Recipes for Love and Murder (15 page)

‘Yes,' said Jessie, adding
To Do
to the headings on the whiteboard. ‘And there are some clues that they missed.'

‘They sometimes don't pay attention to small but important things,' I said, ‘like food.'

‘What's all this about lettuce and pomegranate?' asked Hattie, pointing to what Jessie had written under
Clues
on the whiteboard. ‘Jessie spoke to me about it earlier, but I don't get it.'

‘The Spar doesn't have fresh lettuce on a Monday,' I explained, ‘so the sell-by date on the lettuce tells me it was bought on Tuesday, the day of the murder. The unfolded plastic bag, the missing slip, her broken arm – it all makes me think someone else shopped for her. And, who knows, it might have been the murderer. Pomegranates are not in season yet, so I'm thinking he bought her pomegranate juice. This might have been what they drank together. Maybe he put a sleeping drug in her drink.'

I wished I could've explained things so nicely to Kannemeyer last night.

‘Piet was unscrewing the sink at Martine's house,' said Jessie, ‘so maybe they'll find some juice to send off for testing.'

‘Hmm,' said Hattie. ‘It could've been her husband, shopping for her.'

‘Ja, Mr Nice Guy,' said Jessie. ‘I'll speak to my friend Sanna, who works at the Agri with Dirk. Martine died sometime in the morning and they usually only take off at lunchtime.'

Jessie added Sanna's name up on the whiteboard, under
People.

‘You think he might've left early, to shop, and knock off his wife?' said Hattie.

‘Who do you think we should interview first, Harriet?' said Jessie.

Hattie studied our notes on the whiteboard.

‘I'd say start with the woman who showed up last night, calling for the dead man.'

‘I found out her name. It's Grace,' said Jessie, writing it on the board. ‘I'm not sure of her surname. She's a domestic worker at the Van Schalkwyks'.'

‘And of course you should talk to Dirk and Anna. And your friend at the Agri. Maybe the people Martine worked with too . . . I don't see any of their names up there. And what about the people who look after her boy with cerebral palsy? Any other friends, family, religious contacts? Look into her past a bit, see if anyone pops up there.'

‘That's quite a list,' said Jessie, scribbling Hattie's ideas onto the whiteboard.

‘If you
are
going to investigate, you might as well do it properly, for heaven's sake.'

Jessie had a sip of her coffee and winked at me.

‘Some of these people might not talk to us just like that,' I said. ‘They might need some convincing.'

‘Ja,' said Jessie, ‘I think that vetkoek idea of yours was good. With curry mince.'

‘Mmm,' said Hattie, because even English people who don't eat properly know how convincing a vetkoek with mince can be. ‘Okay, you two, find out what you can. But be jolly careful. And any articles, you run by me before posting.' She looked at Jessie. ‘And don't let the other
Gazette
work fall behind.'

‘I'm finishing off my stories right now,' Jessie said, turning back to her computer. ‘The article on the Philipstown Quilting Festival and Car Wire Derby is almost done, and I'm going to the Ladismith school fête this afternoon.' She grinned. ‘Looking forward to it.'

‘I'll take these home,' I said, picking up the rest of my letters. ‘I need to pick some things up at the Spar and then get cooking.'

‘Can you fetch me here at five, Tannie M?' Jessie asked. ‘And we'll go straight to Lawrence's woman, Grace. My scooter's still on their farm.'

‘Sure,' I said.

‘Then we can go on to Dirk and Anna at the hospital. You'll make vetkoek for them too? And maybe a couple of extra ones . . . ' she said.

‘Of course.'

I was at the door already. I had a lot of cooking to do. Starting with that Welsh rarebit.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

As I drove past the Dwarsrivier B&B, I slowed down. I was feeling bad about those children – I had promised them cake. Maybe I could find a cake recipe without butter and eggs.

I noticed three white 4×4s parked in that street. I pulled over and got out to look at their tyres. The first one was a big Toyota bakkie, the same one that Jessie had told me was Dirk's when we'd visited the B&B. The tyres were Firestones. They were dry and dusty on top, where the car had protected them from the rain. I was no expert, but it didn't look like it had been driven since the rains.

The next 4×4 had very muddy tyres, but they weren't Firestones. The third one was a cream 4×4 bakkie. The tyres were Firestones. They were clean. Very clean. Had they been recently washed? As I was peering under the car a man came out of the B&B. He had a red face and a big bushy beard and eyebrows like hairy caterpillars. The caterpillars dived together on his forehead as he frowned.

‘Hey!' he said. ‘What you doing?'

‘Ag, I just dropped something,' I said. ‘Good morning. I'm Tannie Maria.'

‘I'm late,' he said, climbing into his car.

‘Are you one of the Seventh-day Adventists?' I said.

He slammed the door and roared off. Much too fast.

People in Ladismith never rush. They always have time to at least say, Good morning, how are you? They usually want to say a lot more, and it's not difficult to spend the whole day in town talking to people, even ones you have just met. That man must be from out of town.

Where was he racing to? I suppose with the end of the world coming there must be lots of things to get done.

As I got back in my car, I wondered what I would do if I thought the end of the world was coming. I don't believe in God or church or anything, so I don't think I'd spend my time praying or ascending. I would probably cook something nice. But what would I cook? And who would I invite to eat it with me?

My mind went to the lunch I had with Detective Kannemeyer. That was a really good roast. And the cake was excellent. Still, I'm not sure I'd make that meal as my last.

In the block before the Spar I saw five more 4×4s. And three of them were white. I parked and as I walked past them, I checked their tyres. Two of them had Firestones and both were muddy. I sighed. I could spend my whole time just looking at tyres and what would it prove? And I had shopping and cooking to get on with.

I popped into the shoe shop and bought some olive oil from Elna le Grange. Her brother has an olive farm near Riversdale, and she told me his wife was expecting a baby. She wanted to chat some more, but I kept moving. I went to the library and asked Tannie de Jager, the librarian, to find a delicious vegan cake for me on the web google. It was so quick – it was printed out before she had even finished telling me how celery helped her arthritis. A recipe for a vegan walnut-and-date cake. I thanked her and folded it into my bag.

Just before I got to the Spar, I saw the manager getting into his little blue Golf – the guy with the chocolate-milk moustache. We should talk to him too. He was Martine's boss. But he drove off before I could get close enough to say hello.

There were not a lot of people in the Spar, so my shopping went quite quickly. I got dates, walnuts and the other ingredients for the vegan cake. I had enough flour for the cake and vetkoek, but I did need some of the ingredients for the curry mince. I usually make my own mince, but I saw they had some frozen wildsvleis mince, and time was tight so I bought that. It was unusual to see game meat in the summer. But I guess they keep it frozen from the winter hunting season.

I chose Marietjie's till. I knew she was a talker, but this time it was what I wanted.

‘How are you, Tannie Maria?'

She was a coloured girl, with a round, pretty face. Her hair had been straightened and smoothed into a swirl around her head.

‘Can't complain,' I said. ‘Lovely rain.'

‘Ooh, ja,' she said as she scanned the mincemeat.

‘Your manager isn't here much?' I said.

‘He's the regional manager of all the Spars in the Karoo,' she said, like she was all proud of him.

I looked at my watch.

‘It's a bit late on a Saturday to be going to other branches.'

‘Oh, maybe he's just leaving early,' she said. ‘On the weekends he likes to go to his place on his game farm in the Touwsberg.'

She packed my groceries into a plastic bag.

‘With his wife,' she said, as if I might be getting funny ideas.

‘Were you friendly with Martine – Mrs van Schalkwyk?' I asked.

‘Ooh, wasn't that terrible what happened to her,' Marietjie said. ‘I never liked her husband. Or do you think it was suicide? I hear she was depressed.'

‘Did you think she was depressed?'

‘Oh, I don't know. Mr Cornelius thinks she was. She kept to herself, you know. Stayed in the office mostly.'

‘Is that her office over there?' I asked.

‘Ja, she shared it with Mr Cornelius.'

‘Thanks, Marietjie. Bye bye.'

‘Totsiens, Tannie. Enjoy your day further.'

On my way out, I went past the office. It had a big window looking out onto the shop floor. There were silver lines on the window, like thin mirrors. I knocked on the door, and tried to open it, but it was locked. Then I pressed my face to the glass and looked between the skinny mirrors. I could see a big desk with papers scattered all over it, and an empty pie wrapper. And over in the corner, a small empty desk with a neatly stacked in-tray and out-tray. I could guess which one belonged to Martine.

On the way home I counted another five white 4×4s. I had never really noticed them before, and now they were just everywhere.

I was hungry for that rarebit, but before I prepared it I made the dough for the vetkoek. I like to make them the old-fashioned way, with yeast. While the dough was rising in the sun on the stoep, I sat beside it and ate the Welsh rarebit. I'd put a sliced egg on the toast before pouring the thick cheese sauce on top. The flavours of the beer, mustard, cream and mature cheddar blended into one creamy tangy taste.

I gazed out at my garden and the veld, clean and green after the rains. It looked like new shoots were starting to grow already. The afternoon was warm, but not crazy hot. My chickens were pecking the ground in the shade of the lemon tree.

While the vetkoek dough was fattening up in the sun, I prepared the special mince. I fried the meat in butter till it was a lovely deep brown, then added onions, ground turmeric, coriander and cloves, then the tomatoes and my green tomato chutney. I left it to simmer.

I fetched the dough from the stoep, gently knocked it down and worked it into balls. I flattened the balls and rubbed each one with oil and left them to rise.

When the oil was very hot I deep-fried the vetkoek, three at a time, to a golden brown, and drained them on empty egg boxes.

Of course, I had to have one while they were still hot. I cut it in half, spooned in the warm mince and ate it right there at the kitchen table amongst the flour and the chopping boards. It was good. No – it wasn't good. It was perfect.

Cooking vetkoek and curried mince is an art which South African tannies have spent generations getting just right. As I sat there enjoying the food, I was grateful to them all, especially my own mother, who taught me how to do it. There in my kitchen, eating that vetkoek and mince, I had the sort of feeling I'd expect you should have when you go to a church you have faith in.

I said I didn't believe in anything, that my faith went out the window, but maybe this wasn't true. I believed in vetkoek with curried mince, and all the tannies who made them. If the end of the world was coming, this was the meal I'd make.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Two Tupperwares (each holding four mince vetkoek) and Jessie and I all travelled in my sky-blue bakkie to the scene of the crime – Dirk's farm. We were going to visit Grace. We parked in the shade of some rhus trees, and took one of the vetkoek Tupperwares with us. We walked past the empty farmhouse and the big gum tree, which were all wrapped up with crime-scene tape. I was wearing my khaki veldskoene. I looked at the place at the back door where I had last seen my brown veldskoene. I worried about those old, faithful shoes of mine. I hoped they were okay. We headed down towards the cottage at the bottom of the farm. Lawrence's cottage.

‘Look,' said Jessie, as we passed the little pond. ‘There are still duck feathers.'

They were stuck in the reeds all around the water. A frog looked up at me with golden eyes.

‘Looks like a kraal over there by the apple trees,' said Jessie, as we walked on. ‘But I don't see any animals.'

‘There are some other fruit trees too,' I said. ‘There, behind those thorn bushes. Let's go have a look.'

The shadows were long, but the day was still hot, so I wasn't moving as fast as Jessie.

‘Tannie M,' she said, arriving first. ‘It's a pomegranate tree!'

‘I thought so.'

‘The fruit is still totally green.'

She touched one – it was tiny and hard.

‘Even the baboons wouldn't eat this,' I said, catching up with her.

‘Ja, they're not in season yet, like you said. I wonder where that juice came from. Maybe Liqui-Fruit or something.'

‘Maybe, but I've never seen Liqui-Fruit pomegranate. And it tasted really fresh. Not like box-juice.'

We walked down to the cottage, on a little stony path, and knocked on the wooden door. We could hear movement inside, but no one opened up. The steps were clean and polished and there were small flower beds on either side of the door, with red roses, pink geraniums and orange botterblomme. The roses were in good shape. I've never grown roses myself – they are too much work for something you can't eat. It takes years of pruning to get them flowering so nicely.

We were just thinking about knocking again, when the door opened. The woman wore a blue African-print dress and was drying her hands on a dishcloth. She was just as beautiful in the late afternoon light as she had been in the moonlight. Her cheekbones were high, her skin was glowing and she smelled of cocoa butter.