The Hana Du Rose Mysteries Collection

ABOUT HANA-2-3

Hana brushed her hand across her face, catching her lip and wincing in pain. She closed her eyes and let the heavy door shut behind her.

“Hana?” Gwynne Jeffs sat in her chair, displaying an unfortunate pair of stubby grey shorts which didn’t match his neat shirt and tie. She glanced at the reason; a series of painful looking grazes on his bare legs and knees. They oozed liquid stuff from beneath fragile scabs.

Hana’s conscious mind formed a sentence filled with thanks and platitudes for the ride home a few days earlier, but her subconscious had other ideas. She blurted, “Someone smashed my windscreen on purpose.”

Gwynne rose, his eyes narrowed to form a perplexed expression. The computer chair swivelled itself around and crashed into the desk. “Why?”

“I don’t know. But it can’t be a coincidence. They left a brick with a note on it.” Hana sank into Rory’s empty seat and nausea filled her chest.

The police arrived within a short time, not because it was the crime of the century, but because they maintained a community office up the road at Waikato Anglican Girls’ Grammar. Two male officers walked around Hana’s vehicle, taking photos and scratching their heads. One confiscated the brick, his fingers encased in latex gloves. Hana cringed and admitted that both she and the student touched it. Rewa seemed reluctant to share his observations with the boys in blue and hung behind Hana, feigning disinterest. The cop shoved the brick and its note into a clear plastic bag with a look of disgust. Behind the crime scene, a full class of boys rubber necked out of an abandoned lesson.

“What’s with the injuries?” One of the officers waved his hand to encompass Hana’s bruised neck and weeping lip. She opened her mouth to speak but unable to contain himself any longer, Rewa beat her to it.

“She upset the gangs. They smashed her and now they’ve smashed her car. They’ll go after every member of her family until they feel vindicated.” Pleased with himself, the boy took a step forward. “Did you know that windscreens are designed to do that thing where they hang like a curtain?”

“Okay, Rewa.” Gwynne shut him down. “You should get back to class.”

The boy shrugged. “Ah no, I’m wagging this afternoon, anyway.” He coloured beetroot red, realising his error amidst all the excitement. He shifted from foot to foot. “I might go to maths, actually.” He slunk away with Gwynne’s eyes boring holes into his back.

The cops subjected Hana to numerous questions regarding this crime and the attempted mugging a few nights earlier. Hana gave short replies, desperate to forget both matters as soon as her swollen lip and neck allowed it.

Gwynne stood next to her and commented only when spoken to. The officers circled the car again, drawing few conclusions. “Can I suggest you speak to the boys from there?” Gwynne pointed towards the science classroom. “They probably saw the whole thing. You’ll need to hurry before the bell goes or they’ll disperse to other lessons and you’ll have a bugger of a time finding them all then.”

They wandered across to Y block without urgency, failing to arrive before the bell sounded and sixty potential witnesses stomped away to different classes.

“This is a nightmare!” Hana hissed. “Vik bought that car for me. Why would someone damage it?” She buttoned up her emotions, resenting her body for its desire to show weakness through tears.

“It’s ok. I know how you feel.” Gwynne rubbed Hana’s shoulder as the police shrugged and talked amongst themselves amidst swirling teenage bodies, their attitude nonchalant.

“No, no you don’t!” Hana panicked. “After the accident, the insurance company wrote Vik’s car off. This and the house is all I have left!” She pressed her hands over her eyes and concentrated on her breathing as boys walked past, staring with childish interest.

Gwynne caught her arm and led her back towards the school building. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Why me?” Hana complained, hearing the ugly whine in her voice as Gwynne nudged her towards his car. “Everyone will think I’ve done something wrong. Rewa’s telling them I’ve upset a gang!”

“Hana, everyone who knows you will dismiss that theory. Don’t worry about it.” Gwynne’s started his truck’s engine and they left the grounds, heading north towards Chartwell. The mall hummed with daytime shoppers and Gwynne steered Hana towards the lift and the first floor food court. They headed for Starbucks and Hana found a seat in a corner while Gwynne ordered.

She stared at his back while he waited for drinks at the rounded servery, pondering the awkwardness of the other night. His loneliness called to hers but she resisted. Eight years of widowhood rested on her slender shoulders, apart from one small foray into relationship which ended without explanation after a few dates. Gwynne’s wife, Tessa died just after Vik, equally unexpectedly leaving them both nipping at the edges of isolation. Older than Hana, he looked wiry and capable. His blond hair greyed at the temples and into his sideburns and Hana felt for slumbering emotions within her chest. She wondered if Pete was right about Gwynne liking her. When she reached for a response from her heart, she received nothing outside of the usual numbness.

A vision of the commanding English teacher rose unbidden into her mind. She saw the taut fabric of his trousers stretch across his neat backside as he wedged long, thin fingers into his pockets and the muscular torso which strained against his shirt. She remembered the smell of his aftershave and the sense of maleness he exuded, experiencing a peculiar tingle begin in her stomach. His attractive grey eyes could stop her in her tracks with the force of his questing. She felt like she’d seen him before but knew she’d remember someone as imposing as him. “You’re a fantasist. He’s too young to be interested in you”, she told herself out loud, a familiar mantra over the last few weeks.

“Pardon?” Gwynne turned at the counter and Hana blushed red to the roots of her hair.

“Nothing,” she replied, closing her eyes against the embarrassment.

While Gwynne waited for their drinks and shot looks of interest at Hana, she consoled herself with people-watching. A young couple occupied a sofa, their baby parked next to them in a buggy. The infant mouthed on a toy in relative contentment while his parents argued in hushed voices overhead. The male sipped a latte, but the mother left her drink untouched. Hana sent up a silent, agonised prayer they sorted out their problems. At least they had each other. Vik went to work one morning and never came home.

Gwynne returned with the drinks. He bought Hana a hot chocolate and as she sipped it, she sought self-control. The couple with the baby left and Hana turned her thoughts to the brick through her windscreen. Gwynne broke into her reverie with his own conclusions. “This must be related to the other night.” He paused and observed Hana. “Not that I want to bring it all back for you.”

“I’m coming to the same conclusion,” she replied with a sigh. “Who have I upset? And why aren’t the police more interested? Those two cops didn’t seem bothered, did they?”

“Not really. But we’re a school and stuff gets broken all the time.” Gwynne raised his eyebrows and Hana saw, her heart sinking.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “The female officer rang once to say they’d had problems with the boy you caught. They haven’t contacted me since.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “But I turned my phone off yesterday because I went to Auckland with the media boys. I assumed they’d talked to you. What did the cop say?”

Hana shook her head. “Just that the boy was going to the magistrates’ court yesterday afternoon. Nothing since then.”

Gwynne rolled his eyes in frustration. “We know what that means. A few hours washing graffiti off community buildings, a slap on the wrist and away you go.”

The green corduroy chairs felt comfortable and safe in their unashamed simplicity. As Hana stared at the fabric, she registered the stains and crumbs thousands of people contributed to and pulled herself back to her own stark reality. She started and her jarring movement slopped chocolate from the white mug and onto the arm of the squashy chair. Hana fumbled for a tissue and dabbed at the sinking stain. “I should get back,” she said, guilt lacing her voice. “I left an hour ago on an errand for Sheila. She’ll think you kidnapped me.”

Gwynne gave a small smile and started to say something. Then he changed his mind and closed his lips. Hana laid her mug on a table decorated with sentences in different fonts. ‘Enjoy life - keep it simple’ the words said.

If only, Hana thought to herself.

Chapter 9The deserted school grounds condemned Hana by the time she and Gwynne returned. The final bell sent boys dribbling onto waiting buses, leaving the building and grounds silent. “I’m in so much trouble,” Hana muttered under her breath.

Gwynne patted her shoulder and smiled with paternal reassurance. “I’ll square it away. Don’t worry.”

Hana found her car keys sitting amidst a pile of detritus on her desk. Sheila had raided each of Hana’s drawers in her errand of mercy and created a mountain of stationery to be sorted through and replaced. But Hana’s truck stood where she left it that morning, sporting a brand new windscreen. A note stuck to her monitor told Hana she owed Sheila fifty dollars for the windscreen excess.

Donald, the formidable director of administration and Hana’s boss, accepted her apology for the desertion of her post. He answered the telephone call and told her to go home. Unbeknown to Hana, Alan Dobbs didn’t extend the same disregard for Gwynne’s casual abandonment of his notorious Year 10 class. “I taught them myself,” he boomed, traumatised by the experience and his blond wig on sideways. “Do they always behave like that?”

Gwynne refrained from commenting, apologising in the face of a fury he’d encountered numerous times. Experience told him it would blow over once Dobbs realised he wouldn’t argue back. Dobbs resorted to cruelty instead. “I don’t know why you’re wasting time on that admin assistant. Anyone can see she’s not interested in you.”

Gwynne set his jaw but refused to engage, waiting until Dobbs ran dry and then exiting as the man became bored with his passive opponent.

Back in the student centre, Hana contemplated her ransacked desk and upended belongings. She tinkered with the paperwork littered around the fringes of the mess, remembering her new year’s resolutions filled with courage and fresh new starts. Her mind strayed back to the tearful young constable who broke the news of Vik’s accident to her eight years before. The female probationer cried for Hana’s loss, great tears of sadness rolling down cheeks filled with horror. She knew Shelley didn’t remember. Perhaps it was better that way.

Hana walked into her kitchen just in time to stop her daughter disconnecting the phone call. “Mum, I love the sleep-suit. Elizabeth looks cute in it,” Isobel gushed. As they chatted, Hana grappled one-handed in her handbag for the photograph she fought so hard to keep possession of, deciding it was worth the cuts and bruises. Her stunning daughter smiled up from the creased picture, cradling her newborn in a possessive embrace. Baby Elizabeth’s name meant ‘the fullness of God.’ She’d already brought joy to her family and the tiny church Izzie’s husband pastored in Invercargill. Her name countered the frail understanding of people who would always view Elizabeth as incomplete. Her Down syndrome made her half an able person to them, instead of the complete, but handicapped blessing she would always be.

“I miss you all. Give Beth a kiss for me and I suppose you’d better give that errant husband of yours a hug. I know he’ll expect one.” Hana sounded wistful, her fingers straying to her throat as the picture fluttered to the table. Isobel rang off leaving her mother feeling empty and contemplating a long soak in the bath, a well-deserved glass of wine and the remains of a novel.