Recipes for Love and Murder (27 page)

I snorted and folded my arms. Now the insect and its mate were singing together.

‘Goodness gracious. It's that big detective, isn't it?' she said.

‘Don't be stupid, Hattie.'

‘He said you had a police guard last night. Did he stay there himself?'

I watched the shadows of the branches moving across the skin on my hands.

‘Maria van Harten,' she said. ‘You are blushing.' She smiled and nudged me. ‘What happened?'

‘Nothing. Nothing happened. And nothing's going to happen. It's hot here, let's go.'

We drove to the
Gazette
office in silence. Well, we were quiet, the car was full of the usual revs and squeals.

Hattie stopped just inches behind my blue bakkie.

‘I'll see you at the funeral in the morning,' she said. ‘First thing tomorrow I'm going to chat with Mrs van der Spuy about the Chamber of Commerce.'

‘Good luck with that.' I said, as we got out of her car. ‘Thanks for the lift.'

‘He's a real hunk,' Hattie said. ‘And he obviously cares for you – phoning me like that.'

‘He's just doing his job,' I said, climbing into my bakkie.

It was as hot as a beskuit oven in my bakkie, but I drove off without opening up the windows. I didn't want to hear anything more Hattie had to say. What she said hurt, I don't know why. Maybe because it gave me hope. Hope hurts.

I rolled my windows down at the end of the block. A warm wind was blowing and fat clouds were gathering in the sky. I hoped for rain. That sort of hope didn't hurt so much.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

My chickens and Vorster greeted me when I got home.

‘
Kik kik kik
,' I said to my chickens, throwing out some mielies for them.

‘Lemonade?' I offered Vorster, who was on the stoep.

I poured some for myself too and went and sat on the metal chair in my garden, in the shade of the lemon tree. I watched the shadow of the Rooiberg growing and the clouds beginning to get thick and dark, and I felt lonely. I went inside and made myself a cup of tea and a beskuit, picked up that brown envelope and a pen and paper and took them outside to the garden chair.

I looked at the biggest gwarrie tree in the veld. It was the closest gwarrie to me, and stood apart from the others. It had been growing old alone there for thousands of years.

Even with the tea and rusk and chickens and Vorster, I still felt lonely. I guess I just wasn't the right kind of company for myself.

I ate a bit of beskuit, not because I was hungry but to remind my body that it was real. My mind didn't feel real. It felt a little crazy. I was a fool to have hopes of love at my age. With my body. And a man like Henk Kannemeyer. But still, we could be friends.

I decided to make us bobotie for supper. But first I opened the brown envelope. It was, as I'd hoped, from the egg-boiling mechanic.

Thanks, Tannie,
he wrote.

That was a fantastic cheese sauce. Cooking with beer is lekker.

I wasn't sure how full to make the tablespoons in the recipe, but then realised it didn't matter so long as they were the same kind of full as each other. It tasted really good and sometimes I make it for myself with supper. With a fried steak on the side.

Things have been moving along nicely and she is now really my girlfriend. I have met her parents and everything. They don't mind I don't talk much, they are glad I have a good job and love their daughter.

There, I used the love word. When I am with her I can't stop smiling. She seems to be happy with smiling instead of talking. If there's something important to say, we just use our SMS.

She's coming for supper by me this weekend. It's nice weather for sitting outside and looking at the stars so I thought I'd have a braai. I've got some nice kudu boerewors. It's just me and her, you know, and I want it to be something special. What else can I do? I don't think the Welsh rarebit will fit.

Help.

Karel

I was glad things were going well for him and his girl. I fanned myself with the envelope. The air was muggy, the rain stuck up there in the clouds. I wrote out a nice easy recipe for potjiekos made with boerewors. And also my recipe for farm bread. That bread is so easy to make, and it would really impress his girlfriend. I was going to give him some salad recipes but thought that would be going too far for now.

Writing to him made me feel less lonely. It was nice to have someone who I could lead by the hand from one step to the next.

I prepared the bobotie, then got myself ready. I put on my cream dress with the little blue flowers. Vorster shouted goodbye, and I heard his steps going up the pathway, and a car arrive. I heard Kannemeyer walking towards my house. I put on a welcoming smile and opened my front door.

It was Piet, standing on the stoep.

I kept that smile on my face.

‘Good evening, Piet.'

Piet nodded, and said: ‘Lieutenant Kannemeyer has got a meeting. I'm here tonight.'

The phone rang.

‘Excuse me, Piet,' I said, and went to answer it.

‘Tannie Maria!'

‘Jess.'

‘I'm so sorry I've been so scarce, Tannie. I've missed you.'

‘I've missed you too, my skat.'

‘Reghardt dropped off a letter, Tannie. Explaining everything. And a box of koeksisters. My whole family ate koeksisters.'

‘I'm glad, Jessie. I left you some honey-toffee snake cake in the fridge at the
Gazette
.'

‘Awesome. Thanks, Tannie M. I interviewed the owner of the Sunshine B&B. He told me it was true, Reghardt didn't stay that night.'

‘That's my girl.'

‘Just being a good journalist,' she said. ‘Double checking the facts.'

‘I also spoke to Candice,' I said. ‘She says nothing happened. He's not her type.'

‘The cheek,' said Jessie. ‘Who is her type?'

‘Have you seen Reghardt yet?' I said.

‘I'm meeting him at the Route 62 Café,' she said. ‘I'm walking in there now. I just wanted to thank you, Tannie, and apologise. Oh, there he is. Catch you later, Tannie. Hang on. Nooit – you'll never guess who else is here. Sitting in the corner. It's Candy girl. With Detective Kannemeyer . . . '

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

It rained on the Langeberge in the distance, but all around me the veld stayed dry. In the middle of the night there was thunder and lightning, but not a drop of water. In the flash of the light I saw her pearl dress, and in the rumble of the thunder was the sound of his voice.

When I arrived at the church for Martine's funeral the next morning, the skies were clear. No hope of rain. Candy was talking to Kannemeyer, her hand on his arm. He wore a blue shirt and a dark tie. She was wearing a pill-box hat with a veil, and a short black dress with pearl buttons all the way down the front. I was wearing my brown cotton dress.

‘Sugar. Thank God you're here,' she said, trotting towards me in black velvet high heels.

‘Hello, Candice,' I said.

My shoes hurt. They were my smartest but least comfortable pair.

‘I need your help,' she said.

She pointed towards the church. The Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk is a tall white building, not at all friendly looking. I used to come here with my husband, Fanie. Gathered at the far end of the big white stairs was a collection of people.

‘I wasn't thinking straight,' said Candice. ‘I told family and close friends to come early, thinking they could help out. But look at them.'

Henk had disappeared. There was an old man in a wheelchair. A man stood behind him, wearing a shiny blue suit that looked too small. Anna was in her wheelchair. The leg in the cast was at an angle, resting on a metal platform – an extension of the foot rest. She had on jeans with one leg cut off above the cast, the other covering her bandages. She wore a smart black blouse and soft black shoes. Even from this distance I could tell her eyes had that dark look again. I waved at her, but she did not see me.

Didi was there, adjusting the bandages on John's ribs. And Dirk, one arm in a sling, wearing a dark suit, the jacket hanging over his shoulders. His whiskers had been neatly shaved and his face was as pale as his bandages.

‘This lot all need help up the stairs,' said Candy. ‘There's no damn ramp. Thank God Henk Kannemeyer is here. He'll be a pall-bearer too.'

Jessie appeared at my side in her usual black vest but with smart navy trousers.

She cleared her throat, and said, ‘I can help too.'

‘Thank you, sugar. You're real sweet. Tannie Kuruman's having a hard time laying out food in the reception hall, because those people are pestering her.' She pointed towards the hall, where I could see Tannie K carrying a silver tray, and pushing her way past a small crowd of people. I thought I recognised some of them. ‘But our biggest problem is the priest. He's sick, and the lay preacher's gone to Riversdale. Any ideas?'

I looked at Candy, her skin and hair glowing like the pearl buttons on her dress, and tried to speak but the sound somehow got lost.

‘Reghardt and I will get the wheelchairs up the stairs,' said Jessie.

I swallowed and said, ‘I'll sort out the food and the preacher.'

‘You are both angels, thank you. Oh Lordy, here comes James,' said Candy. ‘Martine's boy. I must introduce him to Grandpa Peter and Uncle David. They've never met. In fact, David's only just learned that he exists.'

She trotted away from us towards a young boy in a wheelchair, being pushed along the pavement by a man in a white nurse's uniform.

The boy's head was hanging down, his neck soft. Candice squatted down and spoke to him. They were too far away to hear, but we saw the boy lifting his head and his mouth falling open into a big smile.

Candy's dress was a lot tighter and shorter when she was on her haunches. Dirk went tumbling forward to join them, and put his bandaged hand on his son's shoulder.

‘The one in the shiny suit and the pink tie must be Martine's brother, David,' said Jessie.

He was wheeling the old man towards the boy. The oupa used his hands to speed up his own wheels and left David behind.

Candice stood up and helped the wheelchairs meet, so that Jamie ended up knee to knee with his grandfather. The boy's head lolled to one side. He was still smiling. The oupa wore a starched black shirt, but the skin on his neck and face was pale and rumpled. He was small, like a bird, too small for his clothes.

Grandpa's eyes went wide, like he'd seen a ghost; he kept looking at Jamie. The boy had Martine's blond hair and her sharp nose. The same as his grandpa's nose. Jamie grinned, his head wobbling from side to side. The nurse wiped the edge of his mouth.

Jamie waved his hand towards his grandpa, and the old man reached out and grabbed it.

The light caught the cheeks of the old man, and I saw they were wet.

‘He's crying,' Jessie said.

Candy dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and rested her fingers on David's arm. David was now standing behind his father's wheelchair. They were all looking at the boy, who was gripping his granddad's hand.

‘Look at Uncle David,' said Jessie.

His face was twisted with what looked like anger, hatred even. His look shone like a dark light upon the boy. Then he was smiling with his mouth, but his eyes were empty, like a torch switched off.

The boy looked up at David then his head fell down like a wilted flower. Jamie pulled his hands away from his grandfather; they fell curled on his lap like sleeping mice.

They all turned and moved towards the church. Dirk and Oupa stayed close to the boy. David and Candice were a little behind.

‘So he really does exist,' said David, as they walked past us. ‘Well, sort of.'

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

‘Tannie, Tannie,' the skinny boy said, as he came running towards me, ‘have you got cake?'

‘Sorry,' I said.

I was right; the people outside the hall were Seventh-day Adventists. They were dressed very smart for church. Ties and fancy hats and all.

‘There's food here that we can eat, Tannie. My mother said.' He looked hungrier than usual. ‘We've been saving our food for the mountains, Tannie. We're going camping.'

The pale lady who had stopped me from feeding the children came and stood beside the little boy. She was wearing a blue bonnet.

I told them both: ‘Yes, there will be vegan food, but you need to wait until after the funeral. And we can't have the funeral without a priest. Do you have a priest who can help us?'

‘Well,' said the lady in the bonnet, ‘there's Emmanuel, but he's not here.'

‘Gone looking for Emily, his wife,' said Georgie, joining us.

She was wearing a pink hat on top of her grey curls.

‘Georgina here is a lay priestess,' said the lady.

‘Oooh wooo,' said Georgie. ‘No, no. I've never preached outside of the Adventists.'

‘She's done funerals,' the woman said. ‘Two of them.'

Georgie shook her head so fast that the small pink roses on her hat looked like they might fly off.

‘I'm sure we can organise some payment,' I said.

Georgie looked at her friend then back at me.

‘How much?'

‘A spinach pie now for you, and two hundred rand afterwards,' I said.

‘Oooh,' said Georgie. ‘Done.'

More people were arriving now, on foot and by car, dressed in their church best. Candice and David stood at the door, greeting them as they walked in. The wheelchair-and-bandage group settled in at the front. I sat next to some of the Spar workers in the middle. Most of them were still in their work clothes, but Marietjie was all fancied up in a dress and heels. She was sitting next to the manager, Mr Cornelius van Wyk. I suppose he used some kind of glue on his hair to keep it combed sideways like that. The Seventh-day Adventists sat at the back.