by Jude Knight
Claudia had a fair idea who it was. “What did he look like?” she asked.
Carly confirmed her suspicion. “Tall, fit, dark curly hair. Like one of those Italian-American movie stars. Matthew Daddario or Frank De Julio.”
“Same hair and eyes as Abbie, in fact.” Claudia sighed. “That would have been Ethan, her biological father. I told him to leave her alone, but Ethan never did take any notice of what anyone else wanted.”
“Her father is in Fairburn?” Carly asked, so Claudia explained that Ethan had taken a job at the local garage. “I guess he must have seen that damned photo. He came around to my house. To apologize, he said.”
“To apologize?” Trent surged to his feet and turned in the direction of the garage on the far side of Fairburn, somehow managing to broaden his shoulders as his hands formed fists at his sides. “Was he violent to you as well, Claudia?”
“No!” Except that wasn’t true, and her impulse to protect Ethan might put Abbie in danger. “He wasn’t violent at all. This time. I told him he couldn’t come in, and he stayed outside. He went after he’d said his piece. He said he would put in his notice at his job and leave Fairburn.”
Trent subsided back into his chair. “He’s done that. Ben was complaining about it at Men’s Shed.” The local handyman’s group. Or handyperson’s rather, since they accepted anyone who wanted to gather in their little converted garage to use the tools and talk about wood and metal working.
“Wait.” The frown returned. “This time, Claudia?”
She spread her fingers, examining one hand while thinking about how to answer. The index finger bent at the second knuckle, reminding her of Jack’s methods of making her compliant.
“In the beginning, Ethan was sweet and kind, and even later, he was usually gentle and loving. He was a cyclist, a national youth champion and just beginning on the international circuit. Road, mainly, though he did a bit of track. And his hobby was motorcycles: dirt bikes. He had several bad falls. Repeated concussions. They changed him, and he wouldn’t accept it, wouldn’t take help.”
She rubbed the knuckle of her healed finger. “He couldn’t hold back his temper. Not like Jack. Jack was like my father. He might hit out in a rage, but far more often he’d smile as if he wasn’t angry then plot and plan to make me pay. My father never hit me, but I stopped asking for pets, because I couldn’t bear to see them hurt or killed. Jack didn’t need to worry about impairing my performance as a gymnast, so…”
“Abbie!” Carly accompanied her shocked outcry with a comforting squeeze of the hand she placed over Claudia’s.
“I left Jack. Not early enough, but I did leave. I went to stay with a friend on the far side of town, and the following week he picked Abbie up from school.”
Trent’s face was grim. “And crashed the car.”
“It was never like that with Ethan,” Claudia hurried to explain.
“Did Ethan hit you?” Trent’s growl was low and dangerous.
“Not me.” Never her, but she was afraid the whole time that one day he would forget himself and go too far. “The wall. The side of the old car that was all we could afford. Nothing intentional or planned, but his anger would blow up out of nowhere, and the violence—perhaps I could have helped him if I’d been older and wiser, but back then I just froze. When I knew I was pregnant with Abbie, I left. I didn’t want her having the childhood I had.”
“Good for you,” Carly said, squeezing her hand again, while Trent thought about what she had said. “Would he set light to a rabbit hutch?”
Claudia shook her head then thought again. “It doesn’t seem like the Ethan I knew, but he was 18 when we parted. He’s been in prison. He’s done therapy—or so he says. Has he changed? And if he has, is he better or worse?”
Trent nodded slowly. “Has he tried anything since he talked to you? Other than talking to Abbie?”
“No. Not that I know of. There was the note, then the fire, then the tires. Then Ethan brought the car back and I told him to stay away from Abbie.” Which he didn’t. What else might he have done? “Someone has been watching the RDA kids. From the parking lot on the hill. With binoculars. And now Abbie says she has seen Jack.”
Trent nodded again. “I’ll ask around town; see if anyone has heard of a Jack. What’s his surname?”
“Quinton. He’s a computer engineer. Hardware, not software or systems.”
“Jack Quinton. A computer guy. Got it.”
10
Monday was Ethan’s day off, and he took his motorcycle out for a run to help him manage the burning desire to hang around Claudia’s place, in the hopes of glimpsing her or his daughter. If he headed out to the coast, he’d spend most of the day unable to offend Claudia again.
Boss was up for a ride. Like all cats, she was territorial, sticking to the place she loved best. Unlike most, her territory comprised the Triumph and Ethan. Had ever since Ethan had rescued her and her brother, two scrawny kittens tossed into a deep drain and left to die. Ethan took them home inside his jacket and stayed up all night feeding them the goat’s milk preparation he’d found on the Internet. The brother didn’t make it. Boss got her name from the peremptory demands she was making when Ethan returned inside after removing the frail body of the dead kitten.
Boss thrived on frequent feeds, graduating from an eye dropper to a baby’s bottle and then to tinned kitten food and biscuits. She lived in Ethan’s pocket, or around Ethan’s shoulders, or in the pannier bags of the Triumph as Ethan moved from job to job, getting experience but never finding a place he wanted to settle. Two years on, Boss was a magnificent beast; at least, Ethan thought so. Tucked inside Ethan’s jacket as they cruised the highway out to Valentine Bay, she mostly slept, but poked her nose out from time to time, her eyes shut and her hair and whiskers streaming back in the wind.
Valentine Bay was popular with tourists and valley residents alike, but on a weekday the little village was nearly deserted. Monday was the day most of the shops closed after a busy weekend, but Ethan found a cafe where he could buy a takeaway coffee and a croissant, plus a salmon sandwich for Boss. They carried on through the village to the small harbour and left the bike in the parking lot between the docks for the fishing boats and the marina beyond.
Ethan exchanged his helmet for a cloth cap to keep the sun from his head and, with Boss trotting at his heels, one watchful eye on the paper bag containing the salmon sandwich, wandered out onto the breakwater between the two harbours to eat his lunch.
Ben had not been pleased with his resignation. In the end, Ethan had told him about Claudia and Abbie. Not names or details, but just that he had an ex-lover and a child that he’d lost contact with, and he’d come to Fairburn hoping to become reacquainted, and to help if they would let him. “She has told me to go away, Ben, and I figure if that’s the only thing she’ll take from me, I owe it to her. I said I couldn’t leave you in the lurch, but I promised I’d put in my resignation.”
“Humph.” Ben thought about that for a while. “Okay. But not four weeks’ notice. Not over Christmas and I’m not going to get anyone during the summer holidays. You know that. Shall we say twelve weeks?” His eyes twinkled, and Ethan smiled back. Yes. Maybe, given time, Claudia would have a change of heart, and even if she didn’t, Ben’s support was heart-warming.
Boss licked the bread clean of salmon and wandered off to inspect a few rocks, leaping back with a hiss when a wave had the temerity to splash her. Ethan fed the remains of the sandwich and a few flakes of croissants to some cheeky seagulls, who easily dodged Boss’s attempts to get to know them better.
“Okay, Boss,” Ethan said when the last crumbs were gone, “How about we go look at some boats?” He wandered the marina, keeping half an eye on Boss to make sure the cat didn’t find trouble as she hunted in and out of every interesting box or smelly pile of net they passed, frequently taking a detour along a handy deck, occasionally rushing ahead so she could leap out on Ethan’s feet and dig her claws in by way of a frien
dly hello.
Half way along the third set of docks, he caught sight of a man he recognized. Ethan crouched to pat his cat, fortunately turning up in time to be an excuse. “Quill. Let’s avoid him, Boss, shall we?” Half-turned, in sunglasses and a cap, and with his head down, he’d likely go unobserved. To Quill, he was just the lackey mechanic, the one the man had abused roundly yesterday when he’d phoned to find the necessary part for his bike had still not arrived.
So it proved. Quill didn’t glance Ethan’s way as he passed, deep in conversation about renting a boat from his companion. “I’ll want it provisioned and fitted out for a decent voyage,” he was saying. “I’m thinking I might go up to the Bay of Islands.”
“It’ll do that easy,” the other man — the boat’s owner — assured Quill, and was adding, “Come over to the harbour master’s office and we’ll finish the paper...” before the two of them passed out of hearing range.
So, Quill was planning a sea voyage? Ethan shrugged. Nothing to do with him. “Come on, Boss,” he said, scooping his fur friend up and draping him across his shoulders in another of Boss’s favourite positions, “Let’s go for a ride.”
The route to and from the coast led through Barnsley, the main town in the valley, and when Ethan passed a sports store on the way back, he succumbed to the impulse to buy Abbie a Christmas gift. Maybe Claudia would refuse it. He let the thought go. He couldn’t do anything about Claudia’s actions. He could only control his own.
The riding helmets were in one corner, half masked by a display cabinet full of topographical maps. He searched through them, wondering how to get the child’s head measurement, while idly listening to a conversation from the other side of the cabinet.
He recognized the voice—that guy Jake Quill again, turning up like a bad penny and berating some poor shop assistant. “… better than the binoculars you sold me a week ago.”
“These tramping boots are the best on the market,” the salesman protested. “Waterproof, breathable, with ankle support and a cushioned sole. You won’t find better, even in the city. New Zealand-made, too. It’s our best seller for trampers and hunters.”
He continued extolling the virtues until Quill cut him short. “They’ll do. I guess I’m going to need a sleeping bag. Show me what you’ve got.”
The camping equipment would work well enough on a boat, Ethan supposed, but what did the man need tramping boots for?
“They’re on the mezzanine, sir,” the assistant said.
“In a minute, then. I’ll need maps. I’m going into the regional park, and I want something that shows the huts and the tracks to them.”
Ethan’s curiosity was fully aroused, and he continued to listen while the assistant extolled the virtues of various tracks.
“I want something away from the fire breaks and the road access,” Jake insisted, and the assistant tossed out one idea after another until Jake was finally satisfied. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take this one and this one. Now for the bags.”
Peculiar, but Ethan figured it was nothing to do with him. He turned back to the display of riding helmets, carefully reading all of the specifications. Abbie would have the best he could give her—at least she would if he could get the right size. He supposed the child could always exchange it if he guessed wrong, but he had hated that as a child—a brand new present, and then the wait for the shops to be open so he could actually use it.
In the end, he left without making a purchase. At least asking for permission to give Abbie a present would give him another excuse to talk to Claudia.
The motorcycle part arrived with a courier just before lunch on Tuesday. Ethan, who had already fielded two ‘hurry up’ calls from the owner, made finishing the Bonneville the first job after lunch, then sent Jake a text to let him know. The man arrived, checked the repair out, paid the account and took off.
“Not very charming, is he?” Ben commented. “Not so much as a thank you.”
Ethan shrugged. Not his problem. “Takes all sorts.”
“Speaking of which, how’s your car?”
Ethan continued tidying the work bench. Work was much more efficient if everything was put away in the right place. “I don’t have a car.”
“A white sedan.” Ben was watching him with an odd look on his face, as if waiting for him to put a foot out of place.
“Nope.” Ethan picked up a clean rag and began dusting the bench. “Just the bike. What’s this about, Ben?”
“Someone in a white sedan has been parked up on the hill watching the RDA kids through binoculars.” Before Ethan could respond, Ben added, “I told them it couldn’t be you because you were here at work.”
Ethan voiced the question, though he already knew the answer. “Who thought it was me?”
“Friends of Claudia’s.”
As he thought. “Ah. She thinks it was me.”
“No, apparently. She thinks it isn’t like you.”
That was something. “It wasn’t,” he grumbled. But who was it? And why?
“Didn’t think so.” Ben gave an expansive wave of the hand. “Besides, you were here all day every day from Tuesday through to Sunday, and that’s what I told them.”
Ethan’s short laugh was unamused. “And still you asked if I had a white sedan. No, don’t apologize, Ben. I’m glad people are keeping an eye on Claudia and Abbie. She’s lucky to be here and to have you guys.”
Claudia had her seatbelt off before Carly pulled to a complete stop, and the door open before her friend turned off the car. “I’ll go on ahead,” Claudia tossed back over her shoulder as she hurried through the gate and into the school grounds.
They were only twenty minutes late. Other parents still stood in gossiping clumps. Other people’s children waited, climbing on the jungle gym or hop scotching across the painted squares on the sealed court or playing games on their phones.
“She’ll be fine,” Carly panted, having caught up. “Polly is with her, and Rhys will keep an eye on them both.” Sure enough, the two girls were seated together on a bench in the sun outside the head teacher’s office, where Ryan could watch them as he worked.
Rhys, his cell phone to his ear, rapped on the inside of his window and held up a finger while mouthing ‘one moment’.
“I am so sorry,” Claudia began when he came outside, but Rhys waved a hand in dismissal. “You couldn’t help your car breaking down, and Abbie is fine, as you see. Abbie and Polly, would you go get your bags from my office?”
Claudia made to go with Abbie, but Rhys put out a hand to stop her.
“I don’t want to alarm you, Claudia, but when you phoned to say you’d broken down and you were waiting for Carly to come and get you, I went out to bring Abbie and Polly back in here where I could keep an eye on them. They were fine. Still inside the gate, as they should have been. But as I came up to them, a white sedan car that was outside on the bus stop started up and pulled away. It’s probably nothing, but given the other incidents, I thought you should know.”
“Stone, come out from under there.”
Ethan slid out from under Claudia’s car, which Ben had towed in from ten miles out of town, to face two scowling men. Rhys Phillips, he knew. The school head teacher, very protective of Claudia. He didn’t have a name for the other man, but he’d seen him with Claudia’s friend, the one he’d spoken to at the parade.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Years in prison had made him an expert at conflict avoidance. Hands in view. Voice mild. Body relaxed with no sign he was ready to run.
A little of the tension drained away, but Phillips’ words were still an accusation. “You can tell us where to find your friend with the white sedan.”
“I don’t have a…” His brain caught up with the meaning behind their presence here. “Claudia! What’s happened? Are they alright?”
“So, you do know something.” That was the other man.
Ethan hoped they were going to tell him what he needed to know soon, because he didn’t know how lon
g he could remain civil when his fear was spiking. “Ben told me some scum-sucker in a white sedan has been watching the kids at RDA. Are they okay? Claudia and Abbie?”
Phillips sneered. “Whatever you had planned didn’t work, if that’s what you want to know.”
They were okay. Thank God.
The unnamed man added, “Good try. Fixing her car so it would break down then sending your friend to fetch Abbie. But Rhys here foiled your plot, and we’re here to make sure you get out of town.”
Stay calm, Ethan. These guys are on Claudia’s side. “Look, I had nothing to do with it, and if Abbie and Claudia are in danger, I’m not going anywhere. You think the car was deliberately sabotaged?” In another minute, he’d have worked that out himself. How else would the oil lines have developed a leak in the brief time since he’d thoroughly checked the vehicle?
“You tell us, Mr Mechanic.” They were still hostile. He had to convince them. Someone out there was a threat to all Ethan held dear, and those who wanted to protect Claudia and Abbie couldn’t afford to waste energy fighting each other.
“It fits. Look.” He pointed to the oil dripping onto the concrete under the car. “Hole in the oil feed line. And I put a new one in not two weeks ago. Someone wanted the car to stop and didn’t much care when.”
Unnamed man turned to Phillips. “Do you believe him?”
“Not even a little bit,” Phillips answered. “What’s he doing hanging around Fairburn? Claudia doesn’t want him and he doesn’t know little Abbie.”
“I know she’s my daughter,” Ethan said. “I know Claudia was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I messed up bad when I drove her away. I know I’d lay down my life for either of them.”
“Easy to say.” Phillips sneered, unconvinced, but unnamed man considered Ethan from under lowered brows. Before he could speak, his phone rang, a fragment that sounded classical, cut off when he swiped his thumb across the screen. “Trent Becker.”