Hana Du Rose

by K T Bowes

“Did too,” he countered. “I’ve been in enough tight spots to learn to think on my feet. After the initial panic, I remembered posting a key and gate code to Bodie before the wedding. I asked him to stay in the house and check on the cat before the party. It could only be him.”

  “Oh.” Hana frowned in concession.

  “Why did you fight me for the damn rolling pin?” Logan asked. He traced light circles on her back with his index finger.

  Hana pouted. “I thought your arm hurt and that if I could get the rolling pin, I could protect you.”

  Logan laughed and realised his mistake as Hana looked offended. He tried to placate her. “Sorry. Nobody ever tried to take care of me as you do. That’s the second time you’ve done that.” He moderated the seriousness in his tone and tried to diffuse the tension using humour. “It’s just as well you couldn’t reach it, otherwise you’d be in a police cell right now. Not the best idea to bludgeon your cop-son with a rolling pin, especially when I gave him a key!”

  “I guess not.” Hana smirked.

  Logan sighed. “I’m cross with myself, anyway. The Maglite in the drawer should have been my first thought. Not a bloody wooden rolling pin.”

  Hana nodded and stroked his wrist, the clamminess of his skin making her anxious. “You’ve had a lot on your mind recently,” she soothed, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  Logan frowned and dispelled her fears with easy platitudes.

  Bodie left after breakfast the next day, eager to see his son’s gold certificate. “He earned it for neat handwriting,” he said with pride in his voice. “I’ll check out my billet while I’m in town. I’ll leave everything downstairs if that’s okay. Then I can fetch it once I’m settled.”

  “It’s fine, Bo.” Hana smiled and waved to him as the engine started.

  “Won’t your husband mind?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

  “No.” Hana bit back a retort and walked up the porch steps, hating the growing antagonism between her men.

  Logan settled in front of the lounge fire catching up on his marking. He balanced a tray on his knee and made scrawled marks on exercise books with a sketchy right hand. Occasionally he grunted in annoyance. Hana tidied around, fighting with a long tape measure and writing numbers on a pad. She measured every window and toyed with the idea of making her own curtains to keep the cost down. Logan discovered her standing on a chair in the bedroom with her arms stretched across the gap. “What are you doing?” he demanded, placing his hand in the centre of her back to steady her.

  “Measuring for curtains,” Hana said. “If you keep walking around naked, someone might see.”

  Logan snorted and lifted her off the chair with one arm wrapped around her waist. He lowered her to the floor. “Only if they use binoculars.”

  Hana slid along his body and gave a mischievous giggle. “Ah babe. Don’t put yourself down.”

  Logan’s brow knitted in confusion until he realised her meaning. Then he pinned her to the bedpost one handed and kissed her. “You have a dirty mind, Hana Du Rose,” he sighed, breathing into her neck.

  Hana giggled and a sound outside made her jump, banging Logan’s arm. He hissed in pain. “Sorry,” she whispered, the moment ruined.

  “Why are you whispering?” Logan’s hushed voice mirrored hers.

  “I don’t know. I wondered if Bodie came back for something.” She slipped out from under him and ran to the window. “Just a sparrow in the eaves,” she whispered.

  Logan gave a slow shake of his head and chewed his lower lip. “You wanna make curtains?” he asked and Hana nodded.

  “The money came from Achilles Rise,” she said. “I can use that.”

  Logan shrugged. “I set up a transfer for half the mortgage fee plus additional for bills and food. It should have gone into your account yesterday. Did you check?”

  Hana wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “We’ve had this discussion, Hana. I’m over it.” Logan jerked his head towards the bedroom doors which opened onto the terrace. “Do you own a sewing machine?”

  “Yep.” Hana hugged herself with excitement. “It’s years old, but it still works.” She skipped across to Logan and placed her palms against his chest, avoiding the sling. “Logan,” she mused aloud. “Now I’ve done the measuring and got an idea of colour, I feel desperate to go into town and buy some material.”

  Logan ran his hand through his fringe and eyed Hana with disbelief. “So you want to drive into Hamilton? Where you know there are people who want to hurt you?”

  “But we’ve been fine this last week, Loge. Can we?”

  “You have a short memory, babe.” Logan turned and walked away. Hana skipped behind him. “You’re safe because we’ve ducked and dived all week. You think I like walking through the gully every morning?”

  “I guess not.” Hana’s shoulders slumped, her creativity leaking out through the soles of her feet. “Okay,” she conceded.

  She made Logan a coffee and took it to him, sitting on the sofa while he drank. “This room is annoying me,” she stated. “It’s the dirty grey walls and the furniture not pushed back against them.” Hana sighed as she glanced around the room. The bare windows looked vast and the greyness of the day poured in uninvited. “It’s depressing.”

  “No way!” Logan exclaimed. “You can’t wear me down.”

  “Please?” Hana begged. “Just a tiny trip. There and back. I’ll run in and out again.”

  “Look,” Logan said, turning sideways on the sofa. “It’s stressful enough having to take alternate routes to work every day, without trotting into town in your car and giving someone the opportunity to follow us home.”

  “What about the Huntly hardware place then?” Hana whined, putting her chin on his shoulder as she curled up next to him, “I’d settle for some paint.” She gave a big sigh and stuck out her bottom lip in a sad face. Logan laughed at her, ruffling her hair but not giving in.

  “I can’t wallpaper or paint at the moment.” He held up the plaster cast. Hana saw the skin poking out from underneath. It looked powdery and dry, starved of light and air. Logan’s grey eyes watched Hana’s disappointment and he reached out to stroke her cheek. “We don’t know what Ethel Bowman told this guy. She may have heard the words Huntly or Ngaruawahia and sent him searching up here.”

  Hana gave a sigh of defeat. “It’s not fair.”

  Logan stroked her cheek, sensing the beginnings of cabin fever. “Look, it’s hard, I know that. It’s not fair, I agree, but I don’t know how to keep you safe any other way.”

  “I just have so much to do,” Hana groaned, pouting.

  Logan’s shoulders stiffened and Hana felt him relent. Part of her knotted up and wished he wouldn’t. She liked pushing against his boundaries and the devilment in her responded to his negativity with challenge. “What if we disguise ourselves and go north?” Logan asked. “Check out Te Kauwhata. That would be safer because we could go across country.”

  “Really?” Hana threw her arms around his neck, pulling back at his grunt of pain. She narrowed her eyes. “Do you need more painkillers?”

  “I’m fine.” Logan shook his head. “Grab the phone book and let’s see what we can find.”

  Hana found a fabric shop listed in Te Kauwhata with a decorator’s warehouse next door. “It’s on the new industrial estate on the outskirts,” she said, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “I’ll get ready.”

  She tied her long hair into bunches and found a black beanie to wear on top. A dark hoodie and tracksuit pants completed her ensemble. “Look, I’ve made an effort,” she said, twirling in front of Logan.

  He smirked. “You look like a burglar.”

  “Oh.” Hana looked at her strange ensemble and frowned. “Should I change then?”

  “No, come on. Let’s get out of here.” Logan pulled a baseball cap over his dark hair, still oozing testosterone despite the broken arm and
the stiffness in his body. They locked up and left, Hana driving.

  They headed north to the Tainui Bridge and across country to the little town of Te Kauwhata. Hana remembered the address but forgot to bring a map. By chance they found the decorator’s warehouse first. The expedition cost them a small fortune as Hana fought her resolve to do one room at a time and steamed around the shelves like a game show contestant. “I don’t know when you’ll let me out again,” she argued as Logan trailed behind her carrying her bargains.

  “Probably never, at this rate,” he grumbled under his breath.

  Hana bought paint for the living room and hallway and twelve rolls of wallpaper to do a feature wall in each. Finding the fabric store, she behaved like a child discovering an unmanned sweet shop. “I love this place!” she gushed, wandering around with random swatches of material. Logan stumbled along behind, towing a heavy roll of calico.

  “What’s this for?” he complained.

  “Curtain linings. I need it.”

  “Okay.” Logan sank into a nearby chair. “You keep going and I’ll catch you up.” He waved her away and leaned his head back against the wall. His fingers worried at a loose thread on top of the roll and he remembered his mother with her old sewing machine, patching holes in their clothing with strange and inappropriate material.

  Logan forgot he had Hana’s phone in his jacket and jumped as it rang, fumbling one handed in his clothing. He winced at the pain radiating from his left side, dropping the phone twice before he could answer it. As he pressed the button, he heard it disconnect. The screen showed a missed call from Bodie, so he rang him back. “Your mother’s around here somewhere. Oh, crap! I can’t see her now.”

  Logan heard a child in the background asking questions and the noises of a busy, populated area. Bodie grunted. “Amy’s gone on shift and I’m taking Jas to McDonald’s. I’m ringing because I found something out. I called in to see an old mate in the criminal investigations unit and mentioned the name Laval in the course of the conversation. I told him about all the incidents with Mum. He acted real coy, but I’m telling you, his eyes went out on stalks at the mention of that guy’s name. It looks like the link to Ethel Bowman’s boyfriend is solid.”

  “Perhaps he used his real identity after all.” Logan gnawed his bottom lip. “I guess he’d need his own name if the intention is to take money off Mrs Bowman. He’d need a legitimate bank account. It’s got too hard to get cash or open cheques nowadays. Most people are too scam-savvy, although there’s always the odd one.”

  Bodie coughed. “You know an awful lot about the subject,” he bit and Logan sighed and shook his head. “I gave the detective enough to whet his appetite, knowing he’ll come back for more once he makes the links, if they’re founded. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for my mother to wander around the country.”

  Logan agreed, balancing the roll of calico against the chair and wincing as the weight shifted against his broken arm. “You try keeping her indoors,” he grumbled. “She’s buying curtain material.”

  Bodie roared with laughter. “Good luck with that, dude. I never had you down as a sucker. I still have mental scars from the time she made my bedroom curtains an inch too short.”

  Hana appeared from behind a shelf, trailing a tired looking shop assistant. She gave her husband a beatific smile. “I’m making them all myself,” she announced. “On my sewing machine. It will take me ages.”

  Logan sighed, whipped out his visa card and paid the bill, hoping to goodness it did take her ages. “Make it last,” he grumbled. “Because we’re not doing this again.”

  “What’s happened?” Hana demanded, but he raised his eyebrows to silence her.

  The Honda pulled up the driveway without mishap or incident, but it took Hana a good fifteen minutes to unload the huge packets of material, wallpaper and paint. She saw Logan’s exhaustion in his pale face and lacklustre grey eyes, refusing his help and sending him indoors for painkillers. “I’ll be fine,” she lied. “I’d rather have a cup of tea. Maybe you could boil the kettle.”

  The wallpaper proved heavy and the rolls slid around inside the massive carrier bag, but Hana hefted them up the front stairs and left them at the top. Then she brought up the paint and extra brushes and packets of paste, before dropping the Honda down the slope and into the garage. Back upstairs, she buzzed with excitement and wished she could clone herself and make curtains, paint and wallpaper all at the same time.

  Logan looked dreadful. Hana squashed her overflowing enthusiasm for the project and turned her attention to him. “Hey, come out of the way,” she said, shoving him with her hip and taking the kettle from his hand. He leaned against the kitchen bench, trying to swallow his tablets without water. “Idiot,” she murmured, pushing him gently in the ribs.

  The manner he jumped away from her and the grey look, which swathed his face, alarmed Hana. “What are you hiding?” she demanded. Moving the plaster cast aside despite Logan’s protestations, she lifted his sweatshirt.

  “Leave it!” Logan hissed.

  Hana’s mouth opened in horror. “Logan!” she exclaimed. The awful black and red bruise reached around his body, covering more than she remembered. It bled beneath his ribs and into his stomach like thread veins.

  She thumped the kettle on the side and pointed towards the hallway. “Get back in that car!” she ordered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hana reached the outskirts of Ngaruawahia before remembering her phone languished forgotten in Logan’s jacket pocket. Her stupidity slapped her in the face as familiar streets sped by, knowing she risked exposing herself to danger. She stayed as vigilant as she could with Logan grumbling to himself in the passenger seat.

  “The wait-time is an hour,” the doctor’s receptionist droned, chewing her gum so that Hana could see it swilling around on her tongue.

  Hana took a steadying breath and tried again. “You still have the paperwork from the cast you put on my husband, so I’d be grateful if you’d at least get a nurse.”

  “Nope,” the girl intoned. “The wait time is an hour. I don’t care what paperwork you have.”

  “Fine.” Hana gritted her teeth and turned to the woman next in line. She rested a hand against Logan’s chest as he propped himself up against the counter. “They’re rubbish here,” Hana said, jerking her head towards the receptionist. “Look what they missed last weekend.” She wrenched up Logan’s shirt to reveal his purple ribs. Blood threaded beneath the skin and he grunted and fought Hana’s hand. Grey patches appeared in his complexion and Hana let him pull his shirt down and offered him an apology with her eyes. She maximised the attention she’d drawn from the waiting room. “I wouldn’t bother waiting,” she said. “How can they miss an injury that big?”

  The seated members of the waiting room glanced around at each other. A mother with a small child in tow stood and lifted him onto her hip. “I already paid,” she said, looking at Hana for guidance.

  Hana glanced back at the counter to discover the receptionist gone. She jumped in surprise when an angry nurse appeared from a passage to the side of the waiting room. The gum-chewing girl slipped from behind her, sidled to her chair and sat down. She leaned around to Logan to shout, “Next!” Her grin at Hana showed courage emboldened by the presence of reinforcements.

  “Come through!” the nurse snapped, aiming a glare in Hana’s direction. Logan shook his head, too weak to voice the irritation in his eyes.

  “Sorry,” Hana hissed to his rigid spine.

  The nurse looked at Logan’s torso and called a heavyset male doctor with a crooked eye. He in turn left to make a phone call. When he returned, he looked sympathetic. “The emergency room is waiting for you. Can you drive your husband or should I call an ambulance?”

  Logan swore and Hana gaped. “Hospital?”

  The doctor nodded. “Yeah.” He turned to Logan. “I could give you an ultrasound scan but I’d rather they did it. They have pain relief and the ab
ility to take you into surgery if the need arises. All I can do is make it worse. I’ll give you a shot for the pain, but they’re waiting for you.”

  “Surgery?” Hana’s voice rose an octave or three.

  The nurse had lost her angry expression and rested a hand on Hana’s shoulder. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  Hana nodded. “Yes, please. Can you call the police station and ask for Bodie Johal or Amy? I don’t know Amy’s last name but someone there must. Please can you explain for me?”

  “Bodie?” the nurse repeated and left at Hana’s nod.

  Logan lay on the gurney and glared at Hana. “This is a joke,” he hissed and she licked her lips.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But I can see how bad that is.”

  The doctor nodded in agreement. “Yep. Broken ribs and perhaps a ruptured spleen. That’s my educated guess.” He shook his head at Hana and pulled her aside beyond the flimsy curtain. “I don’t know how he remained upright, the mess he’s made of his insides. Your husband must have an inhuman pain threshold!”

  Hana swallowed and nodded. “He kept it hidden once he knew I saw it.” She lowered her voice. “It’s all my fault.”

  “No, it’s not.” The doctor smiled at her in sympathy. “What about the other scars on his body?”

  Hana swallowed. “He had accidents as a child. One of them is a childhood hunting incident.”

  The doctor nodded. “I’ve checked and we don’t have his notes. The hospital system recognised his name so perhaps they’ll have more idea about what’s gone wrong.”

  Hana shook her head. “He’s from Auckland. I don’t think he’s ever been to the Waikato hospital.”

  The man shrugged. “Ah well. Maybe it’s someone with the same name, but he’s on their records.”

  “That must be it.” Hana took a deep breath. “Tell me where to take him.”

  The drive into Hamilton proved torturous. Logan slumped in the passenger seat with a cocktail of drugs winging through his system. Hana battled with selfishness for forcing him to take her shopping earlier. She punished herself with odd little details, letting them merge into a damaging list. “I should have noticed you didn’t manage a full plate of food in a week. This is my fault. I knew you hurt. I should have done something.” Hana writhed in the driver’s seat, guilt screwing her stomach into tight knots.