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

Cassie stepped inside and let the flap go, and the immense feeling of being trapped came over her.

She wanted to run.

“If you do, the past will only chase you,” Mystic whispered. “Better to be forewarned than go forth unaware.”

Cassie cocked a hip, allowing her monster to stretch its legs, preparing herself to give the woman a piece of her mind for intimidating her like this. She opened her mouth to speak.

“You, or Lenny’s creature inside you, don’t bother me, Grafton.” Mystic, her white wiry hair, long and spread out on her shoulders, beckoned her forward with a knobbly-knuckled hand, the fingers resembling claws, the nails silver talons. “Sit. Listen.” She paused. “And learn.”

Drawn to the other chair, Cassie obeyed.

“Money must cross my palm before we enter into the realm of the Unknown, its full title The Unknown to You, because you don’t have the gift. It’s known to me. I’m told things, sometimes after the fact, sometimes before.”

Cassie took her purse from her jacket pocket, pissed off that she trembled. She snatched out fifty quid and placed it in Mystic’s outstretched hand.

Mystic curled the notes into her fist—they crackled—then stuffed the money down the side of the seat cushion. “Knowing everything beforehand means I see outcomes, and if it turns out for the good, I remain silent. With Jess… She was supposed to be returned, but outside influences got in the way, as is sometimes the will of destiny and fate. I didn’t know who’d murdered her until after Brenda discovered it was Vance—The Unknown to You didn’t show me. It’s a veiled place, where people’s secrets are waiting to be discovered, and spirits remain close-lipped until they have a mind to pass them on.”

“What did you mean when you said if I walk away it’ll be my biggest mistake?”

Mystic smiled, her dark irises even darker from the red bulb. “What did you think I meant?”

Frustrated, Cassie barked, “Walking away from this fucking tent, what else?”

“It’s foolhardy to assume.”

Cassie sighed.

Mystic’s smile vanished. “What I meant was, if you walk away from the Barrington.”

“Why would I do that?”

Laughter rasped out of the old woman. “Don’t pretend you’ve never thought about it. The business, it’s harder than you thought. Your feelings on being who you’ve become are harder to understand than you thought. There’s more murder than you thought.”

That was true, but how did Mystic know? Did the ghosts from that shitty Unknown place tell her this? For God’s sake, ghosts didn’t even exist, so this silly cow must be guessing.

“I never guess.” Mystic reached down the side of the chair and brought out a purple cloth. She flapped it so it billowed up then landed on the table. Next, she fished for a crystal ball.

“I’m not bloody paying you another tenner,” Cassie said, aggrieved the old bat wanted to scam her.

“It’s in the Soul Searching price. Tsk. So quick to judge; a downfall, perhaps.”

Cassie ignored her and waited while the creepy tart stared into the ball of glass held aloft, the only thing inside it Mystic’s skewed face from the other side. No revelations playing out, no swirling mist or floating clouds. Like Dad had said, Cassie certainly didn’t want to believe anything that came out of this baggage’s mouth.

“Yet Lenny Grafton believed it all, because I proved I spoke the truth.” Mystic lowered the ball.

What? Dad had gone to see her? And how is she reading my mind?

“He visited me. I see he didn’t tell you, nor did he write it in his coded books.” Mystic put the ball away. “I’ve confirmed with the Unknown that something will happen today, a murder, but I don’t know who the killer is.”

For God’s sake, another murder? “Convenient.”

“So you might think. If I knew, I’d tell you…I think.” Mystic paused. “And those pigs…”

Cassie’s stomach rolled over; she was super uncomfortable now. “What pigs?”

“You can pretend with others but not with me. The four police officers. It’ll go away, courtesy of the paid pig. What you must concern yourself with now is this. Someone’s getting too big for their boots—not like Jason or Karen, and not like Zhang Wei.”

“How did you find out about that?”

Mystic continued. “This person will cause problems, and it’s all to do with the well.”

“The well?”

Mystic mumbled some garbled words, eyes closed. Her lashes fluttered, then she stared straight at Cassie. “Never give the Barrington up. If you do, everyone will suffer. No matter how much it tests you, keep the crown. And it will test you. Many times over.”

Cassie’s pulse throbbed in her neck.

“What you thought about nature versus nurture.” Mystic sucked in a long breath. “It’s nurture. Lenny made you who you are.”

Cassie couldn’t handle that truth so changed the subject. “What about the murder? Who is it? Can I stop it from happening? Or is it me who’s going to kill someone?”

Mystic gasped and clutched her stomach.

Cassie’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s the matter?”

“I am afraid the knife has already entered. Once, twice, three times. And again. Again.”

Cassie shot up and yanked the flap across. It was so bright outside compared to the murk of the tent, and she blinked to see properly. Liz was serving a customer, and kids with their parents streamed out of Clive’s tent, yapping excitedly. Cassie ran forward, heading for the crowd, everyone still mooching about, chatting or standing at stalls. Someone cheered on the Hook the Duck, a yellow duck dangling on the end of a wooden rod, water dripping.

She ran to the right, planning to make a circuit of the inner horseshoe, seeking out anyone who’d been stabbed. On she went, searching the six people at the tombola, then glanced at Sharon doing the face-painting. A little girl smiled, her skin lilac, Sharon putting a black butterfly on her