Hana Du Rose Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1 - 4

by Bowes, K T

  Vik was a good husband. The word of one person condemned him after death. It was unfair on Hana and on him. It was a blight, a crack. She needed to let it go. It needed to somehow not matter anymore.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” The voice was soft and creaked with age. Hana spun in her seat and acknowledged the slender woman with the walking stick as she paused to take in the beauty of the carving.

  “Yes,” she replied. “It’s breathtaking.”

  “Are you a tourist, dear?” the woman asked, smiling on Hana with benevolence. Hana shook her head.

  “No, I live above Hamilton. I just came down here for...my day off.” Hana bit her lip at the lie.

  The woman nodded. “My son’s visiting from England. His wife didn’t like this mural. She stood with her face against the glass and complained about all the joins. I told her to go where you are and look but she wasn’t interested. You can’t see them from there, can you?”

  “No,” Hana mused. “I was just thinking that exact same thing.”

  “She’s got no class, my daughter-in-law,” the woman grumbled, teetering towards the toilets on her stick. She farted loudly and it echoed in the narrow corridor. Hana stifled a snort, her hand pressed to her mouth as she prayed the old lady made it in time.

  The baby’s activity calmed to a steady rumble of elbows and knees through her tummy as Hana reached a level of tranquillity previously uncharted. A weight lifted and the dark cloud parted enough for her to see ahead. “I need to stop punishing Logan for Vik’s mistakes,” she resolved. “But it’s so hard.” Hana picked mud off the heel of her boot and thought about home.

  Reality pushed its way roughly into her thoughts, pointing out she had been absent and unreachable for the best part of a day. She kidded herself momentarily perhaps nobody had noticed, but thought it unlikely. Sheila had lined up a whole load of jobs for her and would have been concerned when Hana didn’t show. But she might have thought Hana called in sick at reception and they hadn’t passed it on. With any luck, Logan had done his classes and set off for the hotel as planned.

  Hana was tired of being alone, both the self-imposed exile of today and the enforced isolation of the house night after night while Logan rode around the country mopping up some other life he led before her.

  Wanting to hear his voice she pulled her phone out of her bag, stripped off the sanitary pad and turned it on. The small telephone image showed a red arrow and the number twenty-three. Eleven little unopened envelopes flashed on the screen. Twenty-three missed calls and eleven texts. Hana bypassed the flashing symbols and found Logan’s cell phone number.

  He wasn’t still riding his bike because he picked up after the first ring. “Hana?” His voice sounded reassuringly calm and level and Hana pictured him up at the hotel, sorting out problems and dealing with his mother. He hadn’t said what was wrong and she hadn’t been interested enough recently to ask. She paused, wondering what she actually wanted and how to ask for it. Maybe that was the problem with Vik. She never complained or demanded, just acted grateful for what she got, aware it was never really enough for him.

  “Logan,” she started assertively, “I don’t want to be by myself. I want to be with you. I’m tired of all the lonely evenings and not having you to talk things over with. It’s not meant to be like this. It’s too hard.” She waited for his reply and heard his soft breathing down the line, “Please will you come home?” she added, resenting the plea in her voice.

  There came the static of a long pause and then Logan spoke. “I am home, babe. It’s you who’s not here.”

  “Oh,” Hana whispered, feeling an idiot.

  “Come home Hana.” His voice was soft and soothing. Hana felt drawn to be near him, to curl up on the sofa next to his powerful body and erase today from her memory. To erase this day from every year for the rest of her life.

  “K,” she said simply and rang off.

  Du Rose Legacy

  Chapter 22

  At Culver’s Cottage, Logan slumped back onto the kitchen chair, feeling sick. He called Detective Sergeant Odering straight away. “She’s fine. She’s on her way home. No, I’ve got no idea where she’s been. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then he called Pete, Sheila and Angus separately.

  The next phone call was to his father, to explain he hadn’t set off from Ngaruawahia yet. “It’ll have to wait until the weekend, Dad. I can’t drive up again tonight.”

  Alfred was whiney and it wound Logan up. “Mate, you’re needed here. You started this and now we’re having to live with it. Reuben’s here most nights causing trouble. He says he only wants to deal with you. Your mother can’t cope. She wants you to retract everything. It’s making her ill.”

  “I’ve told you. Call the cops, it’s not hard!”

  “No, he’s my brother. I don’t want to do that.”

  “Whatever Dad! You supported me! It was you who encouraged me to see it through. It’s too late to stop it now unless Reuben agrees to settle and the way he’s behaving it’ll be best to see him gone.” Logan was short with his father and rang off, his patience fractured.

  Logan walked out onto the front porch and stretched in the cooling air, lifting his arms up above his head and bending his spine backwards. He felt like kicking something so he went down behind the garage and chopped a decent log into matchsticks with the hand axe to release the pressure in his head. He seemed to have spent half the day frantic and now Hana had called him, it was like someone had punched a hole in the side of the dam and everything leaked out, mixing as it rushed downwards. The tall Māori didn’t know what to do with himself or how to be with her when she got home. He wanted to kill her at the same time as crushing her to him. “Bloody women!”

  Logan got some of it out of his system and then cleared the hallway where he hurriedly dumped his bike gear and bag in the middle of the floor. He got out the toaster, boiled the kettle and tried to be calm and look domesticated. Pete called him the night before, concerned about Hana. Logan was living when Pete warned him to watch Hana because she was behaving oddly. “Mind your own sodding business,” he retorted, not even bothering to try and listen to what his friend was saying.

  “I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Pete tried again. “I get that. But about Hana, she’s always a bit cuckoo around now and she’s...”

  Logan hung up on his old friend, shaking his head and ignoring the warning.

  He was happily assessing his Year 13’s that morning when Sheila had popped her head around his classroom door. Grumpily he followed her out into the corridor. “Is Hana not coming in today?” she asked. “It’s just she hasn’t shown up for work and it’s not like her - not without ringing me.”

  Logan instantly imagined every horror under the sun and by that time it was already interval. Tearing out of the front doors in a panic, he ran smack into the relic from the physics department. “Oof!” the old man exclaimed as he stopped himself pitching backwards off the steps. “You’re as careless as that damn wife of yours.”

  “What?” Logan said, his eyes flaring to show the whites around the grey and the man gulped.

  “Her wheels screeched on the road this morning, outside the school,” he said in shocked tones. “All the boys saw. Some of them applauded.”

  Getting outside and clambering on his bike, Logan realised he had no idea where Hana might have gone. He said a number of highly unauthorised swear words to himself, glaring at a collection of Year 12’s in the car park who hurriedly moved along. He rode around town like a maniac before ending up at Amy’s.

  The house was deserted, empty paint cans littering the back step but no sign of anyone home. After wasting more gas, Logan headed home to his own unanswered messages on the answer machine. At home, he felt even more useless and poked around in the hall cupboard until he found Hana’s blue address book with the white patterned flowers. Logan rang Anka’s cell phone number and with gritted teeth spoke to her, irritated by her smug satisfaction at his obvious inadequacy. “Ho
w did you get this number?” she asked.

  “What are you talking about? You gave it to Hana.” He looked down at his wife’s neat writing in the book. She had crossed out two older numbers and squeezed this one down the side.

  “Yes well I didn’t think she’d give it to you! She promised she’d keep it secret. I don’t want Tama getting it again, thanks.”

  Logan huffed angrily. “Hana’s gone missing. We can’t find her. I wondered if she was with you.”

  “I haven’t seen her,” Anka replied, sounding smug. “Surely you know today’s the anniversary of Vik’s death,” she informed him in a silky soft voice. “It’s always hit Hana hard. It was a hideous time for her.”

  Pete’s failed warning came back to bite Logan hard. He ended the call without replying and sat for a long time in their bedroom, wondering how it was that this ghost managed to invade his life, so often and so cataclysmically. “She’s married to me now!” he shouted into the empty room and flung himself backwards onto the bed. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to go down into the garage, to the box containing Hana’s wedding photos from a quarter of a century ago and smash them to pieces. He got as far as the back stairs and managed to stop himself. Not this way, his sensible side told him, she has to come back to me because she wants to. Again he regretted their spat in the car a few nights ago. She told him she was fed up and he retorted with unkindness.

  Logan was relieved to hear Hana’s voice. As a parent who narrowly stops a child from running into the road he wanted to grab her, hold her and then shout himself hoarse at her. Logan didn’t know how he managed to keep it together on the phone. She still sounded distant and untouchable. He rattled around waiting for her, hearing the beep of the gate monitor as he knelt on the living room floor setting the fire for later. He gritted his teeth, rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his dark hair before pulling himself up. Stay calm, stay calm, he told himself like a warning mantra.

  Hana didn’t bother putting the car away but dumped it at the top of the rise. When she got out, she looked so fragile Logan’s breath caught in his chest and he knew he couldn’t be angry. Her face was white and she looked exhausted, dragging her feet up the steps. When he followed her into the house and turned to close the door, he saw mud and grass stains on the back of her coat. “Here, let me help you.” He took her coat off like a child and dropped it on the floor to deal with later. Hana held onto his shoulders while he bent down, unzipped her boots and pulled them off her feet, noticing the knees of her leggings were damp and wet also.

  Logan feared for his wife’s mental state, having grown up with Miriam’s unpredictability. He watched for signs of it in everyone he encountered, studying their behaviour towards him and keeping a safe distance just in case. But when he looked up at Hana, he saw a surprising peace in her eyes despite the mascara tracks which formed grey streaks, running like railway tracks down her cheeks.

  He was desperate to demand where she’d been, but couldn’t, terrified of screwing up further. Logan stood up and put his hands confidently on Hana’s upper arms. “I’ll run you a lovely bath. You hungry? I’ve got the toaster out.”

  Hana smiled serenely. She hadn’t eaten all day but wasn’t hungry. A warm bath sounded lovely. “Bath please?” she said and yawned.

  Logan smiled and kissed her stained cheek. He took her hand and led her down to the bathroom. No way was he letting her out of his sight. He poured bath crystals into the tub and ran the water at a decent temperature. Then he helped Hana get undressed, perplexed at how damp and wet her clothes were, as though she spent the day lying in a puddle. She let him undress her, calmly waiting like a child and holding onto his arm as she climbed into the big bath. Logan grabbed the matches and lit candles round the bath and on the windowsill, turning out the main light. It was an hour before dusk, but the day had become grey and the flickering light was gentle and calming. Hana sighed and smiled at her husband. She closed her eyes and lay back in the bubbles, but her hand on the side of the bath gripped as though seeking some exterior safety.

  “Sit up a sec,” Logan whispered. Hana opened one eye as he pushed her forward and climbed in behind her, laying her back against his chest. It was comfortable and safe as he wrapped his strong arms around her. Hana lay her head back on his shoulder while he placed soft, tender kisses on the side of her head and the water lapped warmly against her sides.

  “Mmnn so good,” she sighed. They stayed there for ages until the water cooled. Then Logan managed to buy them more time, turning the hot water tap on with his toe. He soaped the front of Hana’s body, enjoying the feeling of his fingers running lightly over her stomach. He was rewarded with a sharp kick, which made him start.

  “That’s so freaky,” he whispered. Hana snoozed lightly on Logan’s shoulder, aware of his touch and loving the naked contact with him. She kept her eyes shut but a small noise escaped her closed lips as a hiss, when Logan’s soapy hand passed over her belly button. It was as though the Loch Ness Monster appear from the still waters of the Scottish lake, rising and pushing the green water aside with its mass. Hana’s stomach contorted and became egg-shaped, as the thing inside rose almost higher than the skin could tolerate. Then it turned and dove back under its father’s hand, shape-shifting and moving. The bath water shuddered as a tiny fist poked through Hana’s fragile stomach, at the same time as a perfectly formed became imprinted opposite. There was a shudder and a depression of the shape and all was still again. The fist and foot receded inside and Hana subconsciously rubbed her hand over her stomach as if checking for holes.

  “Geez,” Logan breathed in complete wonder, “that was incredible!”

  Later, Hana sat in bed while her husband plied her with tea and toast. Once she started eating and drinking, her stomach woke up and accepted the nourishment but the threat of indigestion loomed, stopping her at half a slice. Logan was tender and gentle, asking nothing from her and Hana was grateful. The bath felt intimate and special and the baby had stunned its father with the impromptu aerobics. As the child became more restricted, its somersaults grew more painful and unwelcome, but it had been worth it for the sheer pleasure of watching Logan’s astonishment from the corner of her eye.

  Logan hitched up the DVD player to the television in the bedroom and they watched old action movies and a terrible copy of the English ‘Flint Street Nativity,’ which made Hana laugh until she had to visit the bathroom in a hurry. Logan was attentive, making sure he kept physical contact with her as much as possible. “Hana,” he said gently. “About the argument the other night...”

  “No, it was my fault.” Hana placed her fingers over his soft lips. “I overreacted. I had a lot going on and it all just piled up. I’m sorry I pushed you.”

  Logan took her hand, bringing his lips down to brush their surface. “Yeah but I said a mean thing. I was genuinely in business meetings. I won’t cheat on you, babe, not ever. It was a dumb thing to say.”

  Hana’s body stiffened and the silence between them seemed to lengthen. Her eyes took on a hunted look and Logan opened his mouth to speak. “Hana...” he began, a realisation beginning to blossom in his chest. She closed her eyes, her body rigid and Logan saw her jaw working through the delicate skin of her cheek. Hearing nothing, Hana turned her face towards her husband, her complexion pale and her eyes pleading. Logan smiled and stroked her hair. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  When they settled down to sleep, Logan kept his arm around Hana and his hand underneath her shirt, resting on the skin of her stomach. She relaxed eventually, allowing the brokenness to recede and leave her feeling cosseted and loved. Hana closed her eyes and savoured Logan’s devotion like a long, thirst-quenching drink on a hot day. “Do you think everything will turn out ok?” she asked into the silence as Logan dozed.

  “Definitely,” he replied with absolute certainty. “I’ll make sure it is.”

  “Do you ever collect memories?” she asked and Logan knitted his brow in the
darkness.

  “Not on purpose.”

  “I do. I’ve got them from as far back as I can remember, even my childhood. I save the sights, sounds and smells of a happy time and the feelings of the moment. Then in my worst times, I can walk back through them and promise myself the good days will come back.”

  “That’s cute.” Logan lay on his back with his arm around her neck, supporting her head. He sounded sleepy. Hana snuggled in closer, breathing in the warm scent of him. He always smelled of outdoors, hay, sunshine and wood smoking on an outdoor fire. The soap from the bath masked it. Hana separated the threads of Logan’s own smell and breathed them in so she would never forget. Her breath on his chest and down near his armpit made him shuffle as it tickled. Hana enjoyed the sound of him, his heartbeat strong and safe in his chest, shuddering through his whole body and his steady breathing, much slower than hers. He had a cute little sniff he sometimes did and when he was cross, it came out as a sarcastic snort like the big horses in the arena, the beasts he could bend to his will so easily.

  Hana loved his voice; the deep resonance of it and the occasional stutter he managed to hide almost all the time, unless he was tired or under extreme stress. Logan’s skin felt smooth but solid and Hana moved her hand over his chest, feeling the dusting of hair there. His stomach curved inwards under her fingers, flat and defined from all the work in the gym with the sports teachers. He was part of that clique of maniac sportsmen whom the other faculties watched from the balcony at lunch, running round the field track or doing short sprints, trying to beat each other. The teachers on the balcony clutched their generic pullovers closer and bit into their homemade sandwiches, trying hard to ignore the crazies behind them.