Recipes for Love and Murder (19 page)

‘I
am
just fine,' I told my mince sandwich, just before I ate the last mouthful.

The birds had gone to bed, so I listened to the toads and frogs a little. When I went to bed, they were still at it, singing with their hearts in their throats.

The next morning I woke before the birds, and watched the sun coming up over the Groot Swartberge. I had an empty feeling, like something was missing . . . Probably because it was breakfast time.

I let my chickens out and fed them (mielies), then fed myself (scrambled eggs and bacon, toast, apricot jam and soentjies). I rattled into town in my little blue bakkie, with two tins of buttermilk rusks shaking beside me. One for the car, one for the office. The vegan date cake was wrapped up nicely in wax paper in a Tupperware. There were three big black birds on the telephone poles beside the road, and as I got closer they took off. Crows. They flew up and up, high into the air. I don't trust those birds, I don't know why.

I pulled up outside the Dwarsrivier B&B and walked in the sun along the pavement, past Dirk's bakkie and the 4×4 of that rushing man. The flat beige walls of the building gave off a glare in the bright light. The front gate was in the shadow of a jacaranda tree. Two women were sitting in the garden on a bench under a Karoo willow, drinking tea and talking. They were turned away from me, so I decided to just to have a little rest there where I stood.

‘I just don't want to spend my last few days on earth with him,' said the taller woman, twisting her long red hair into a rope and holding it up on top of her head.

‘But, Emily, you can't just ditch him,' the other woman said. ‘He's your husband, and our leader.'

She was shorter and rounder, with curly grey hair.

‘I don't care. I'm entitled to some fun. You can have him, Georgie.'

‘Oooh wooo!' Georgie squealed and fanned herself with a piece of paper. ‘What would Joel say?'

‘Have them both. Your days of carnal pleasure are numbered.'

‘When we ascend, our pleasures will be infinite,' said Georgie.

‘Carnal, I said, carnal.'

‘Ooh, Emily, you are a hoot.'

‘No, I'm serious.' She let her rope of red hair drop onto her back. ‘I can't tolerate another day with that egotistical maniac. Somehow, realising that it's all ending just makes everything clearer.'

‘But where will you go?'

‘I've got a little money saved and there are some things that I've always wanted to do . . . '

‘But what if you aren't back in time to ascend with us?'

‘And what if I'm not?'

‘But, Emily, if Emmanuel finds out, you know what he'll do . . . '

Just then a man came out, that rushing one with the big beard.

‘Get in here,' he shouted from the front door. ‘You're late for breakfast.'

‘Oooh wooo,' said Georgie, her hands flying into the air like startled birds.

‘Coming, dear,' said Emily, and the two women stood up.

The man saw me at the gate and frowned and turned away. I took a deep breath, held my Tupperware in front of me and stepped inside. I followed them into the dining room. The Seventh-day Adventists were all seated at a long table having breakfast. The big mama who ran the place, her hair now nicely curled, was sitting at another table with her daughter. A young coloured woman was bringing them a tray of hot sausages, bacon and eggs. The mama grunted her thanks, and the woman rushed off and came back with toast, margarine and jam, which she took to the long table.

The skinny little boy who'd wanted cake was pouring from a box of soya milk into a bowl of muesli. I have never tasted soya milk.

‘How does a bean make milk?' I said.

Emily with the long red hair looked up at me and smiled, but didn't say anything.

‘Hello,' I said. ‘I'm Tannie Maria.'

‘I'm Emily,' she said.

No one asked me to sit down or join them for breakfast. These people were definitely from outside of Ladismith.

‘I have made a vegan date-and-walnut cake,' I said, patting my Tupperware, ‘for the children.'

Emily frowned at me, not understanding.

‘Vegan,' I repeated. ‘Like vegetarian but no butter, eggs or anything.'

‘Oh, vegan,' she said, but she said the ‘g' hard, like egg, instead of soft like vegetable.

‘Did any of you know Martine? Martine van Schalkwyk?' I said.

‘Isn't she the one who worked at the Spar?' said Emily.

Georgie nodded and said, ‘A sweet soul.'

A pale lady sitting next to Georgie shook her head – she was the same lady who stopped me feeding the children last time.

‘She didn't join us,' she said. ‘We don't know her.'

The man at the head of the table was still frowning. He got up and left the room, the toast only half eaten on his plate. Perhaps it was the smell of the meat and eggs on the other table.

The other people seemed to be enjoying their vegan food okay. When the kids saw me open the Tupperware, they jumped up and crowded around me.

‘Ah, please, Mom, can we have some?' said the skinny boy, talking to the pale lady.

‘Oh, all right. As soon as you've eaten up your porridge. Thank you, um – Tannie,' she said, taking the Tupperware from me. ‘That was kind of you.'

‘If you don't mind me asking,' I said, ‘when is the end of the world coming exactly?'

Emily laughed and said, ‘Last May the twenty-first.'

The pale lady gave her a little frown.

‘We don't talk about exactly any more,' she said. ‘But we think it will be around the twenty-first of December.'

‘Three weeks from now?' I said. ‘That doesn't leave much time.'

She shook her head as she spread marmalade on her toast.

‘You don't look too worried,' I said.

‘Oh, we'll all be fine,' she said, and bit into her toast.

Georgie's little grey curls bobbed up and down as she nodded in agreement.

‘We'll be ascending,' Georgie said.

‘Who will be ascending?' I asked.

‘We believers!' the pale lady said.

She smiled. Her eyes were blue and shiny. Full of faith. Her teeth had marmalade on them.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

In the
Gazette
office, I put down the tin of rusks and turned on the kettle.

‘What do you believe in?' I asked Harriet and Jessie.

Jessie looked up from her computer but she didn't even smile when she saw me and the rusks. Her ponytail wasn't as neatly tied as usual. Hattie was at her desk, every hair in place.

Hattie and Jessie didn't answer, and I prepared the cups – tea for Hattie and coffee for Jess and me.

‘We've got till the twenty-first of December,' I said. ‘To believe in something.'

‘Oh, darling,' said Hattie. ‘You've been talking to those Seventh-day Adventists, haven't you?'

‘The end of the world is nigh,' said Jessie, sounding like she didn't really care if it was.

‘Oh, honestly,' said Hattie. ‘Those people are quite batty.'

‘But we are all going to die,' Jessie said. ‘If not on the twenty-first – one day.'

‘I suppose so,' said Hattie, getting up to help herself to her tea. ‘Maybe that's why I go to church. In case of life after death. But to be totally honest, I'm not sure what I believe . . . '

‘I'd like some kind of life before death,' I said.

Jessie looked up from her computer. Harriet lifted an eyebrow.

‘Are you all right, Maria?' said Hattie.

‘Sorry, ja, I'm fine. I don't know what I'm talking about. I have a good life.'

I gave Jessie her coffee, then offered them both buttermilk rusks. I was pleased to see Jessie was not so miserable she couldn't take a beskuit. Hattie of course shook her head.

‘I'll have one at lunchtime,' she said. ‘I hear from Jessie you two had a busy weekend.'

‘I told her about Dirk and Anna,' Jessie said. ‘And what I learned from Candy.'

‘There are a few leads we need to follow up on,' said Hattie.

There was the sound of clip-clopping, like a little horse was coming up the pathway. The door was open and a head popped round. It came with orange lipstick, long black eyelashes, and a straw sunhat.

‘Oh, fantastic,' said Candy. ‘Y'all are here!'

She pushed the door open, and trotted in on her purple high heels. Today she wore a lilac cotton dress that made you feel cool just looking at it. Her blonde hair was loose, swinging shoulder length. Jessie sank down into her chair, her back hunching forward.

‘Hattie,' I said, ‘this is Candy, Martine's cousin.'

Candy took off her hat, fanned herself with it and hung it on the back of Jessie's chair. Then she sat on a stool beside Jessie's desk.

‘The funeral's ten on Wednesday morning,' Candy said. ‘I've got myself a priest and a venue, but I need a caterer. And I could use some help inviting people.'

‘We could put a funeral notice into the
Gazette
, for tomorrow's edition,' said Hattie.

‘Yeah, that would be terrific,' said Candy. ‘We should do some personal invites too. I was thinking . . . after what Jessie told me about looking for the murderer, that inviting people in person would be a good way to give them a once-over. We could go together.'

Jessie was pale and studying her hands. I was looking at Candy's orange toenails.

I didn't want to upset Jessie by doing anything with Candy. On the other hand, Candy didn't know about Jessie and Reghardt, so hadn't meant to hurt her. While Jessie and I were caught up in our thoughts, Harriet gave our visitor a cup of tea and wrote down the details of the funeral. At least one of us remembered her manners.

‘Thanks for a fabulous evening, Jessie,' said Candy, sipping her tea. ‘Sorry I got carried away. I reckon I'm still in shock about my cousin. You have some real sweet guys in this town, by the way. Real sweet. Why, one of them— '

There were footsteps up the pathway. A man knocked and stepped inside. Reghardt. Jessie jumped up.

‘Why, Reggie!' said Candy, smiling at him. ‘Just talking 'bout you.'

Reghardt's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Jessie gave him a look that would spear a fish, and then pushed past him.

‘Jessie . . . ' he said, following her out.

But by the time the rest of his words actually left his mouth, her scooter was buzzing off. Reghardt came back and hovered in the doorway.

‘Nooit,' he said. ‘She's gone . . . '

‘Need to see a man about some flowers,' Candy said, looking at her watch.

She patted Reghardt on the cheek as she trotted past. He turned bright red, and did that fish thing again.

‘Reghardt,' I said, ‘I was wondering. Did you find anything in the pipes, at the Van Schalkwyks'? Pomegranate juice?'

‘Ja,' he said. ‘I mean no, I can't tell you these things. Not yet. Sorry, Tannie. The lieutenant . . . It's police business, you know.'

‘Will LCRC test it themselves to see if there are sedatives in it, or must they send it to Cape Town?'

‘No, man, Tannie, I can't tell you, sorry. You can ask the press liaison officer. But there's nothing to report . . . yet. Do you know where Jessie's gone? Is she coming back?'

‘I can't tell you, sorry,' I said.

‘I'll go and see . . . ' he said.

He nodded politely at us both and then left. Hattie walked to the door and looked out.

‘What in goodness gracious was that all about?' she said.

‘Chicken pies and milk tarts,' I said. ‘Tannie Kuruman's melktert is the best. She could do the catering.'

‘What?' said Hattie.

‘For the funeral,' I said.

Hattie stood at the door, looking down the path and shaking her head.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

‘Heavens,' said Hattie, straightening her skirt as she sat down at her desk. ‘Why did Jessie rush off like that?'

‘She'll be back,' I said.

It didn't feel right for me to explain to Hattie about Jessie's love life. I put on the kettle and made tea for us both, then I sat down at my desk with my letters. I opened a plain white envelope with a Ladismith postmark.

Dear Tannie Maria,

Two things are bothering me that maybe you can help me with.

The first is – I am wondering what really matters. Really. Family? Duty? God? Friends? Food? Love?

The other is – do you have any good camping food recipes? Without meat or fridge food. I have some lentils and tins of tomatoes for starters.

Yours in hope,

Lost Lucy

Now that was a short letter with a tall order. I watched the morning sunshine move across the wall above Hattie's desk, as I sat thinking. My biggest problem was that I have never actually been camping myself.

And I was no expert on most of the things she asked about. I didn't have a family. My duty died with my husband. God was a stranger to me. I had friends, Hattie and Jessie, and I'd cooked and eaten a lot of good food. But what did I know about love? How could I know what really mattered?

‘Hats,' I said, ‘remember that time two years ago, when it had rained and rained and part of my road got washed away and a river ran across it?'

‘Oh, yes – you were cut off for almost two weeks.'

‘You came and stood on the other side of the river close to my house.'

‘But you were stubborn and wouldn't let me throw you fresh food.'

‘Hattie, those tomatoes landed in the water, and I couldn't risk watching more good food floating down the river. I was eating just fine with my dried and tinned foods. And some fruit and vegetables that lasted nicely.'

‘I didn't believe you. But when the river went down I came across and you fed me that delicious meal: the butternut and beetroot stew.'