Recipes for Love and Murder (24 page)

He twitched and then he was sitting up, a gun in his hand.

‘Maria?'

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I heard a growling sound, but it was you snoring. I'd forgotten . . . '

‘Ag, sorry,' he said. ‘I'll lie on my side.'

‘No,' I said. ‘Don't. I like it.'

He laughed. A deep warm sound, even nicer than the growling. He was still looking at me.

I realised that the moonlight was behind me. My nightie was made of thin cotton.

I blushed. My face was burning. I walked backwards, bumped into the wall, then hurried back to my room.

I closed my bedroom door and jumped back into bed. Even my husband had never seen me naked. Even when we were, you know, intimate, I kept the sheets on me. Henk Kannemeyer had seen me. The full shape of me, against the moonlight.

My whole body was blushing. My breasts, my thighs, were so hot I had to touch them just to make sure I was not really on fire.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

I was hot, and could not sleep, even when I threw off my sheet and lay there in just my nightie. I wanted to open my window wide, but I didn't want to make a noise that Kannemeyer would hear.

I listened to the sounds of the night and Kannemeyer's soft growl. It was not loud, but I could feel it in my whole body. After a while the snoring stopped. The frogs were still carrying on. A cool breeze came, but it didn't bring sleep. Then the frogs finally went quiet and it was just the crickets, and now and then the sound of a faraway truck on the R62. And then, at last, there was nothing. Just the silence.

I fell into the deep silence of the Klein Karoo.

I woke, tangled in my nightie. The sun was bright and the birds had finished saying good morning to each other long ago. I closed my door and put on my veldskoene and my brown dress. It wasn't that pretty but it fitted. I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I brushed my hair and put on my lipstick, before going into the lounge. It was empty. The sheets were folded neatly on the couch.

The front door was unbolted and I stuck my head out.

‘Good morning, Mevrou,' said Vorster.

‘Hallo, Sergeant Vorster,' I said. ‘Where's Kannemeyer?'

‘At work.'

‘Coffee?' I offered.

‘Please.'

Of course he went to work. I looked at the kitchen clock. Eight o'clock. I looked around for a note. Why should he leave me a note? He's a policeman not a . . . whatever I was imagining. Surely as a police guard he would say goodbye, or check on me.

Then I remembered my bedroom door. It was slightly open that morning and I was sure I'd left it closed. He'd have knocked and when I didn't answer he would have checked I was okay.

He had seen me, in the full light, hardly dressed, there on the bed.

I felt sick. The moonlight may have shown him my shape, but the sunlight would have shown him the worst truth of me. The uncooked dough of my legs. My hair all messed up. My breasts without a bra.

I made coffee and took Vorster his cup on the stoep along with some honey cake. I sat at the kitchen table and dipped a rusk into my coffee, but I did not feel like biting into it. I put the soggy rusk onto the saucer. It was breakfast time, but I wasn't hungry.

‘Maybe I'm coming down with something,' I said to the rusk. ‘My belly feels strange.'

I drank my coffee and threw out some mielies for the chickens. Then I packed most of that snake cake in a Tupperware for Jessie, and headed into town.

Hattie was in the
Gazette
office, but no Jessie. I put her cake in the fridge.

‘Golly, Tannie Maria,' said Hattie, ‘you look terrible.'

‘I know,' I said.

‘Have you got Jessie's sickness?'

‘Maybe,' I said. ‘How is she?'

‘She's not coming in today, but she can't be too bad because she's done a lot of work from home. She's written an article on fracking. I've just posted it on our website. There's also a nice piece about Grace Zihlangu, Van Schalkwyk's domestic worker. Both articles rather provocative, but that's our Jessie.'

Hattie put on the kettle at my desk.

‘Let me make you some tea for a change,' she said. ‘Here's some post for you. That letter on top was stuck under the door this morning.'

Who would have made a hand-delivery? I picked up the small white envelope.
TANNIE MARIA
it said. In capitals. Underlined. Nothing else written on the front or the back.

Inside, a lined A4 sheet was folded into four. I sat down and spread it out in front of me.

Dear Tannie Maria,

Please will you help me. I don't know what to do. It's like this. There's this girl. Even when I was young I knew she was the one for me.

I sighed. There was no escaping this love sickness. Hattie added milk and sugar to my tea and handed it to me.

‘Thank you, skat,' I said.

She offered me beskuit, but I shook my head.

‘Good heavens,' said Hattie. ‘What's wrong, Maria?'

‘I think it's my tummy,' I said.

‘I've never seen you like this.'

‘It kind of hurts,' I said.

‘It does sound like Jessie's problem.'

‘I'll be okay,' I said.

Hattie took her tea to her desk and I went back to my letter.

We've always been just friends. Then she went away and came back and she was all clever but she was still my same girl and this time it seemed like she was interested in me, in that way, you know. But she said she didn't want a boyfriend and she wanted to be independent and all that. But then one night it just happened. She was in my arms, and – you know.

I had a sip of my tea. It wasn't bad. Harriet was much better at making tea than coffee.

I don't have the right words. I can just say it was awesome. I thought it was special for us both, I really did. I remembered her independence story and I didn't want to pressure her so I thought I'd let her phone me but she didn't. Then the next night I was out with the guys watching rugby and she came in with a friend and said hello but was not very friendly, so I thought okay, maybe she doesn't want it to go public about us. I really wanted things to work out between us, so I was happy to do whatever she wanted. She didn't invite me over to sit with them. They were getting stacks of drinks from other guys. I just watched the rugby.

The phone rang and Hattie got it.

‘Harriet Christie,' she said. ‘Hello, Mr Marius.'

Then she was quiet for a long time as if he was talking and talking. She would say ‘But— ' or ‘Mr Marius— ', like she was trying to speak but he wouldn't let her. I got on with my letter.

She didn't really say goodbye when she left. But I still hoped she would be my girlfriend and we would work something out. The next day I phoned her a few times, but she didn't answer my calls. Then on the Monday I went to see her at work. She looked at me like she hated me and walked out.

I don't know what to do. I suppose I should give up on her because it obviously didn't mean anything to her and she doesn't want to be seen with me. But I somehow can't give up.

Can you help?

He did not sign it. But I could guess who it was from.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

‘Mr Marius,' said Hattie into the phone, ‘If you will just let me get a word in— '. Her face was pale, with spots of pink high on her cheeks. ‘This is an independent newspaper. Sponsorship does not mean you own us— '

Mr Marius blasted so loud that even I could hear him. Not the words, just the sound – like an angry monkey. Hattie held the phone away from her ear.

‘We have journalistic standards— ' she said, when there was a pause in his noise.

Then I heard the monkey again, this time the words he was shouting too: ‘You'll be sorry!'

Hattie looked at the receiver.

‘Fiddlesticks,' she said. ‘He slammed the phone down.'

I clicked my tongue.

‘So rude,' she said, tapping the pencil on her desk, and her foot on the floor.

She picked up her tea and had a sip. I could see from her face that it was cold, so I put the kettle on.

‘It's Jessie's articles,' she said. ‘About fracking and on Grace. Too political, he says. He wants them removed from our website and not printed in the paper.'

‘I don't like that man,' I said.

‘He's the chair of the Ladismith Chamber of Commerce,' said Hattie, and sighed. ‘We can't lose their support.'

Hattie was like a tall strong tree. Now she was bent over, like a storm wind was blowing her. But she was not broken.

I gave us each a fresh cup of tea, and put extra sugar in hers to get the colour right on her face.

‘Do have a look at the website,' she said. ‘Tell me what you think of Jessie's articles. I'm going to phone around a bit, talk to some of our other sponsors.'

I sat down at Jessie's computer, clicked on the picture of the
Gazette,
and the website opened up. Websites are confusing for me, like a shopping mall with bright lights instead of a nice corner shop. But I found my way to Jessie's articles.

Jessie writes much more smartly than she talks, but her articles are not difficult to read. They are always alive and full of stories and quotes. The one about Grace was called ‘At the End of the Day'. She was telling Grace's story, but she was also talking about domestic workers all over. How hard they work, with so few rights. She made you care about this one woman, Grace, and her loss and her dreams. She didn't say it straight but it was obvious that Jessie thought that if Grace's employer did not help her out, he must be a really mean man. I suppose Mr Marius might read this as an insult to himself.

‘Oh, bollocks,' said Hattie, putting down the phone. ‘The manager of the Spar, Cornelius van Wyk, agrees with Mr Marius. He complains that our journalists are doing investigations instead of just reporting. He says the Chamber could withdraw sponsorship.'

‘Oh, Hats,' I said.

‘I'm going to phone Mrs van der Spuy, she's the secretary,' said Hattie.

Mrs van der Spuy owned Mandy's Furniture Shop on the corner.

‘Ask her if she's got some honey,' I said.

She had her own hives.

I started reading the article about fracking. It was called ‘No Fracking Way' – the same as John's car sticker. It wasn't as personal as the article about Grace, but it did have some nice quotes. Some guy who swam with polar bears had a lot to say. He described how damaging fracking had been in other parts of the world. And told of how bad it could be for the Karoo and the whole of South Africa. The fracking chemicals could poison our water supply and our giant pools of underground water. And the government was supporting the mining companies, like Shaft, because they had so much money.

‘Oh dear,' I said.

Jessie also spoke about climate change and renewable energy – like the sun, or the wind – that could do a better job than gas, oil and coal. But it's harder to make profits from renewable energy, because nobody owns the ‘rights' to the sun and wind, like they own rights to gas and coal. It sounded like it was all about money, not about what was good for the Karoo.

I didn't understand everything she was saying, but I understood enough to get me worried about poisoned water, and what this would mean for the people and plants of the Klein Karoo. And the bokmakieries and the jackals and the frogs. It also made me think that John was maybe not as crazy as he seemed. Fracking was worth getting cross about. I wasn't sure why Marius was so upset by the article. If he cared about the Karoo, he should want people here to know the dangers of fracking.

‘She's got honey,' said Hattie, standing up and helping herself to a beskuit. ‘Mrs van der Spuy. And she still supports us, thank heavens. She says I should come to the next Chamber of Commerce meeting. Marius or Van Wyk may withdraw their own adverts, but the Chamber of Commerce funding can't be cut off without a majority vote from all the businesses.'

‘They can't all be as crazy as Marius,' I said. ‘Do you think Shaft might be buying his support?'

‘Who knows? That chap would take money from the devil. If he's not the devil himself.'

‘These are good articles, Hattie.'

I turned off Jessie's computer.

‘It's going to print, as is,' she said.

Hattie was standing up straight again, like the wind had passed. But I felt the storm wasn't over.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

I went back to my desk and picked up that hand-delivered letter.

‘I think it's time for Jessie to come back to work,' I said.

‘I do wonder what's going on with her,' Hattie said.

‘She's got a broken heart,' I said. ‘But it can be fixed.'

I phoned the police station and asked for Reghardt but he wasn't there and they wouldn't give me his cell number.

‘Reghardt?' said Hattie, raising her eyebrow. ‘I have his cell number. Is he the heart-breaker?'

‘He's also got a broken heart,' I said.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Cooo-eee,' said Candice, stepping in.

She had leather sandals on so we had not heard her usual clip-clopping. She wore a cream dress that fitted her just right. She smelled of lemon blossoms and her lipstick and her toenails were a pearly-pink. She probably looked good in her sleep.

‘Maria?' Candice said.

‘Sorry, I was just thinking,' I said. ‘What did you say?'

‘The funeral's all set for tomorrow. How's it going with y'all? Can I help out any?'

‘That night you went out with Jessie and got drunk,' I said. ‘Where did you sleep?'

Harriet frowned at me.

‘Would you like some tea, Candice?' she asked.

‘Sure, thanks,' Candy said. ‘I was too drunk to drive. That nice young fella, the policeman, he took me home. To the Sunshine B&B, where I'm staying.'