Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

Nerium with Sonia and Dr Quaid. But we also know that Grace’s father was a plant man, as Paige put it, so I moved the blank square with a question mark on it over with the others.

Mills gave a quiet, successful whoop, and as I turned around to join him at the laptop, my phone rang shrilly.

“DCI Thatcher,” I answered, leaning against my desk.

“Hello. It’s Susanne.”

“Susanne?” I frowned, looking over at Mills, whose head shot up like a meerkat. “Did you mean to call Isaac?”

“No. This isn’t a friendly call.” Business then, that was worrying.

“Go ahead,” I told her, putting her on speaker as Mills got up from his desk and moved over, folding his arms as her voice came through again.

“We’ve had some trouble with Grace’s father,” Susanne said.

“Her father?” I asked.

“He’s been in touch with us, trying to get access. Apparently, he went to the hospital too, but they wouldn’t let him in to see Abbie. I’ve been on the phone with Paige, and she’s not happy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I muttered. “Where is he now?”

“I’m not sure. But he’s very determined to see her, talk of fighting for custody.”

“Fighting for custody with a woman in a coma?” Mills asked incredulously.

“Paige said the same thing,” she answered, “only with more adjectives. She doesn’t want him pitching up when she’s with Grace.”

“Tell Paige to come here. We can keep Grace separate from him,” I told her.

“Got it. I’m on my way in,” she told us. “Fifteen minutes or so.”

“See you then,” Mills told her in a softer tone of voice before she hung up. I groaned and raked my hands over my face.

“Typical,” I muttered. “Doesn’t anyone care that the woman’s in a hospital?” I asked, kicking the leg of my desk.

“He’s got no legal rights,” Mills reminded me gently. “We will make that very clear.”

I nodded, but in truth, his words went in one ear and out the other as I stormed back over to Sharp’s office, running her through the conversation. Her face grew darker with every word, and by the time I stopped talking, her jaw was set, teeth grit, not unlike the way Paige had looked earlier this morning.

“They’re on their way in?” she asked.

I nodded. “Susanne’s told them both to come here to handle things. But Paige doesn’t want him near Grace.”

“I’ll take Grace,” she answered quickly, firmly. “She can come in here. You take them into your office. Do I need to bring anyone else in?” She asked.

“We’ll handle it. Susanne knows this stuff inside out, she’ll manage it.”

“Christ,” Sharp muttered. “It’s never easy when children are involved, is it?”

“Not really, ma’am.” She turned her tired face to the window and then back to me.

“You best get situated then; I’ll handle Grace.” I thanked her and joined Mills where he was now brewing tea, hands in fists on the counter.

“You alright?” I asked him, leaning against the fridge.

“I feel bad for Paige,” he muttered. “It’s one thing having something so awful happen to your sister, but then this? If someone tried to take my nephews from me, if my brother was hurt, I’d turn absolutely monstrous.”

I smiled wryly at the image and also knew for a fact that the Paige that was about to come swooping in those doors would be nothing short of monstrous herself.

“We have to stay calm,” I reminded him. “Impartial. Let Susanne do her job and step in when, if, we’re needed. Us losing our heads won’t help anyone,” I added. “Least of all Grace.”

Mills nodded, and his shoulders relaxed slightly at the mention of Susanne and then Grace, but he still glared at the kettle as if he were contemplating punching it. I shoved him lightly aside when it finished boiling, not really wanting to see his shaky hands manoeuvre the hot water and filled up the mugs. We’d just carted them into our office when a constable led Susanne and Paige up the stairs, the young woman cradling Grace to her side like she was made of glass. She looked different to this morning, clearly dressed for work in a long black dress and a coat that swept around the ankles of her heeled boots. Grace still wore her fairy wings, striped legs stuffed into wellies. Paige slid her to the ground as we walked over to them, Mills squeezing Susanne’s hand surreptitiously. She looked concerned, a crease between her eyebrows that looked like it had been there for years.

“Hello again,” I greeted them all. Paige looked furious, but she managed a smile, stroking Grace’s hair back from her face.

“This must be the bairn,” Sharp called, striding over from her office with a hand that was shaken by Susanne and Paige in turn. “I’m Chief Superintendent Sharp. You can call me Mara,” she added to Paige and Grace. “If it suits you, I can keep an eye on Grace in my office,” she said to Paige, pointing over her shoulder to the office in question. “I’ve got a few toys in there that my son left behind.”

“You have a son?” Paige asked.

“A few years older than her now. But if I remember rightly,” Sharp’s voice was light and friendly. “Four years old are big fans of play-doh.”

Grace’s face brightened instantly, and Paige bent down to her level. “Do you want to go and play with some play-doh with Mara while Aunty Paige has a long boring talk with the nice policemen?” She asked. Grace looked a little unsure but took Mara’s hand and clumped along beside her. Paige straightened up and watched her go.

“He’s not here yet then?” She asked in a strikingly lower voice than the one she had just spoken to Grace with.

“Not yet. Step inside,” I showed them to our office, “we’ve got some tea.”

I’d dragged in a few more chairs, spaced out well, so that everyone could sit down at least during what would surely be a very trying conversation. Susanne and Mills stood by his desk, holding their tea and murmuring in