Cherringham--Thick as Thieves by Neil Richards Read Free Book Online

you know what? I’d still invite her. Felons can be quite interesting.”
    “You Americans, still suckers for the English upper classes.”
    “Sure,” said Jack. “Just so long as they can’t tell us what to do.”
    “Talking of invites,” said Sarah, taking out her phone. “Shall we see if we can put a list together for Saturday?”
    Jack leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, lazily.
    “I guess so. But you know, sitting here with the river just waking up and the sun in the sky, I’m kinda wishing I didn’t have to throw a party. Maybe I should put it off till next month?”
    With two kids at home, Sarah had heard these thoughts many times before and she knew just how to deal with them.
    “Nonsense, Jack. Soon as people turn up you’ll have the time of your life. Now let’s get started, shall we?”
    And just like a school-kid, Jack shrugged, sat forward, put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.
    “Yes, ma’am.”

10. Down on the Farm
    Jack pulled up in the yard of Low Copse Farm and turned the engine off.
    He looked around. Although he was a city boy, his grandparents had had a farm — and he knew enough from those childhood memories to recognise a well-run outfit.
    This place looked tidy enough. Bales of straw still left over from the winter neatly stacked. Tractors lined up. No piles of scrap in forgotten corners, jumbles of metal or old sleepers.
    The door to the farm opened and a tall man in his forties came out, crossed the yard to greet him.
    “Mr Brennan? Pete Butterworth.”
    Jack shook his outstretched hand. He liked the guy already — some instinct at work there.
    “It’s Jack. Good of you to see me.”
    “Couldn’t resist, to be honest. My wife and I have heard about some of your exploits — and we felt if anyone could find the plate — you could.”
    Jack rarely felt awkward — but he did now. The whole private detective thing conflicted with his natural desire to keep a low profile.
    “Well, I wouldn’t count on anything, Pete,” he said quickly. “So far, it looks to me like the police are on the right track.”
    Behind Pete Butterworth, a woman appeared from the front of the house, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Pete turned to introduce her.
    “Jack — my wife, Becky.”
    Jack shook her hand.
    “Have you found out anything, Jack?”
    “Not yet. In fact, I was just saying — I think you’re going to be dependent on the police for that.”
    His words clearly had a depressing effect on both of them — had they been expecting him to be bringing good news? And was this tidy little farm perhaps not as serene as might first appear?
    He decided to jump straight in.
    “I hope you don’t mind me asking — but does this find mean a lot to you?”
    Becky Butterworth was quick to answer.
    “Life or death — is that a lot?”
    “I wouldn’t go that far, love–” interrupted her husband.
    “Well, isn’t it? Life at least — our lives here at the farm.”
    Pete put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
    “We don’t own this farm, Jack. We’re just tenants. Third generation, mind you, but that doesn’t protect us. If we can’t pay the rent each year, we lose the place.”
    “Then your share of the treasure trove would have helped you stay on?”
    “More than that. You see in June we hit our three-year rent review and the owners of the land–”
    “Lady Repton?” said Jack.
    “The Repton family, yes,” said Becky.
    “They’ve already made it clear they’re going to have to raise the rent to cover repairs they need to make to Repton House,” continued Pete. “Raise it more than we could possibly afford.”
    Becky looked away, out to the fields … perhaps — Jack thought — imagining it all vanishing.
    “So the share of the value of the plate would have kept us safe on this land not just for us — but for our kids too when they grow up and want to farm it.”
    I do like this guy, Jack thought.
    Not that it rules