He hesitated slightly as he opened the car door. ‘I don’t know if that’s enough time.’
Laurel cut him off with a wave of her hand.
‘It is enough time, David. We both know that. I need the crime number for our insurance claim. You, or whoever, bring it tomorrow when you attend to take statements. I’ll make sure my family and Dr Daley here are ready.’
David wrung his hands, trying to appease her.
‘Okay, Laurel. We’ll see you tomorrow.’
The car door slammed behind him and they both watched as he executed a seven point turn in the large farmyard to turn his car so he could drive through the wide gates. Nate shook his head in disbelief.
Laurel turned to him. ‘I’m going home now, I’m not staying here,’ she said bitterly.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay.
‘I’ve had a bit of a… disagreement with my father.’ Laurel gave him a sad smile.
‘Oh?’ he said.
What could they possibly have disagreed about? This was a cut and dried issue. George Hibbert had graffitied their farm and dumped industrial strength weedkiller in their irrigation system to destroy their Pick Your Own crop. It was a criminal act, the police were called, end of story.
‘Yeah.’ She didn’t go into details. ‘Thank you though, for coming back with me. You didn’t have to.’
‘I’m sorry all of this happened.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Laurel drove off into the night, headlights flashing across the spray paint and Nate trudged across the yard back to the bunkhouse. Well, the evening had turned out to be a bit of a bust really. What had started out as a fun celebration had quickly crashed and burned with George Hibbert. What a pathetic, self-absorbed, selfish little man.
And the big brother spiel from Jack? Really? He didn’t look at Laurel too long, he looked at her just the right amount of time, like he would look at anyone. Didn’t he? Of course he smiled when Laurel smiled, because her smile was infectious. What was he supposed to do; scowl when they were talking and when she smiled? Also, how did Laurel look at him? Like he was excavating her farm, sharing her office, and yes, like they were friends. Because that’s what they were. Friends.
Chapter Thirteen
Laurel
Makeup hadn’t done a very good job at hiding the puffy purple smudges under her eyes, but that was the best she could do on three hours sleep. Her mind had been churning and whirling, skipping from George fucking Hibbert to how her father had dismissed everything she had done for the farm and the family for his ‘friend’ Old Man Hibbert. It wasn’t even as if they were close.
Now, they were all sat around the conference table. Fletchers on one side, Hibberts on the other, her at the head but everyone focused on Bill Fletcher.
Everyone except George, who had his eyes firmly trained on the table, like a surly teenager. Pathetic.
‘I don’t condone anything that my son has done,’ Old Man Hibbert said after viewing the CCTV three times, trying to find a sliver of evidence that it wasn’t his son who had ruined their business. ‘How can I make this right, Bill?’
Laurel bristled. There would be no agreement without her input.
‘It’s not about “making right”, it’s about how are we going to get through the next six months? The Pick Your Own income is essential to the farm business and without it we are in dire financial trouble.’
Hibbert glanced at her and frowned.
George snorted.
‘You’re not in financial trouble, you don’t know what financial trouble is,’ he spat. ‘You’re all the same, don’t think of anyone else but yourselves. Fucking Fletcher bitch,’ he said the last under his breath, but loud enough for everyone around the table to hear it.
Robin’s chair flew back as he shot up, Jack soon after with a placating hand on his bulging arm. ‘Don’t you talk about my sister like that. Don’t you fucking dare, Hibbert,’ Robin shouted, the veins popping out in his neck.
‘Jack, take him out,’ Dad ordered, his voice strong and commanding.
