”

We? Was Jimmy supposed to help her with this shit on a regular basis? He was, he knew that now, he’d be a fool to tell himself otherwise, no matter that she’d said she wouldn’t make him do it. How would he cope? Would he become as hardened as her? He was soft, maybe too soft in some eyes, but Shirl liked that about him. She’d said the other men she’d been out with before him didn’t show how they felt.

“But you, Jimmy, you’re different. Don’t ever change on me, will you.”

He was bound to, though, when dealing with blood and torture and murder and—

Pissing Nora. Concentrate on this and think later.

Ahead of him, Cassie turned onto the track that led to the factory, and he followed, shuddering at the fact she had a body in her boot—and that Marlene was waiting for them. How did the woman know they were coming? He hadn’t seen Cassie messaging her, and she certainly hadn’t phoned her. Or maybe she’d given her a bell on the way here, instructing her to meet them.

Crikey, he wasn’t sure how to act around Marlene. What should he do, stick his hand out for her to shake it, like she wasn’t some murdering cow? Say, “Pleased to meet you” while crapping his kecks, all the while not pleased to meet her in the bloody slightest? And why was she involved if Jason was already dead?

Maybe she’s the one who buries all the bodies.

Then why did Cassie say we were going inside the factory? Can’t she just let Marlene take the body bag and be done with it?

He stopped round the back of the factory beside Cassie’s car. She was already out and at the door, which was propped open by her arse, the light on in a corridor. The faint bleep of the alarm snuck into his car, out of sync with his heartbeat. She poked at some buttons, and silence returned. Well, as silent as it could be with his pulse thudding inside his aching head and his breathing going skew-whiff.

He left his vehicle, stepping in the patches where the snow had melted, and walked towards Cassie, his legs wobbly. Delayed shock, he reckoned. She propped the door open with a black rubber stopper wedged beneath it, and he stood in front of her, wondering what the fuck was coming next.

“I’ll just go and get the trolley.” She turned to go down the corridor.

Jimmy frowned. What the chuff was going on? She’d said that as if he should know. “Trolley?”

She peered over her shoulder. “To take the body inside.”

Off she went, leaving Jimmy once again querying why the hell Jason had to be taken indoors. This wasn’t making sense.

At the sound of a vehicle rumbling, he jumped, nerves so frayed his neck hurt from tension. He inched along the building, shitting himself, arriving at the corner and peering round.

Headlights. Whoever it was came from the direction of the Barrington. He held his breath as they drove closer, then his guts rolled over because… Fuck me, they’re coming here.

He legged it to the factory door and, about to enter, halted, bracing himself with a hand on the frame, his chest tightening. I want to go home to Shirl.

Cassie pushed a long steel trolley towards him, her mask in place again.

“Someone’s coming,” he panted out, ready to shove the trolley so she had to go backwards, then he could lock them in, get them safe.

But what about the body? What if they find it? What if it’s the bloody police?

Cassie