Read Online Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm by Matthew Costello - Free Book Online
Authors: Matthew Costello
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people chattering, he found them.
The table in the corner was usually occupied by a random assortment of local farmers, and tonight was no exception.
Jack took his beer and sailed on over.
Thinking: Let’s see just how much of a regular I really am …
“Mind if I join you?”
Jack looked at the three men at the table. He knew Pete Butterworth already from when he and Sarah had helped the man recover a valuable Roman plate that had gone missing.
“Jack, sure. Know this lot?”
Jack pulled over a wooden chair from a nearby table. He could tell the other men were eyeing him a bit. Which made sense. By now, the fact that Jack got involved in local matters — missing items, missing people — was well known.
And who didn’t have secrets that they’d rather keep just that — secret.
“Tom Hodge, Phil Nailor,” Pete said making introductions. The two men nodded.
Neither seemed delighted at the new person at the table.
Jack nodded back.
Tom Hodge. The man who Charlie had fired.
Pay dirt, as they say.
He knew he had interrupted whatever they were talking about — another odd sign. Being fired, Tom must have a big grudge. Pete might also know things, be able to help, though the club of farmers was probably tightly knit and protective.
“Helluva thing, hmm?” Jack said.
Always good to lob out something that has people wondering … what are you talking about?
Pete took the bait. “What’s that then, Jack?”
“The troubles on Mabb’s Farm, all that talk of a curse. Something going on?”
And that was all Tom Hodge needed to hear.
“Too right something’s going on. That Charlie is daft. A nutter when it comes to running a farm. I’m amazed he doesn’t try to milk them cows from their ears.”
The men laughed, and Jack joined in, taking a big sip of beer.
“No talent for farming, eh?”
“Talent?” Tom snorted. “The man shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a farm.”
“A real screw-up,” Phil Nailor added.
Jack turned to look at Phil.
Amazing how much people wanted to talk about things, Jack thought.
Especially when they had a beef with someone. Tom had one for sure. Did Phil, too?
“Come on, Phil,” Pete said. “That was an accident, could’ve—”
Phil turned to Pete. “Charlie and me went fifty-fifty on that damn spreader, and when I get it back, the thing is a wreck. Couldn’t operate the bloody machine, money down the drain!”
Tom laughed. “Guess no one told Charlie that you had to put some oil in the thing.”
More laughter, but Phil still glowered, clearly not in a forgiving mood.
“A write-off, huh?” Jack said.
“Too bloody right. So my machine and my money, are gone!”
Jack nodded. Two men here, both with no love for Charlie Fox.
He turned to Pete. At least he didn’t seem to have an axe to grind.
“So tell me — if Charlie is so bad at farming, what’s he doing with a farm?”
“Good question that, Jack. Bit of a story too. You see, his dad—”
“Harry?” Jack said.
A pause there, perhaps as they realised that Jack wasn’t simply idly interested in the events on the farm.
“Yup. Right. Harry. In his will, he left the property, the farmhouse, left it all to Ray—”
“Now there was someone who knew farming,” Tom pronounced.
“Nothing for Charlie?”
“I guess,” Pete continued, “that his dad could see that Charlie didn’t have it in him.”
“Unlucky Charlie is what we call him!”
“Ray did well?”
“Sure, good crops, excellent dairyman. Place ran like a clock. Right, Tom? You worked with Ray before Charlie took over, didn’t you?”
Another pause.
Interesting …
Then: “Yep. Place hummed, it did. And as soon as Ray left, it started going straight down the tubes.”
Jack looked around at the three of them. “And Ray?”
“Left a note,” Pete said. “A bit about ‘time to move on’ … so he did.”
“Police weren’t curious?”
Pete shook his head. “No sign of foul play. Man’s free to do what he
The table in the corner was usually occupied by a random assortment of local farmers, and tonight was no exception.
Jack took his beer and sailed on over.
Thinking: Let’s see just how much of a regular I really am …
“Mind if I join you?”
Jack looked at the three men at the table. He knew Pete Butterworth already from when he and Sarah had helped the man recover a valuable Roman plate that had gone missing.
“Jack, sure. Know this lot?”
Jack pulled over a wooden chair from a nearby table. He could tell the other men were eyeing him a bit. Which made sense. By now, the fact that Jack got involved in local matters — missing items, missing people — was well known.
And who didn’t have secrets that they’d rather keep just that — secret.
“Tom Hodge, Phil Nailor,” Pete said making introductions. The two men nodded.
Neither seemed delighted at the new person at the table.
Jack nodded back.
Tom Hodge. The man who Charlie had fired.
Pay dirt, as they say.
He knew he had interrupted whatever they were talking about — another odd sign. Being fired, Tom must have a big grudge. Pete might also know things, be able to help, though the club of farmers was probably tightly knit and protective.
“Helluva thing, hmm?” Jack said.
Always good to lob out something that has people wondering … what are you talking about?
Pete took the bait. “What’s that then, Jack?”
“The troubles on Mabb’s Farm, all that talk of a curse. Something going on?”
And that was all Tom Hodge needed to hear.
“Too right something’s going on. That Charlie is daft. A nutter when it comes to running a farm. I’m amazed he doesn’t try to milk them cows from their ears.”
The men laughed, and Jack joined in, taking a big sip of beer.
“No talent for farming, eh?”
“Talent?” Tom snorted. “The man shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a farm.”
“A real screw-up,” Phil Nailor added.
Jack turned to look at Phil.
Amazing how much people wanted to talk about things, Jack thought.
Especially when they had a beef with someone. Tom had one for sure. Did Phil, too?
“Come on, Phil,” Pete said. “That was an accident, could’ve—”
Phil turned to Pete. “Charlie and me went fifty-fifty on that damn spreader, and when I get it back, the thing is a wreck. Couldn’t operate the bloody machine, money down the drain!”
Tom laughed. “Guess no one told Charlie that you had to put some oil in the thing.”
More laughter, but Phil still glowered, clearly not in a forgiving mood.
“A write-off, huh?” Jack said.
“Too bloody right. So my machine and my money, are gone!”
Jack nodded. Two men here, both with no love for Charlie Fox.
He turned to Pete. At least he didn’t seem to have an axe to grind.
“So tell me — if Charlie is so bad at farming, what’s he doing with a farm?”
“Good question that, Jack. Bit of a story too. You see, his dad—”
“Harry?” Jack said.
A pause there, perhaps as they realised that Jack wasn’t simply idly interested in the events on the farm.
“Yup. Right. Harry. In his will, he left the property, the farmhouse, left it all to Ray—”
“Now there was someone who knew farming,” Tom pronounced.
“Nothing for Charlie?”
“I guess,” Pete continued, “that his dad could see that Charlie didn’t have it in him.”
“Unlucky Charlie is what we call him!”
“Ray did well?”
“Sure, good crops, excellent dairyman. Place ran like a clock. Right, Tom? You worked with Ray before Charlie took over, didn’t you?”
Another pause.
Interesting …
Then: “Yep. Place hummed, it did. And as soon as Ray left, it started going straight down the tubes.”
Jack looked around at the three of them. “And Ray?”
“Left a note,” Pete said. “A bit about ‘time to move on’ … so he did.”
“Police weren’t curious?”
Pete shook his head. “No sign of foul play. Man’s free to do what he
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