Chasing Summer

by Nicola Claire

  I shook my head.

  “I’ve got no say in this, have I?” Danvers asked Charlie.

  “None whatsoever.”

  Danvers muttered something under his breath and then pushed Carmichael towards Charlie.

  Charlie thanked him and started walking away, dragging Carmichael with him.

  “That’s it?” I called after him. “No goodbye or anything?”

  “Oh,” Charlie said. “I restocked your fridge. Again. And I left you the surfboard.” He gave me his crooked grin this time. “You were right.”

  “About what?” I demanded.

  “I’ll let you figure that out; you’re the private detective.”

  And then Charlie Roberts walked out of my life without a backwards glance.

  “Crud,” I said. “Who’s going to pay for my donut fetish now?”

  Danvers snorted and then ran a hand through his hair. He looked out over the scene, his shoulders rigid.

  I took in the Ahipara street. The Harley Davidsons and the Triumphs belonging to Jonesy’s men. The police were now swarming Jonesy’s beach house. No doubt they’d find a wealth of treasures there. I was more concerned about matters closer to my heart, and they didn’t include my next donut fix.

  “They were trying to keep Northland clean,” I said.

  Danvers didn’t look at me. But he knew who I was talking about.

  He said, “They manufacture and distribute pot.”

  “Did they kill the guy on the wharf?”

  He said nothing; he knew the Rikas didn’t.

  “Did they kill the guys at the shearing shed?”

  Still nothing, but he knew the answer to that, too.

  “Did they kill Jonesy?”

  He let out a burst of air.

  “Nana Rika might be a bit of a harpy,” I told him, “but Northland means the world to her. Her boys, this land. It’s in their blood, Detective. They are tangata whenua. This is their land. She protects it the only way she knows how. From outside influences. From drugs like meth. From men like Big Wig and Jonesy. In her own way, she was protecting all of us.”

  He turned to look at me. “They aren’t knights in shining armour, Summer. They’re criminals. A biker gang cultivating marijuana and making a profit off people’s addictions to it.”

  I shrugged. He either understood what I was trying to say or he didn’t. I’d done my best.

  “Take the ute,” he said. “I’ll hitch a ride with McQueen.”

  “I can wait for you,” I offered.

  “Go home, Summer,” he said.

  I knew a dismissal when I heard it, so I tucked tail and left.

  I parked the ute at the police station, left the keys with Maisey, told her to be at my place Saturday night for Sangrias, and then drove the Mighty Micra the few hundred feet down Waterfront Drive to Aunt Sadie’s. Doug had a spaz, and Aunt Sadie fed me corn chowder with freshly baked cornbread, talking a mile a minute, so I didn’t have to say anything. I think she knew I needed the sound of her voice and my family around me.

  At six that night, I drove home and walked into a furnace. Charlie’s room was bare, save for the surfboard. The fridge was packed to the brim with beer. So were the cupboards. The house creaked and groaned, and Doug whined when I just stood there; staring at the Export Gold bottles stacked in neat rows and feeling like I might burst into tears.

  I opened the windows; fed Doug some treats and let him lick me from chin to forehead. Then I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went and sat on the back deck, overlooking the surf. Seagulls swooped and dogs barked. People walked hand in hand along the edge of the water. Loving. Laughing. Living. This was my kind of summer.

  I’d survive this. I’d survived a lot of things.

  And it was summer.

  I didn’t hear from Danvers, although a cheque was deposited into my account which would cover the loss of income due to Charlie’s absence. And the Coffee Cube was closed every time I went to check on Tia.

  Three weeks later, on a Thursday afternoon, I received a knock on my front door, which had Doug dancing around like a lunatic, telling one and all that receiving guests was his “favourite thing in the whole wide world!” I’d been sunbathing on the back lawn. Lying on a towel with a big floppy hat covering my face and head. And in a bikini barely containing my Double Ds.

  I grabbed up a sarong and wrapped it around me and then made my way to the kitchen.

  Darren and Mikey Rika stood on the front porch. Darren looked liked he’d prefer to be anywhere else. Mikey looked liked he’d died and gone to heaven. Both were hale and hearty. And not in the slammer.

  “Did you break out?” I asked.

  “Break out of where?” Darren demanded.

  “Prison.”

  “What prison?”

  “The prison Danvers threw you into.”

  Darren shook his head at me as Mikey pulled out a large cardboard box from behind his back.

  “This is for you,” he said.

  I recognised the box. It was one of the twelve-piece boxes Tia used at the Coffee Cube for takeaway donuts. The type of box a business might use if they were throwing an afternoon tea for their receptionist’s birthday.

  “It’s not my birthday,” I said. “And I’m not a receptionist.”

  “What?” Darren mumbled.

  “It’s from Nana,” Mikey said. “To say, thank you.”

  “Why?” I asked suspiciously and then sniffed the box. I couldn’t smell any weed, so they hadn’t baked me brownies.

  “You did good, kid,” Darren said.

  “He didn’t arrest you,” I guessed.

  “Got off with community service,” Darren supplied.

  I smiled. Detective Douche had listened to what I’d said.

  “Thank Nana for me,” I told them, holding up the box.

  “Come ‘round for dinner sometime, Summer,” Mikey said, as they both started to walk away. “And wear that.” He nodded at my sarong and bikini.

  Darren whacked him over the back of his head.

  I watched them climb onto their bikes and then cringed as they started them up. Neighbours’ dogs started barking at the racket. Doug decided that it meant he had to outdo them.

  “Cut that out,” I told him and shut the front door.

  I placed the box on the kitchen bench and just stared at it. Doug finally had enough of watching me and trotted out onto the back porch, thumping down on his blanket.

  I lifted the lid and stared at a dozen perfect chocolate glazed donuts with extra chocolate sprinkles on top.

  There was a note in Tia’s handwriting inside.

  Saturday Night Sangrias? it read.

  I smiled. And then I grabbed the box, a fresh cup of coffee, and headed out onto the balcony.

  I was halfway through a sugar coma when Danvers stepped up onto my back deck.

  The detective hadn’t bothered with the front door. He’d simply walked around the house and walked back into my life again. Doug was ecstatic. I wasn’t sure what I was yet.

  “May I join you?” he said.

  “Sure,” I offered. “Donut?” I pushed what was left inside the box toward him.

  “I brought beers,” he announced and placed a six-pack of Export Gold on the table between us.

  “I like beer,” I said, helping myself to one.

  “I like donuts,” he offered and took a big bite out of the one nearest to him.

  We sat in companionable silence for a while. The sun got low in the sky, so low it almost kissed the water. Gold and red and a deep purple shot across the horizon. It was heaven. Doubtless Bay was heaven.

  And for a little while longer, we’d keep it that way. Because the Rikas had standards, as twisted and legally challenged as they may be. And best friends remained best friends despite road bumps along the way. And a new detective had come to town who was trying his best to fit in and understand the local way.

  This might work, I thought.

  And then Danvers said, “Have d
inner with me?”

  I blinked at him.

  “We’re sharing beer and donuts, what more could you want?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Summer. How about a restaurant and candlelight and a shared bowl of something wicked?”

  “Chocolate?” Chocolate was wicked.

  “Of course.”

  I studied him. He watched me back with infuriating calm.

  We’ll see about that.

  “What about Suzy?”

  He scowled. “What about Suzy?”

  “You’re dating her,” I snapped.

  He blinked and then smiled.

  “No, I’m not,” he said.

  “Did you dump her?” Please tell me you dumped her floozy butt.

  “I had one dinner date with her, the day after I arrived in Mangonui. It didn’t work. I let her down gently.”

  Of course, he did. Because Detective Douche was as far from a douche as you could get.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, turning back to the ocean and the sunset. I sipped my beer and picked up another donut. Danvers stared out at the vista and smiled.

  I thought that was that, but several minutes later he surprised me.

  “If I have to chase you all summer, Summer O’Dare; I will,” he announced.

  Well, I thought, as I stuffed the last of the donut into my mouth, maybe Detective Douche as my stalker wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  The silky, slinky touch of something alluring rubbed over my neck.

  I shivered.

  He laughed.

  Scowling, I reached for another donut.

  “OK,” I said. “You’re on.”

  Detective Danvers let out a breath of air, sat back in his chair, placed his hands behind his head, stretched out his legs, making himself mighty comfortable, and smiled as together we watched the sun set.

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