Hana Du Rose Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1 - 4

by Bowes, K T

  Indignation rose into Hana’s throat almost choking her with Tama’s calm presence, getting in the way of the serious discussions she needed to have with her husband. Hana wished he would leave but knew inwardly the teenager had found a cushy number for himself. Logan’s passivity irritated her, not least because he used Tama as a shield to deflect Hana’s enquiries about his disease. Hana contemplated calling Bodie and having Tama arrested. She played with a distant memory of threatening it but knew Logan would refuse to press charges and the void between them would open further.

  Tiredness made her act childishly and she stomped into the living room, hurling herself onto the sofa next to Logan and cuddling hard into him, ignoring the wince of pain crossing his face. Hana snuggled down harder and Logan put his right arm around her shoulders while she sat and studied the side of Tama’s face. He slouched on the two-seater sofa, his cap on backwards, still wearing the stained outdoor jacket. She felt ruffled and annoyed, glowering at him and knowing she behaved dreadfully. Shame at herself irritated her further, guilt compounding all the other emotions firing off in her brain. The men ate already, but Hana refused the offer of a sandwich. “You need to eat something, babe.” Logan’s voice was soft in her ear and he kissed her temple with gentle lips.

  In a bizarre role reversal, Logan tried to take care of her, but Hana squeezed her face into his side and shook her head like an angry toddler. “Come to bed with me,” she whispered and saw Logan shoot a look across at the boy. He knitted his eyebrows and shook his head at her.

  To Hana’s horror, Tama smirked. “Eugh, old people shagging. Gross!”

  It was as explosive as lighting the blue touch paper on a firework and Hana went for it. “Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you? Anka’s older than me so you’re probably more of an expert!” She stomped out of the room in a temper and heard Logan’s low voice admonish Tama behind her retreating back.

  “Quit being a dick! That’s your only warning, bro’!”

  Hana went for a bath, deliberately spending ages in the bathroom, hoping Tama would need the toilet and have to hold it. Then she convinced herself he would go outside and urinate off the porch and got out quicker than she intended. The hot water raised her blood pressure and made her feel sick again and she wasted valuable time sitting on the side of the bath with her head between her knees. Deciding she didn’t feel comfortable going back to the living room, she ended up going to bed in a grump.

  Waking up in the night and finding Logan sleeping behind her snuggled in close, Hana still felt irritated and pushed him away. She wanted him to wake up, but he just stirred slightly and turned over, further denying the venting of her feelings. Hana was irrationally mad. Night time arguments were never a good idea but as she lay wide awake in their bed chewing over the day’s events, Hana felt as though a primitive side of her bayed for blood, wanting to fight back from the rejection and sense of betrayal. He was nearly dead a few days ago, you stupid girl, she told herself, and now you want to kill him!

  Hana lay on her back, one hand on her stomach and the other over her heart. She once heard it was a good way of getting to sleep, a steady rhythmic beat in alignment, making the brain focus inwards towards slumber. It was a load of rubbish. Hana lay there counting her heartbeats but couldn’t seem to align them between her stomach and chest. One seemed faster and she got confused and started again. She hadn’t eaten much and her stomach, thrilled with the attention, gurgled and groaned and put her off counting even more. Then she started worrying about her weight as her stomach felt flabbier than usual. She tried to suck it in. But her heart rate increased as she held her breath and her head swam. Hana didn’t want a repeat of earlier, so she stopped altogether with a sigh of irritation.

  In a temper, she got out of bed and stropped off to the kitchen, flicking the light on. A shape rose up from the kitchen table making her start and she clapped her hands over the scream.

  “You idiot!” she squeaked as Tama stood opposite her, his face streaked with tears. He didn’t have his cap on and wore a tee shirt and boxer shorts belonging to Logan. Without all his bravado, he looked fifteen years old.

  Hana softened, still wary in Tama’s presence, having seen what he could do with a crowbar. She skirted the table and switched on the kettle, keeping one eye on the teenager. The clock ticked past two in the morning. Tama sat back down at the table, nursing what looked like a cold cup of tea. “Want a drink?” Hana got out a mug and indicated his cup with her hand.

  “Yes please.” When Tama held his cup up to her with a shaking hand, he looked so defeated she began to find it impossible to hate him as much as she wanted. Hana fought her natural maternalism in the face of the teenage monster.

  She made tea in silence and fetched the toaster out of its cupboard, filling it with bread. Quietly she set two plates, knives, jam and butter on the table, toasting slices two at a time. Tama spread butter on his toast, watching as he put too much on and it slid off onto the plate in a yellow lake. He seemed transfixed by it as it puddled on the smooth white surface.

  Hana watched him play in the yellow mess, trying to crunch her toast inconspicuously, but the overcooked bread made her sound like a horse eating a carrot. She choked on a crumb and began to giggle like a fool. Tama looked at her, his face startled and then he laughed. Every time Hana got herself under control, Tama started again. “Oh, stop it!” Hana told herself and heard Tama snort. The situation was ridiculous. Their dislike was mutual, yet they sniggered over toast in the middle of the night like a pair of companionable drunks. Neither of them could eat properly and in an unspoken consensus, gave up.

  “I really, really do love Anka,” Tama said unexpectedly, wiping the smile off Hana’s face.

  She felt irritated and retorted unkindly, “So does her husband. And her children. So did I, for that matter. Now none of us can see her, because of you.”

  Tama pursed his lips. “I do know that.” He sat for a moment, head down, contemplating the mess on his plate. “I never dreamed it would start, but once it did, we couldn’t stop.” He looked up and stared hard into Hana’s face with frightening intensity behind his grey eyes. “I would never, never hurt her!”

  “No!” spat Hana, “But you’d attack my husband, from behind!”

  Tama looked down. Frustrated, Hana couldn’t read him enough to see if it was shame that hung his handsome dark head and prevented him looking up again. She cleared the plate away from in front of him, surprising herself by leaning closely into his face. “You wouldn’t have the guts to go for him if he was facing you!”

  Tama visibly quailed, his cowardice unveiled in its full dirtiness. Then he looked ashamed. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered.

  “Grow up Tama,” Hana said angrily, clattering the plates in the sink. “You want to be treated like a grown up. You want to have affairs with married women, but you don’t want to take the consequences.” She wheeled round at him, her hands soaked in suds. “You hit my husband from behind because he wouldn’t let you bully me into telling you where Anka was. I can’t believe he forgave you. Just like that! You don’t deserve it.”

  She turned back to the sink, fuming. That was it. She found the reason for her anger.

  “I don’t deserve it,” replied Tama quietly, “I know I don’t. Uncle Logan’s always been good to me. I wish he was my dad. It would be awesome.”

  Hana had no retort. Shaken, she changed tack feeling glad Tama wasn’t Logan’s. It would make life even messier. It was a selfish thought, but she justified it as one can all self-centred desires; especially at that time of night. “Why did you want to know where Anka was?” she asked. “The irony is, I didn’t know.”

  Tama looked up at her through the fronds of his dark fringe and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now really. I got her a ring. I wanted to get married. Want to see it? The ring. Do you want to see it?” He was up and along the hallway before Hana could answer and she was left standing with her hands in the warm water, wondering what she would say to h
im when he returned. Tama came back with a little velvet maroon ring box. He opened it gingerly as though it was more precious than life itself, displaying the gold ring with a delicate diamond carefully, handling only the box like it was too sacred to touch.

  It was beautiful and Hana’s reaction was genuine. “Wow!” It was exquisite and expensive. She daren’t ask where Tama got it, or what with. She didn’t want to know. He looked so innocent standing in her kitchen in his boxers, displaying his precious ring. His face was a mixture of pain and concentration. He looked like Jas as he explained the horse blob artwork to Logan, like it came right out of his soul and he birthed it himself. That important.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Hana quietly. Tama opened his mouth to speak. “No,” she said firmly, “I’m not telling you where she is. She’s my friend. I love her too and miss her dreadfully. If you pester me, you’ll have to leave. Understand?”

  Tama baulked at her firm tone, but conceded. They parted company, not friends, but having reached an understanding of sorts.

  Hana slept fitfully, waking up to a sunny Saturday feeling much less officious than the previous day. Logan was slow to get going but pleased to be home. Hana helped him with a shallow bath, managing not to get the dressing on his stomach or his plaster cast wet. The fire warmed the living room and Hana sent Tama down to get some wood. Hana noticed with interest how Tama found it almost impossible to look at Logan with the dressing exposed, his face shrouded in guilt. It pleased her, seeing the boy squirm.

  “Keep still,” Hana complained, wiping at the yellow surgical dye on Logan’s stomach with bathwater. “You’ll wet your dressings and I don’t want to redo them.”

  “Get in with me?” he invited her, mischief in his face.

  “No way! You’ll hurt yourself,” she giggled, pushing his hands away from the zipper of her jeans. She washed her husband’s hair and they snatched the stolen opportunity to talk without Tama’s constant company. “I can’t believe you just forgave him like that. After what he did!” Hana complained.

  Logan looked at her in surprise. “I thought Christianity was all about forgiveness,” he said, as she tipped the bubbly water gently down the back of his head, keeping her hand there to stop it going into his face in a rush. Hana felt a flush of shame and confusion.

  “Don’t throw my faith back in my face!” she retorted.

  “Sounds like a pick and choose kind of faith to me.”

  Hana gritted her teeth and stemmed the urge to bonk him on the head with the container she was using to wash the shampoo away. Logan unearthed an unsightly blemish on Hana’s character and she didn’t much like it. She could reason and justify every single part of her anger at Tama, but knew none of it would change Logan’s outlook on it. “He’s family. He was wrong. He apologised. What’s your problem?” Logan asked, his grey eyes like dark swirling pools of condemnation.

  But it’s not that simple, Hana raged inside, knowing all the time it was.

  She should have left Logan to his bath then and cooled off elsewhere, but Hana’s heart was sore and she felt antagonistic. “How come then,” she began, failing to note the warning in Logan’s eyes, “how come you run your parent’s place?”

  Logan’s jaw tensed as he answered her. “I don’t. Dad does.”

  Hana felt victorious, knowing how it felt to hunt. “No, he doesn’t,” she said, in an annoying sing-song voice, “you do. I could tell from the way the farm workers speak to you. And your dad asks your advice about everything. You run it.”

  Logan struggled up out of the bath, accidentally wetting the dressing they worked so hard to keep dry. Hana saw from the set of his face, she had only succeeded in making him angry and felt instantly sorry. He ignored her proffered hand and snatched his towel from the bath-side. Hana was remorseful and desperate, having achieved her ridiculous objective to upset him. “I just heard your dad telling you about guys with guns. Why else would you have to sort it out?”

  Logan glared at her, his eyes flashing darkly. “I’m a stakeholder. I know them. I don’t crap myself when they come near me with a shotgun!” He scrubbed at his body hard with a towel, making his luscious skin dapple. The effort made him look tired and his pallor greyed. He turned angrily, almost slipping in his attempt to exit the slippery bath. Water dripped enticingly from his black hair and Hana resisted the urge to reach out and wipe it away from his face.

  “You should have told me about the haemophilia!” Her tone was accusing and inflamed the situation.

  “Maybe I needed to know you were trustworthy before I started spewing my life into your hands,” he answered through gritted teeth. Hana stared at him in horror, the hair rising on the back of her neck in warning. Not again, her brain screamed out at her. You chose wrong again! She backed away from Logan and grappled with the door handle without turning round, her green eyes wide and gaping.

  Logan rubbed at his wet hair, naked on the bathmat and turned towards her. “Hana, I don’t know what you want from me!” he said, desperation very near the surface. His exclamation was wasted. The door was ajar and Hana was gone.

  Hana lay on her bed for an hour reading a book and trying not to think. Tama’s presence in the house inflamed the situation and she couldn’t make her thoughts coherent with him there. She regretted baiting Logan and reeled from his revelation. What else didn’t she know about him? How long before she was deemed trustworthy? In Vik’s case, it had been never. Hana reread the chapter heading for the third time and paused, hearing the William Tell Overture playing faintly in the house somewhere. She listened for a second, wondering where her phone was but not wanting to venture out to find it. It stopped and Hana turned back to her book, reading the chapter heading without interest again.

  The bedroom door opened slowly and Logan’s face peeked through the gap. A pair of white undies were pushed through and waved dramatically. Hana smirked with reluctance as Logan called, “Truce, truce,” from behind the boxer shorts.

  She set her book down on her knee and said, “Sorry,” even before he was through the door, amazed at the inner fire which trickled away the minute Logan’s grey eyes settled on her. He shrugged and sat by her, picking at a thread on her sock and putting her feet up on his legs. He held them there in his warm hands. “So, you actually took your undies off to wave at me?” Hana was curious.

  “Maybe,” Logan said coyly and held her off as she tried to pull his track pants away from his waist to see.

  “You did too!” she exclaimed and laughed. “Freak!”

  “Hana,” Logan began and his tone was deadly serious. She let go of his waistband and pulled her eyes away from the tantalising line of hair that disappeared into his track pants, resisting the urge to follow its lead. “Hana!” Logan grabbed her fingers and put his face in front of hers. “Some things are really hard to explain and if you don’t want me to spend my life lying to you, you’re gonna have to learn to trust me.” Logan’s glittering grey eyes were solemn as his gaze held hers and Hana found it impossible to look away. “I’m not going anywhere, Hana. I’ve got all the time in the world to work through the things we don’t understand about each other.” She looked down and opened her lips to list her grievances, but Logan pulled her chin up so she met his gaze again. “Besides,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips, “I’m Catholic and Catholics don’t get divorced. So you’re stuck with me!”

  “Yes, but…” she began, wanting to have her say. Logan’s lips pressed over hers, stopping her sentence and leaving it swirling unsaid in her brain.

  “I know all that. I get all the reasons why you’re upset. Just give me a chance, hey?”

  Hana nodded reluctantly as Logan lay down on the bed next to her and cuddled her in close. “I love you, Hana Du Rose,” he whispered into her hair and she snickered with the ticklishness of it. “Do you want to see where my truce flag came from?”

  “I know where it came from,” she grumbled stubbornly and Logan tickled her with his good hand until she squealed and gave
in.

  “You need a closer look,” he whispered into her ear and placed her fingers back onto the waistband of his track pants.

  As the afternoon grew cold, they snuggled underneath the duvet. They chatted for a while, about work, the house and how frustratingly slow the criminal justice system seemed to be. Hana must have nodded off because one minute they were talking and the next, she woke groggily with a sense that something was different. The television in the living room had played background noise as Logan entered the room, but silence surrounded them now. Their door was closed before, but as Hana poked her head out of the duvet, she saw it moving against a draught from the hallway. Hana bit her lip in embarrassment and hoped Tama hadn’t seen her naked. The voile curtains on the four poster were sheer, but tumbled around them as Logan flipped Hana onto her back earlier. She peered at the hallway, hoping they hid everything but the duvet cover.

  Hana sat up, extracting her body from Logan’s armpit. The house seemed silent and still and she wondered if Tama was outside fetching more wood. She padded down the hallway buttoning Logan’s borrowed shirt, surprised to find the front door unlocked.

  Going out onto the porch, Hana called out Tama’s name, but there was no reply. “Tama, stop being an idiot!” she shouted. No answer. The room he used was empty, nothing to show he was ever there at all. In the kitchen, Hana tripped over her handbag down by the table leg, wincing as she put her wrist heavily on the table to stop herself falling. She picked the bag up and looked inside for her phone, poking around in confusion when she couldn’t find it.

  A post-it note in the middle of the kitchen table caught her eye. Hana unstuck it and read the boyish scrawled handwriting.

  ‘Thanks for everything. Going home. T.’

  Hana shrugged and put the note back on the table, yawning, trying to suppress the feeling of relief. Then a sound made her jump. The William Tell Overture chimed out from somewhere nearby and she followed the noise, coming to a halt in the living room by the three-seater sofa. Her phone was pushed almost down the back of the leather seat. Hana picked it up and pressed a key, finding a text message flashing on the screen.