Hana Du Rose Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1 - 4

by Bowes, K T

  The last words betrayed her desperation and Logan was with her in two long strides, holding and reassuring her. He was smiling as he pressed the button, but now he was deeply concerned and held his squirming wife tightly to try and stem her rising panic. Her imagination was off and running wildly and in the end, Logan shook her roughly to bring her back to him. “Hana!” His voice was sharp and sounded cross and Hana looked up at him in bewilderment. “It’s. Fine.”

  His words came out through gritted teeth. At that moment, there came the grating of gears and the sound of an engine struggling with the hill. Logan dropped his arms from Hana and shoved his feet back into his boots. Going down the steps, he walked to the top of the drive ready to greet the guest. Hana stood paralysed on the decking and watched the flat backed truck climb up the last of the driveway, stopping with a shudder at the top.

  A man, their age, clambered out of the driver’s seat and went over to shake Logan’s hand warmly. “Kia ora,” he said with aplomb. He was a white pakeha man but extremely tanned and weathered. Despite the autumnal day, he was dressed in stubby shorts and a muscle top. Hana had taken off her jacket whilst she was digging but was still in a long sleeved shirt and just looking at the man’s attire made her shiver. A boy about twelve years old emerged from the passenger side of the truck and walked slowly round to the back. He seemed awkward as boy pre-teenagers often do but Logan, used to dealing with them, shook his hand warmly and the boy brightened up. Within a short while the truck was unloaded, backed up and freewheeled hairily down the driveway.

  All that time Hana remained on the deck like a statue, offering her most gormless wave and smile as they all turned towards her for approval after the unloading. Logan skipped up the steps toward her as the alarm sounded in the house for the lorry leaving through the gates. He smiled happily at her, wanting her to be pleased with the delivery.

  Hana did battle with an angry voice in her head, which repeated over and over again, I can’t live like this, I can’t keep doing this, whilst desperately trying to appreciate Logan’s thoughtful gift. The flat part of the driveway was full of plants. Beautiful daisies and bright green shrubs in colourful pots were placed randomly on the ground. There must have been fifty different varieties, lined up like little coloured soldiers waiting to be sent to their post. Hana buried her face into Logan’s fleece, reminding herself to start breathing again and to look as grateful as she knew she should. It was a neat thing to have done, to get plants delivered. She didn’t think of that and she would be so happy once she started planting and could admire them. But for now, the sick feeling wouldn’t go away. It seemed with every scare she had, it was taking longer and longer to come down afterwards.

  Hana stayed holding onto Logan, concentrating on taking long slow breaths. When the curious feeling started in her forehead, the tingling and numbing which seemed to spread and switch off her brain, Hana was almost relieved. Logan was surprised Hana hadn’t thanked him but enjoyed holding her in the sun. He was alarmed when she suddenly became heavy like a dead weight and as the stitches in his stomach pulled and tugged, he was forced to let her slide down onto the ground. “Geez, Hana, what are you doing?” Logan made sure her head went gently onto the deck, realising too late she wasn’t mucking around. He knelt down beside her, talking to her and rubbing at her cheeks. “Hana? Hana, what’s wrong?”

  She twitched a little but seemed to be out for the count. Just as he began scrabbling in his pocket for his phone to ring for help, she started to come round.

  Hana opened her eyes confused. At first she thought she was in bed asleep, but then heard the birds around her and the light wind in the trees and started to realise she was outside. Logan’s worried face above her told her something had happened and she wracked her un-obliging brain to try and ascertain what it was. Her body check told her she felt sick so she tried to sit up. Logan helped her by holding up her shoulders, but it was too late and leaning over the side of the deck, Hana threw up all over Maihi’s wilted cuttings.

  Logan was shocked. Hana sat for a moment after she was sick but felt amazingly better. Her husband wanted to call for a doctor, but Hana felt fine. “Maybe you just caught a stomach bug,” she convinced him, “and you gave it to me.”

  Logan wanted her to go to bed, but she actually did feel ok and after a cup of tea and the biscuit she asked for, Hana thanked him for the plants and then recruited his help with getting some of them into her newly prepared flowerbeds. “How did you know what to choose?” she asked him, as she happily buried the roots of a hardy Cape Daisy under compost. “And how on earth did you think of getting compost and bark chips and stuff?”

  Logan watched his wife carefully as she cut crosses in the weed mat, digging and planting, handing her things as she asked and being particularly attentive. “I emailed them last night after you went to bed. I wanted them to get some things together, told them what you were doing and asked them to deliver today if possible. Then I rang them this morning and paid over the phone. They’re local and were glad of the business.” He glanced around him, “Looks like nice stuff too.”

  “It is!” Hana exclaimed appreciatively, “It’s really great stuff. I love it.”

  Logan shifted awkwardly on the weed mat, where he sat down to hand her the scissors. “About before…”

  Hana’s interruption was instant, “I am absolutely fine. I got scared when the gate buzzed. I thought it was…well anyway, it was an overreaction. I’m fine now, you can see I am. The doctor said I hyperventilated. It’s all the stress that’s making me do that. I just need to concentrate on not doing it.”

  She carried on digging at a spot in front of her, hoping she had gotten away with it. Logan looked doubtful but didn’t mention it again. He glanced up at the mountain above them. “I need to get fit again,” he commented, “that walk up the hill nearly did for me.”

  “I saw you,” said Hana, “I saw you stop. You looked like you were on the phone. Were you ringing the plant man?”

  Logan looked shifty but fudged it. “I needed to keep stopping. Kept getting puffed out. I think I might go up and down the hill a few times a day this week until I start to get stronger. Then I can go back to the school gym. What do you think?”

  Hana sat back on her knees, resting her bottom on her wellies. “I think I might come up with you if that’s ok. I’m not doing any walking at the moment so it would be good to do it together.” She thought Logan looked momentarily put out. Perhaps he wanted to run it and Hana had no interest in doing that. Maybe she would hold him back. She made to retract her offer, but Logan took her hand and kissed it and told her not to be so silly. Hana pulled her hand back quickly.

  “I’ve got compost on my hands idiot! Don’t you know compost is dangerous? It’s got bugs in it, you’ll get sick!”

  Logan lay back on the weed mat, feeling its warmth through his fleece. He pretended to choke and die and Hana laughed at him and carried on planting happily.

  When Hana had done all the planting she could, Logan helped her to water up. They put the unused plants safely next to the deck and gave them water too. Logan helped her to stack the bags of bark and compost in front of them in case the wind got up again and then they locked up and went for a walk up the hill. Logan was right. Walking up that side of the property was even steeper than the route Hana took with Maihi and by the time they got to the top, both were puffing.

  At the corner of the fence line, Hana looked down and noticed a group of cigarette butts lying on the ground. “You didn’t come up here for a secret fag, did you?” she asked Logan.

  “What?!” he answered abruptly, looking shocked.

  “You know,” Hana said, “cigarette.”

  “No,” he answered, looking relieved, “you need to be careful using that word. Fag, means something really different here.”

  Hana stamped her foot impatiently. “There are cigarette ends here,” her voice took on a whine, “they weren’t here last time we came up.”

  Logan cam
e over to look, seeming more annoyed than worried. “Probably hunters. I don’t think anyone watching the house would be dumb enough to leave evidence like that!” The last words were spoken loudly and Hana looked at Logan curiously. He seemed agitated so she tried to change the subject, wrapping her arms around his waist and snuggling into him.

  “We could walk into the bush a little way and…” she reached up and kissed him, reinforcing the subtle suggestion by biting his lower lip gently. Logan’s reaction surprised her, gripping her forearms and leading her roughly away from the corner. Hana was slightly shocked. It couldn’t be because they were outside, as they had gotten quite fresh on her first visit to the hotel when they rode out into the bush, so Hana was perplexed. “What did I do?” she whined.

  Realising he had slighted her dreadfully Logan stopped and kissed her tenderly, explaining away his reluctance. “My side hurts still,” he whispered, indicating his painful ribs, but not before he heard the muffled snort come from beyond the bush line. Hana was oblivious but immediately felt contrite, kissing his chest by way of apology. Logan felt flustered and awkward, covering it with an enquiry about the route to Maihi’s house. Hana went ahead happily, looking for her bits of string while Logan looked behind him into the bush.

  His face, had his wife been able to see it then, was stony and hard and the mirth of the watchers disappeared as quickly as it began.

  After only a couple of mistakes, Hana managed to lead her husband to Maihi’s house. She was pleased he seemed impressed with the women’s handiwork and as they came over the rise, he was as enamoured with the house as Hana. Maihi flung the back door open at Hana’s tentative knock and hugged them both like long lost friends. “I was putting out dinner,” she said and brushed away Hana’s protestations and talk of coming back later, with a wave of her hand. “Come, sit,” she instructed them, indicating the large dining table. They kicked their boots off on the porch and went inside. The room was warm and cosy and the smell of food cooking created the age old welcome.

  Logan was instantly in love with the structure of the house and looked up appreciatively at the high ceilings and exposed beams. A large man bounded suddenly down the central staircase from an upstairs room. Logan was tall, but this man was even taller, broad shouldered and strong. He still had the huge moustache Hana saw in the photograph, but now it was copiously streaked with grey and white. A full head of glossy hair, still largely jet-black made him look younger than his years and his smile was wide and friendly.

  Having been introduced to them and announcing he was Hemi, he seized Logan’s hand and instead of shaking it, drew him into a hongi. Logan was easy with the action being Māori and stared comfortably into the big man’s eyes as they touched noses, each weighing up the other. Hemi then did the same to Hana and as she stared into his dark eyes, she felt as though the man penetrated her soul and read her mind. He let her go and opening his arms expansively boomed, “Welcome!” to them both, in a deep tone that reminded Hana of Alan Dobbs, the Deputy Principal.

  He indicated they should sit and when they were comfortable, he and Maihi held hands and lowered their heads. Logan shot Hana a look of confusion so she grabbed his hand in her own and then saw Maihi trying to reach for her other one. Hana smirked as Hemi’s giant paw seized Logan’s free hand. In Logan’s world, men didn’t show emotion, so holding hands with each other was an absolute no-no. Hana squeezed Logan’s hand tightly and lowered her own head as Hemi said a gentle karakia. Hana knew enough Māori to understand he was praying to Atua, God.

  The meal was wholesome and filling. Maihi made what Hana would call a casserole, but Hemi called it a ‘boil-up.’ It was full of flavour, a couple of different meats and lots of vegetables including kumara and taro. It had a smoky flavour, which was rather like a hangi, where the meal is put into the ground and smoked over hot stones and was absolutely delicious.

  They were each given a glass of wine, which Logan drank sparingly because of the antibiotics. When their hosts weren’t looking, Hana helped him out by quickly switching glasses with him but that only resulted in Hemi filling both of them again. They sat and chatted for the longest time, Hana feeling as though she had been drunk under the table by the end of two and a half glasses. Logan was still concerned about her after her faint and so drank his second glass by himself, although the effect was increased because of the meds he was on.

  “Thank you for letting us graze,” Hemi smiled as Hana helped Maihi clear away in the kitchen.

  “Oh, it’s no trouble,” Hana smiled and then felt awkward as she realised her host spoken to Logan. Her husband smirked and Hana bit her lip and looked away, feeling like she crossed some invisible line, beyond which she had no authority. It rankled her slightly for no apparent reason, even though Hemi could have no way of knowing Hana owned the house and land. Logan’s grey eyes danced and mocked her and she wanted to stamp her foot at him in irrational anger.

  By eleven o’clock they were a wobbly pair, who donned their boots and excused themselves, having had an unexpectedly excellent evening with their neighbours. Hana stumbled off the deck to walk up the hill, but Maihi stopped her. “You’ll get lost up there at this time of night,” she said, “Hemi, get them a bike, they can return it tomorrow, or whenever.”

  Hemi grunted in hearty agreement and strutted over to the barn at the side of the house. The fresh air hit Hana like a concrete block and doubled the effect of the alcohol and she was weaving around the driveway, trying to keep her balance. If Maihi noticed, she was far too well-bred to mention it. Logan seemed fine but only drank a glass and a bit, although the antibiotics made it worse. Out in the fresh air, he worried he had compromised the effect of his tablets and they wouldn’t work. He was sick of having stomach ache.

  The sound of a roller door moving on its workings disturbed the night and Hemi appeared, pushing a motorbike up the slope. It wasn’t like Logan’s bike, but some kind of off road machine and Logan whistled with appreciation. He went over and by the light of the porch, took a good look at it. He squatted down on his haunches and Hana giggled as she noticed his lovely backside sticking out from underneath his leather jacket. She remembered Sheila’s description of it as ‘two ripe peaches’ and sniggered to herself. It felt as though Sheila said it in a whole other life.

  A complicated discussion ensued between the men, clearly relating to the bike and somewhere along the line Hana learned Logan’s bike was a Ninja, which in her befuddled state she found much funnier than perhaps she should have. “Yeah, yeah, I used to have one of these,” Logan said enthusiastically. “I stripped it down myself. Awesome little runner.”

  Logan lifted his long legs over the bike and looked instantly at home, kick-starting the motor with a few powerful strokes of the pedal. With some difficulty, Hana tried to get on the back and in the end Hemi bodily lifted her there. “Youse weigh nothin’,” he said as Hana gripped the back of Logan’s jacket, wide-eyed.

  Her mother-in-law said to her after her wedding, ‘You can’t marry a biker and not get used to being pillion,’ after discovering Hana had never been on Logan’s bike. But Hana pictured a more sedate and romantic moment for her first go. She pointed roughly in the area of her head and asked Hemi for a ‘thingy’, but he simply shook his own bushy head at her and replied he didn’t have any. Hana was dismayed and felt sick at what her policeman son would have to say about this and about the fact her husband was about to drive helmetless on a public road, on an off-road bike probably without a warrant of fitness, tax or insurance, ever so slightly tiddly with alcohol. They were going to die, she knew it. Who would know? Who would feed Tiger?

  Logan set off down the drive, stopping at the top to wave his thanks. To her horror Hana discovered even in the darkness, Maihi’s driveway was equally as bad as theirs for steepness, ruts and bends. She closed her eyes and prayed. Just before a particularly nasty bend, Logan brought the bike to a sliding stop and turned to speak to Hana as the engine ticked over loudly. He shouted to make her hear
him. “Honey, can you help me out here?”

  Hana opened her eyes and leaned forward to listen, nodding although he couldn’t see her. “Sorry, yes?”

  “Could you stop gripping my stomach, please? I think you’re going to bust my stitches.”

  Hana nodded again, released her grip and scrabbled around for something else to hold onto. She settled for putting her hands on his shoulders. She closed her eyes, ready to lurch again, but Logan hadn’t finished. “And can you stop squealing?”

  Hana was surprised. Squealing? She didn’t realise she was. She nodded again and satisfied, Logan set off down the hill. It was a treacherous descent and Hana heaved a welcome sigh of relief when they came to rest at the bottom.

  But it wasn’t over yet and Logan pulled out left onto the Hakarimata Road and picked up speed. Hana fought the urge to cry out, satisfying herself by screaming help, help, help, in her head instead. She resisted the bends, accidentally leaning the wrong way from Logan and feeling the wheels slew underneath them, but he was an experienced rider and corrected it easily.

  They were suddenly at their driveway entrance and Hana realised two things in quick succession. Firstly and most importantly, they didn’t have a remote, so probably couldn’t get in. But Logan rode up to the intercom and for the first time, Hana noticed a keypad. He punched in some numbers and the gates slid happily apart. So, now for the second major anxiety. They needed to negotiate the upward slope of their own death-defying driveway. It was a trail bike, as Hana later discovered and so was designed to master difficult conditions, leaping up the slope with spark and confidence. Its headlamp lit up the road ahead brightly, allowing Logan to avoid the worst of the potholes and dips and they were at the top of the slope in very little time.

  Logan kicked down the bike stand and rolled the machine backwards onto itself so it was free standing, before sliding casually off and standing next to it. Hana, on the other hand, felt welded to it and didn’t know how she was ever going to get off again. Logan held his hands out to help her, but it was some five minutes before she managed to extricate herself from the bike and sit down on the porch steps for a moment to collect herself. The bike sat on the driveway, clicking and humming quietly to itself as its engine cooled, but a distinctive smell of burning rubber surrounded it. “The wind is getting up,” Logan commented, “the bike would be better off in the garage for the night. What’s that damn smell?”