She paused, staring out through the glass in the back door, and he studied her, desperate to know what she was thinking—whether she thought he was a prick like his father would have.
“You made a mistake telling me about that fridge,” she went on. “We could say that means you trust me, but you should never have let it slip.” She pinched her bottom lip and twisted it. Let it go. Slapped her palm on her thigh. “Thank fuck I won’t be passing it on, that’s all I can say. Just watch your mouth in future, all right? Think before you speak, remember who you’re talking to—ask yourself if they’re someone who could get you right in the shit.”
“Fair point.” He wished he’d brought the JD with him, he could use a swig at the moment. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He paced again, something niggling at him, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Then it hit him, what had been discussed at Handel Farm. “Lenny’s books. Ledgers or whatever. Someone else mentioned those. What are they?”
She widened her eyes. “Don’t even think of trying to read them. They’re all in code. Cassie and Francis don’t know I’m aware of them; Lenny told me one night years ago when he was sloshed. I was sworn to secrecy.”
Jason laughed. “And there’s you banging on, saying I shouldn’t have told you about the fridge.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “There’s a difference. You already knew about the ledgers. You brought them up.”
She had him there, no denying it. Sodding hell, he’d have to keep a closer eye on Cassie now Brenda had said she’d be looking for whoever had told Brett about the fridge—he’d known that, was with her when she’d said about it, but he hadn’t flipped the coin over to see what was on the other side, how it would affect him. He’d been too cocky in thinking she wouldn’t suspect him. The pool of people who knew was small, and Cassie was an enormous shark, circling for blood.
If he didn’t get her mind off searching, he’d be bitten.
Chapter Eighteen
Cassie and Doreen sat at the kitchen island with Mam, coffees in front of them as well as a dinner plate of cheese-and-ham sandwiches, half of them gone, crumbs and a golden nugget of cheddar in their place. Having heard what Doreen had to say, Cassie had digested the information and worked out how they’d deal with the situation later. Mam nattered to Doreen about making sure she could handle what was to come—not just at the time but afterwards, the guilt—and Doreen assured her she’d be fine, a mysterious expression flitting over her face, gone before Cassie could identify its meaning.
‘Fine’ remained to be seen. Once blood was spilt, the woman might lose her shit.
Cassie waited for a lull in the conversation and expressed her thoughts. “Right, you go along with whatever Karen suggests.” She smiled at Doreen. “As she’s already agreed to the two-in-the-morning thing, we’ll meet at The Beast then. I’ll be in the alley opposite in Old Barrington way before that—get her to agree to you parking outside the first row on New so Sculptor’s Field is between us. I don’t want the risk of her coming down that alley or seeing my car.” Perhaps she’d have one nicked and change the plates. There was still time.
Doreen frowned. “What if she insists on leaving hers in Old?”
Cassie picked up a quarter triangle of sandwich. “Make a racket, slam the car door or something, and I’ll jump over the fence into a garden.” She grimaced, thinking of vaulting the one at the laundrette. “I’ve got some experience doing that.”
She glanced at Mam to see if that garnered a laugh, but her mother seemed distracted by something else. Did it have owt to do with Lou Wilson coming round this morning? Lou had been leaving as Cassie had rolled up on the drive, stating they’d had a catch-up over coffee and Cassie would need to come and see her soon; she had something she wanted to put to her. Cassie didn’t have room in her head at the minute to wonder what that was.
Mam snapped out of her fugue and gave her two pence worth. “I’ll be coming—no arguing over that either—and I’m not vaulting a bloody fence. Imagine the scenario that Cassie’s already dead. Tell Karen people won’t be expecting someone to have come from New Barrington to kill Cassie. Push the point that it’s the Old lot who’d have a beef, and with Cassie murdered, I’d more than likely concentrate my efforts there when trying to find who’d killed her. They’re the ones who get their knickers in a twist—and Karen should know, she’s one of them. So if you park in New, she’ll think you’re trying to get any suspicion off her by doing so.”
“Okay.” Doreen sipped some coffee. “Changing the subject a minute… I have to tell you something. Explain the reason why I won’t have any guilt.” She turned to Mam.
Uneasy, Cassie paused mid-chew. “What…”
Doreen gave the plate her attention. “I’ve basically killed before—or made sure they ended up dead anyroad.”
Shock sent Cassie rearing backwards for a second, as if her subconscious warned her to get away from Doreen, the secret-keeper; her past antics coming out now were meant to be in one of the ledgers, and Cassie should
