The Hana Du Rose Mysteries Collection

ABOUT HANA-2-1

Gwynne sighed as he started the engine of his truck and it roared to life on the steep gradient of Hana’s driveway. Disappointment ate away at his heart. Disappointment and regret at the state of the world. His phone rang and he grappled to retrieve it from his jacket pocket. “Hey Eddie,” he said with a sigh. “Yeah, I just dropped Hana home.” His brow furrowed at something the other teacher said and his reply sounded terse. “No, she didn’t invite me in. Stop it, man. She’s had a terrible shock.” He backed the truck out one handed into the dark street and shook his head, watching for traffic. “Yeah, it makes ya sick, doesn’t it?” He trapped the phone between his chin and shoulder and cranked the gear leaver into first. “Hana didn’t recognise the kid; she probably never came across him. Yeah, of course I told the cops. I had high hopes for that boy and then his mother pulled him out of school.” Gwynne swore and checked the road at the intersection. “I’m on my way home. Don’t say anything to Hana for now. See what the cops do.”

He turned right and drove home, his heart heavy for a multitude of reasons.

Chapter 6Hana arrived at work late the next morning, flustered and apologetic. She failed to cover the angry welts on her throat or the tender cut on her lower lip, despite desperate efforts in the mirror. Angus accosted her as soon as her feet hit the parquet floor of the reception. “A quick word, Hana,” he said, ushering her into his inner sanctum.

Hana sent up a silent prayer he wouldn’t require the gory details and wasn’t disappointed. Angus settled into his worn leather chair and eyed her over steepled fingers. “Take a few days of leave on full pay while your injuries heal,” he suggested.

Hana took a moment to contemplate her empty home and far too much time spent gawking in the mirror. She anticipated the unhealthy cycle of staring, prodding, crying and staring some more at her sore parts. “No thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d rather keep busy. I’ll stay in the office, so nobody sees me; I know I look hideous.”

“Hana, Hana, that’s not even a consideration. Do whatever you think best but go home if you feel unwell.”

Her morning went fast. Hana was thankful for the activities which kept her mind off the night’s events and the disquiet she found creeping into her thoughts at inopportune moments. She took a phone call from the nice police lady around mid-morning. “We’re still pursuing our enquiries, Mrs Johal. The youth apprehended last night won’t talk. He’s going through the magistrates’ court this afternoon, but I think he’ll just get a slap on the wrist or youth custody. I’ll keep you updated though.”

Hana thanked Shelley for her promise and fervently hoped she wouldn’t. She nursed a desire to never hear another word about it. On that note, she avoided the staffroom teeming with people and gossip, choosing to take her short breaks in the relative safety of the student centre.

Logan Du Rose sat at the table nearest the ranch slider, marking exercise books with a frown as Hana slipped past on the way to the post room. She clutched a scarf to her bruised throat and skittered by, dreading the attention of his unnerving grey eyes. Skirting the kitchen, she focussed on the rear doors, allowing herself five minutes before the next bell rang for lesson change. Logan ran his right hand through his hair and from the corner of her eye, Hana noticed the dark, glossy curls tumble over his long fingers.

“Oh, bloody hell!” There was a crash as the double doors at the end of the staffroom opened into her face and a large, fleshy body cannoned into Hana, sending her flying backwards into the staff whiteboard.

Hana grunted in pain as her back contacted the metal and it bent underneath her. A whoosh of air left her lungs and her ribs sent out distress signals which bent her body into a ball of pain. The staff member she collided with drew herself up to her full height and glared at Hana with spiteful, gimlet eyes. “You support staffs is useless,” Alberta Lenska screeched in her broken English. She waved a chemistry textbook in Hana’s face. “Stupid leetle voman! You bend it.”

Hana moaned an apology and forced her body upright, performing a mental check to see if her poor body had shattered under the second onslaught in less than twenty-four-hours. The whiteboard behind her made popping noises as gravity reshaped it. Alberta pushed her threatening face into Hana’s, ignoring the shortened breaths issuing from Hana’s lungs or the look of agony on her face. The terrifying Russian woman was capable of reducing both students and staff to tears with her jaded outlook on life and unsmiling persona. In fifteen years, Hana witnessed enough whiplash injuries from Alberta’s violent tongue to know she should extricate herself from the situation with haste.

“It was an accident; I’m sorry,” Hana managed as the woman loomed in front of her. She pressed herself backwards, smelling the whiteboard marker pen as it transferred itself to her white blouse.

“Just get out of way!” Alberta bit. “I need to see board!” She advanced, shoving Hana roughly aside like flotsam. Hana’s face reddened with humiliation at seeing Logan’s distinctive cowboy boots appear behind the Russian.

“What’s your problem?” he asked, advancing into the chemistry teacher’s personal space and dwarfing her. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

Alberta fluffed up like an offended porcupine and her eyes bulged. She lifted her famous prodding finger and Logan shook his head. “Keep it to yourself,” he said, his tone acerbic. He offered his hand to Hana and she gripped the long fingers, allowing him to ease her free from the tiny space between Alberta and the whiteboard. She edged around the chemistry teacher’s florid body and found her flushed cheek against Logan’s hard chest. He kept hold of Hana’s hand and leaned in towards Alberta’s face, his voice deep and resonant. Hana gulped. “If I ever hear you speak to anyone in this school like that again, I’ll put in a formal disciplinary complaint.”

Alberta bristled and stuck her nose in the air. “Nobody listen to support staffs,” she smirked. “They is nothing. Is been tried before.” Her multiple chins wobbled and the blonde bun bounced on the back of her head. She glanced in Hana’s direction with a look of sly victory. Logan jerked his head towards Hana.

“Not her, me!” He took a step closer to Alberta and Hana shimmied sideways, unable to break the grip of his hand on hers. “I’m not scared of you, lady. Do you wanna test me?”

The colour faded from Alberta’s face and the chemistry book shook in her hand. Hana steeled herself for the woman to throw one of her familiar tantrums, but for once it didn’t come. Power surged from Logan’s body and the other two staff members in the room watched in fascination as Alberta shook her head. “No. You is not scared of anyone.” She lowered her eyes to Hana’s face and wariness replaced spite. “Excuse me,” she said to Hana with a modicum of politeness and waited for her to move.

Hana exhaled a ragged breath and shifted from in front of the list of events on the whiteboard. Her whole body trembled and she peered in confusion at Logan’s hand. His olive fingers were long and beautifully formed, but ruined by myriad cuts and scars which criss-crossed the flesh as though he’d pushed his hand through glass. She felt the scarf at her neck slip and snatched her hand back, working the soft material into a knot to cover her throat injury. The cut on her bottom lip oozed and she pressed her top teeth over it, desperate to hide her weakness. “Thank you,” she whispered in a small voice. Without looking up, she turned and ran from the room. The English teacher’s grey eyes bored into her back as she let the double doors slam behind her, taking refuge in the bathroom instead of the post room.

Seeking refuge in the furthest cubicle, it was fortunate she couldn’t see the back of her white blouse which now bore the words ‘Swimming Sports’ backwards in purple whiteboard marker. Hana peered at her hand in confusion, aware of the thrill of electricity which still coursed through her fingers. She lifted them to her nose and smelled the faint scent of aftershave. Despite herself, she smiled.

Chapter 7The next day heralded a visitor from a North Island catering college and Miss Henrietta Dawlish arrived on the dot of twelve o’clock, in plenty of time to set up in the common room. Anka phoned Hana from reception, holding her hand over the receiver. “That massive woman’s here,” she stage-whispered. “She’s even bigger than last year.”

Anka pulled a face from behind the counter as Hana glided downstairs and shook Miss Dawlish’s meaty hand. Then she turned her attention to a dying student bearing the hallmarks of ‘Sickness-of-PE-Disease.’ He gripped the counter and gesticulated towards the sick bay. “I’m not ringing your parents again!” Anka exclaimed. “You’ll have to do PE at some point in the next five years.”

“How many boys do we have this year?” Miss Dawlish asked. “Last year saw a tremendous turnout. Nobody enrolled though; very strange.”

“A few boys expressed an interest,” Hana lied and fixed a smile onto her lips. Miss Dawlish’s talks were dull, although the previous year a rainstorm provided the incentive to sit indoors. The boys grew bored when they realised the college representative intended to talk about food and not actually provide any. “She ate ‘em herself,” one boy remarked. “Then she ate the baker.”

“Such a long way up,” Miss Dawlish puffed, hauling herself up the stairs and clinging feverishly to the banister. Her mound of fluffy hair breached the last step, attached to her nodding and perspiring head. She reached her destination gasping and pretended to look through the floor length windows. “More stairs than last year,” she grumbled, forcing Hana to halt in surprise. She showed no real interest in the panoramic views of the rugby, soccer and cricket fields, but used the time to catch her breath and mop her damp brow.

“I’ll fetch you a glass of water,” Hana offered, wincing at the spreading sweat stain under the woman’s armpits. “Just wait there for a moment; I’ll be quick.” She hovered in the doorway for a second, wondering if she should get the designated first aider as Miss Dawlish heaved in giant breaths and shuddered on her tiny feet.

Making for the water cooler, Hana noticed Peter North sitting on the veranda picking fluff from his belly button. Hana groaned. He’d forgotten the sixty curious male occupants watching from their study period in the Year 13 common room. Anka wandered in for her lunch break and Hana called to her. “Can you stop Pete from making a fool of himself? The Year 13s are watching him through the window again.”

Anka strode towards the balcony doors, turning to give Hana a wink. “Call me on my mobile phone if you need the defibrillator for your guest. It’s in my office.” She stepped out onto the balcony and Hana heard her loud rebuke, “Pete you dirty pig, stop that! No! Don’t eat it!”

Miss Dawlish stood in the same spot when Hana returned, but her breathing sounded regular. Hana sighed with relief. “Through here,” she said, indicating the doors to the common room. “Start setting your data projector up and I’ll grab an extension cord from the office.”

Hana scrabbled around in the corner cupboard, bending to reveal a curvaceous pair of legs as she searched for the cord. “Come on, I know you’re here somewhere,” she muttered to herself.

“Nice legs,” Pete commented as he ambled into the room behind her. “Shame about the face.”

“Shame about your face!” Hana retorted, yanking hard on the tangled spaghetti of cables and plugs. She stood up and rounded on Pete, brushing her curls away from her face while clinging to the extension cable. Gulping, she faced a victorious Pete and the grey-eyed English teacher.