Read Online Running Stupid: (Mystery Series) by James Kipling - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Kipling
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added.
“Okay,” Matthew said, raising his eyebrows. He looked across at James, who was smiling broadly. “Are you a farmer then?” he asked.
“Yes,” James said. “I inherited this land from my family. I inherited a lot more than this, too,” he said in a moment of contemplation. “But I was never one for the high life. A simple farmer’s life suits me just fine.”
“So you’re rich…and farming.”
“Exactly,” he said with a nod. “But life isn’t about money. There’s so much more.”
“Yeah, and it all costs money.”
James laughed boorishly. His laugh subsided into a thoughtful smile and he continued onwards, pondering. Matthew Jester and his new found farming friend reached their destination five minutes later. The main building was a converted barn with Victorian décor. Five windows decorated the front of the hose – two down, three up – as well as a small attic window poking out from the roof. To the left of the house was a chicken pen, and several hens wandered around the perimeter, all nodding for food. To the right of the house – set further back – was a stable.
When Matthew entered the house, he was immediately greeted by a middle-aged woman in a blue and white striped apron. There was margarine grease on her hands and flecks of flour in her hair. She introduced herself as Mary, and when Matthew reached forward to shake her hand, he could smell the delights of freshly baked bread and pastries.
“I found this lad out on the fields,” James explained to his wife. “He’s got himself into a bit of bother by the looks of it.” He looked at Matthew. “Isn’t that right?”
Matthew stood, frozen to the spot. “ Sorry ?”
“Your shoulder, lad.”
“Ah,” Matthew said, relieved. “It’s no problem, really.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” the woman spoke, her smile as warm as a loving grandmothers, her voice soft and delicate. “I’ll get it sorted for you in no time.”
Matthew smiled. “Okay.”
“If you’d like to come along with me,” the woman said, walking away from the entrance, “I’ll get your shoulder looked at. I’m sorry you caught me at a bad time.” She untied the apron from around her back, folded it, and rested it on a coffee table she passed. “I was just making tea.”
“The lad can stay,” James said broadly. “We’ll pull up another chair.” He turned to Matthew, who had started to follow Mary. “You look pale and thin, lad,” he explained. “A good hot, home-cooked meal will do you wonders.”
“Are you sure?” Matthew asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding, dear,” Mary explained. “We’d be more than happy to have you at dinner. We don’t get many opportunities to entertain.”
“Well, if it’s okay,” Matthew began, and he touched his stomach instinctively. “I am rather hungry.”
Mary walked into the living room and Matthew followed. Instant warmth greeted him when he stepped into the room; a strong lavender fragrance hung in the air. A log fire slowly burned on the centre wall, giving off a soothing heat and a relaxing mood. The décor reminded Matthew of a typical grandmother’s house, but he loved it.
Mary instructed Matthew to sit down before sitting next to him. “If I can just have your arm,” she said.
Matthew smiled and let his injured arm fall her way. He looked around the room. The walls were painted with pictures of lakes, forests, and mountains. Across the fireplace and on top of an outdated television set were numerous family portraits. Children, nieces, nephews, mothers, fathers, grandchildren. Matthew stopped admiring the photos when Mary popped his shoulder back into place.
For a fleeting moment, a matter of seconds, an extreme agony burned through Matthew’s blood. His forehead instantly spawned sweat, the hairs on his neck and arms stood to attention, and his mouth
“Okay,” Matthew said, raising his eyebrows. He looked across at James, who was smiling broadly. “Are you a farmer then?” he asked.
“Yes,” James said. “I inherited this land from my family. I inherited a lot more than this, too,” he said in a moment of contemplation. “But I was never one for the high life. A simple farmer’s life suits me just fine.”
“So you’re rich…and farming.”
“Exactly,” he said with a nod. “But life isn’t about money. There’s so much more.”
“Yeah, and it all costs money.”
James laughed boorishly. His laugh subsided into a thoughtful smile and he continued onwards, pondering. Matthew Jester and his new found farming friend reached their destination five minutes later. The main building was a converted barn with Victorian décor. Five windows decorated the front of the hose – two down, three up – as well as a small attic window poking out from the roof. To the left of the house was a chicken pen, and several hens wandered around the perimeter, all nodding for food. To the right of the house – set further back – was a stable.
When Matthew entered the house, he was immediately greeted by a middle-aged woman in a blue and white striped apron. There was margarine grease on her hands and flecks of flour in her hair. She introduced herself as Mary, and when Matthew reached forward to shake her hand, he could smell the delights of freshly baked bread and pastries.
“I found this lad out on the fields,” James explained to his wife. “He’s got himself into a bit of bother by the looks of it.” He looked at Matthew. “Isn’t that right?”
Matthew stood, frozen to the spot. “ Sorry ?”
“Your shoulder, lad.”
“Ah,” Matthew said, relieved. “It’s no problem, really.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” the woman spoke, her smile as warm as a loving grandmothers, her voice soft and delicate. “I’ll get it sorted for you in no time.”
Matthew smiled. “Okay.”
“If you’d like to come along with me,” the woman said, walking away from the entrance, “I’ll get your shoulder looked at. I’m sorry you caught me at a bad time.” She untied the apron from around her back, folded it, and rested it on a coffee table she passed. “I was just making tea.”
“The lad can stay,” James said broadly. “We’ll pull up another chair.” He turned to Matthew, who had started to follow Mary. “You look pale and thin, lad,” he explained. “A good hot, home-cooked meal will do you wonders.”
“Are you sure?” Matthew asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding, dear,” Mary explained. “We’d be more than happy to have you at dinner. We don’t get many opportunities to entertain.”
“Well, if it’s okay,” Matthew began, and he touched his stomach instinctively. “I am rather hungry.”
Mary walked into the living room and Matthew followed. Instant warmth greeted him when he stepped into the room; a strong lavender fragrance hung in the air. A log fire slowly burned on the centre wall, giving off a soothing heat and a relaxing mood. The décor reminded Matthew of a typical grandmother’s house, but he loved it.
Mary instructed Matthew to sit down before sitting next to him. “If I can just have your arm,” she said.
Matthew smiled and let his injured arm fall her way. He looked around the room. The walls were painted with pictures of lakes, forests, and mountains. Across the fireplace and on top of an outdated television set were numerous family portraits. Children, nieces, nephews, mothers, fathers, grandchildren. Matthew stopped admiring the photos when Mary popped his shoulder back into place.
For a fleeting moment, a matter of seconds, an extreme agony burned through Matthew’s blood. His forehead instantly spawned sweat, the hairs on his neck and arms stood to attention, and his mouth
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