‘I’ll come back, I won’t be long,’ he said.
Another nod, because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Nate squeezed her shoulder and she swallowed, a lump in her throat forming at his kindness and watched as he left the room.
Pulling herself together, Laurel began her list. Telephone calls to the insurance company, drafting emails of apologies, stabbing George Hibbert, sending emails to be delivered at 8am on Monday morning to Sylvie to keep her updated. She’d sleep at Dad’s tonight, because David was going to take a hell of a lot of coaching and hand holding to get him to do anything of substance. Who knew how long it took to report something like this? It wasn’t your usual shoplifting or car theft, not that they had much of that in Lower Houghton.
This was industrial sabotage, and George Hibbert was damn well going to pay for it.
‘Laurel.’ Her father knocked on the door frame, interrupting her frenzied scribbling.
‘Dad, it was definitely George, he’s here clear as day on the CCTV.’ She pointed to the computer screen. ‘Did you speak to Old Man Hibbert?’
‘Yeah,’
Her dad shuffled into her office and sat down. Her father looked defeated.
‘He’s coming in with George tomorrow at ten.’
Laurel stared at her father. ‘With George?’
How was that a good idea? Jack and Robin better not see him. Hell, she certainly didn’t want to see him.
‘He didn’t believe me at first, didn’t think George would do something like that. I didn’t say that I thought it was him, just asked where he had been.’ Her dad passed a hand across his weathered face. ‘He called me back and said that they’d be in.’
Laurel’s eyebrows refused to sit down on her forehead.
‘So, he didn’t actually say that George had done it?’
‘Not in so many words.’ He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. ‘Look, Laurel, he’s asked us not to do anything with the police until we’ve met with him.’
‘No way,’ she said, instantly. How could he even think about agreeing to something like that?
Her dad straightened.
‘Hibbert is my friend. He’s asked us a favour, we can do this for him.’
‘Dad, I don’t think industrial sabotage—’ she started.
He held his hand up, face hard. ‘Stop right there, Laurel.’
‘Dad,’ she started, leaning her head to the side.
How was he going to give George Hibbert a pass for something that could very well force their farm under? It’s not him who had to deal with the insurance, the bank, the balance sheet. It’s not him who had the constant worry of trying to pull the business together so they could live in the place her mother had so loved.
‘Last I checked,’ his voice was sharp, ‘I get a say in how this business is run. It’s my farm, it’s my name on the deeds.’
That cut her, hard. The room was silent. She sat back in her chair.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet with them tomorrow. But for insurance purposes, I need a police reference number.’
‘Leave all that until after.’
He stood up, conversation closed.
She took a breath and steeled herself. ‘No.’
Going against her father with all of his kindness and support, ignoring his definite insistence that he was right, that they should obey, was not an easy thing. Her heart stuttered nervously.
Her father turned back to her, eyes flinty hard, just like Jack’s.
