Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm by Matthew Costello Read Free Book Online

down the number of an organic dog-food supplier.
    Just recently he’d been feeling guilty at some of the stuff he’d been giving his Springer Spaniel, Riley, to eat — and Riley certainly didn’t seem that enthusiastic about feeding time. Maybe a detox would do him good …
    “Anything particular you were looking for?” came a voice from the back of the shop.
    ‘Sing-song’ would be the best way to describe it.
    Jack would have expected nothing less, assuming this was the proprietor.
    He turned. A woman had appeared behind the counter. In her forties, tall, and dressed in bright purple and orange loose silk clothing. She had quite startling blue eyes, highlighted by dark make-up.
    “Hi,” said Jack, smiling. “Are you Tamara?”
    “I am.”
    “I’m Jack. We spoke on the phone this morning.”
    “Ah, yes. Nice to meet you, Jack . Come through to the treatment rooms.”
    She turned and headed into the back. Jack followed, not quite sure what he’d let himself in for.
    The “treatment rooms” turned out to be a tiny room above the shop, with just enough space for a massage table and a small sofa. While Jack filled out a brief form, Tamara questioned him about his physical health and his ‘spiritual’ needs.
    She ran through the treatments she offered: holistic aromatherapy, Reiki, Balancing, Soul Connection, Tarot …
    Jack nodded at each one and tried to look as if he knew what she was talking about. She seemed perplexed when he told her that he already felt pretty centred, what with sitting on the deck of his boat, fishing …
    “Not a bad path to inner peace, right?”
    Tamara said nothing, obviously not agreeing that such a simple activity could solve one’s issues with the universe.
    When she asked about spirits — and he made a joke about Martinis — he felt perhaps he’d gone too far. But luckily he realised that the cheap gag had just passed her by completely.
    In the end, he settled for a neck and shoulder massage.
    Damn, on a case in the old days I could have put this on expenses for sure, he thought.
    And pretty soon he was lying on the table with the lights down, the heating up, a burning stick of incense jutting out of the top of a ceramic head of Ganesh, while the indistinguishable CD music — pan-pipes — played on in the background.
    Jack had to admit — Tamara gave one helluva good massage.
    As she gently kneaded his shoulders, he had to force himself not to drift off to sleep.
    And if that happened — and he came away from this with nothing — he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Sarah.
    “So, what’s with the Tarot stuff then?” he said, his face resting on the towel, eyes closed. “I mean — you really do connect with the other side?”
    “‘The ‘Other Side’? How … quaint. You sound as if you’re not a believer, Jack,” said Tamara.
    “I guess I’m what you’d call an empiricist,” he said. “Gotta see it to believe it.”
    “That’s fair enough,” she said, fingers digging in again to his shoulder. “You should join a session. Then you would see it.”
    “And then I’d believe it?”
    “Wouldn’t you? The future revealed.”
    “I dunno. I went through the whole nine yards growing up a Catholic and you know what? I don’t recollect one miracle, one vision. Heck, I didn’t see many good turns even.”
    “And what about bad turns?”
    “Saw plenty of them,” he said.
    “Then — you believe in evil?”
    “Hmm,” he said. “Good point. Maybe I do. Whatever it is that makes people do bad things.”
    “Well, you’re halfway there then. If there’s evil, then …”
    “How about you? You see much evil here in Cherringham?”
    “I do.”
    Jack laughed. “Then since I’m a relative newcomer, you better tell me where it is so I can avoid it. Unless you’re talking about the Ploughman’s — evil or not, I’d find it hard not to drop in there on a weekend for a quiet pint.”
    Jack’s humour finally had a deflating effect. Tamara