Recipes for Love and Murder

by Sally Andrew

  I picked up the Tupperware and offered her the last vetkoek.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I sat in my bakkie outside the hospital, watching the sunset as I waited for Jessie.

  Tidy flower beds lined the long white hospital building. The plants were nicely looked after. I knew it was the same inside the small hospital: the patients were well cared for – even if the food was no good. Hospital food is terrible. Which is why the vetkoek might work very well with Anna and Dirk.

  The hospital was on top of a low hill at the foot of the Klein Swartberge. Small Black Mountains. The brown hills rolled towards the Rooiberg. Red Mountain. And in that light it really was red. It looked like a big animal that had lain down to rest and didn’t want to be disturbed. I wondered if it was a good idea to visit Dirk in the hospital now.

  The sky was going that light greenish-blue colour, like you see on old copper pipes, and there were strips of pink and orange clouds.

  I could hear the sound of Jessie’s red scooter. But also some other wild sound, like distant thunder and rattling windows, that was coming from inside the hospital. Jessie buzzed up the hill and parked next to me. We walked to the hospital entrance.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ asked Jessie.

  We went inside, me with my Tupperware and she with her helmet. The roaring and clattering stopped and started again as we moved towards the sound. The doors of the small wards were open and we could see some of the patients. We passed a yellow-faced man propped up in his bed, a young woman sitting by his side, staring at a vase of flowers. An old woman smiled a wobbly smile at us as if we might be coming to visit her. Then, in a room of her own, we saw Anna.

  ‘Haai, Tannie!’ she called.

  She tried to wave at us, but her hands were chained to the sides of her bed. Her left leg was in a plaster cast and her right was bandaged on the calf. There was a wheelchair beside her.

  That strange sound was getting closer. It was like an angry animal crashing its way through the bushes.

  ‘They’ve locked me up!’ Anna said, jangling her chains.

  ‘Ooh, gats, Anna, you under arrest?’ said Jessie from the doorway.

  ‘Ja, that too,’ said Anna. ‘But they chained me to the bed because I found Dirk and pulled out his drips!’

  The wild sounds were even louder now. I looked down the corridor just as the creature came round the corner.

  ‘Ooh, gats!’ said Jessie again.

  It was Dirk, in a pale green hospital gown, roaring like a wounded beast, and he was dragging with him a number of noisy things. Chained to his ankle was a bar of metal that looked like a piece of a hospital bed, and clinging onto his legs were two men in white uniforms. Dirk’s arms were bandaged up, one of them in a sling, and the orderlies were trying to slow him down without hurting him. You see what a good hospital it was.

  A nursing sister was running after them, and they were all shouting at once. She had a needle and syringe that looked big enough for a horse, but Dirk wasn’t staying still long enough for her to jab him. Dirk kicked off the man who was attached to his right leg. The guy went flying across the corridor, and then jumped up and threw himself back onto Dirk. The staff there were very dedicated.

  Jessie and I tried to block the door, but Dirk and his circus pushed right past us. From the back of Dirk’s gown you could see his bottom had the same wiry hair as his head and sideburns. Anna sat up, ready to fight, rattling the chains on her wrists, as Dirk clattered towards her bed. Jessie ran forward and squirted Dirk in the face with her pepper spray before he got to Anna. He coughed and spat but still reached Anna’s bed. He pulled her drips out with his teeth. It was hard to breath with that burning pepper smell, and my eyes were streaming. Dirk was kicking at Anna’s bed, trying to push it over, but now the sister had him trapped and she plunged that big needle into his thigh.

  Dirk barked like an angry baboon, but it was too late. His body slumped against Anna’s bed. The orderlies managed to get her wheelchair under him before he hit the ground, and his head fell forward onto the bed and rested on Anna’s thigh.

  He was the only one looking peaceful, sleeping there on Anna’s lap while the rest of us cried and coughed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘We brought you a vetkoek, Anna,’ I said, ‘with curry mince. I hope the pepper spray doesn’t make it taste funny.’

  The orderlies had carried Dirk off and moved Anna to another ward. It was dark outside now and the room was brightly lit.

  ‘Ooh, dankie, Tannie,’ she said.

  They had taken the chains off her arms and she reached out for the vetkoek.

  She had bruises on her arms, a plaster cast on one leg and a bandage on another, but her eyes were shining and her cheeks glowing. None of that black lost look from when I last saw her.

  ‘I think the fighting might be good for her,’ I said to Jessie. ‘Makes her strong.’

  ‘Ja, Dirk too,’ Jessie said. ‘He’s not such a big man, but look how he dragged those guys and half a bed with him.’

  Anna wasn’t listening to us. She was gobbling that vetkoek like she hadn’t eaten all week.

  ‘Should we even tell them that they are probably both innocent?’

  ‘Maybe the revenge stuff is helping them with their loss.’

  ‘If it doesn’t kill them,’ I said.

  Anna wiped her mouth with the napkin, and eyed the Tupperware. But she had some questions to answer before she got another one.

  ‘That day Martine died, did you shop for her?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, frowning, ‘not that day.’

  ‘Did Dirk ever do the shopping?’

  ‘That vlakvark never shopped a day in his life. Anyway she got her stuff after work at the Spar.’

  ‘Her arm was broken, remember, she couldn’t drive herself to work,’ said Jessie.

  ‘Maybe he felt guilty,’ I said, remembering Martine’s first letter to me.

  ‘Pfah!’ Anna said. ‘He feels nothing.’

  ‘Did Martine like pomegranates?’ I said.

  ‘Ja,’ said Anna, ‘but what she was really crazy about was pomegranate juice. Now and then the Spar gets bottles of frozen juice from Robertson. Martine would invite me over to share it. I only drank a little glass, because she enjoyed it so much. I loved to watch her drink it.’

  I wasn’t going to tell her Martine was drinking pomegranate juice with someone else, in case it gave her a jealous attack.

  Anna smiled, and her voice went soft as she said, ‘She’d close her eyes when she drank, and I could look at her without feeling shy. I let all my feelings and thoughts go free when her eyes were closed.’ Anna closed her eyes herself. ‘I loved Tienie, you know, even though she was an English. My great-grandmother – Anna Hermina Stefanus Pretorius – died in the concentration camps in the Vaal. The English burned our farms down to nothing.’

  The Anglo-Boer war was a long time ago, but when Anna opened her eyes she was glaring at us like it had happened yesterday. I even felt guilty my father was English. I wanted to explain to her that my pa had some Scottish and Irish ancestors. My great-ouma was related to the Irish hero, Robert Emmet, who was hung, drawn and quartered by the British.

  Anna ran her thumb softly over her fingertips and stared past my shoulder as if she was looking back into time, and said, ‘But Tienie was different, I tell you. She made me feel like I was a child again, playing by the river. In the days before I knew life had troubles. She was like the taste of that clean water. Sweet and fresh.’

  She looked at Jessie and said: ‘I loved her. But I’m no fool. I knew she didn’t love me in the same way. But she loved me in her own way.’ Her gaze drifted off to something inside her own mind. ‘When she saw me she would get that little smile of hers and her eyes would light up, and my heart would slaan ’n bollemakiesie, y’know, somersault. And when we spent time together drinking coffee, or looking at the ducks splashing about, it was like I was in a stream of happiness.’

  Now
she looked straight at me.

  ‘I hoped that one day she would move in with me. She would never go hungry. If the rains fall, and the price of mielies does not fall, I’d even have money for her nice clothes. The expensive thing is her son in that home. I said he could come live with us, but she said he needs special care. She loves that boy.’ Anna got that dark lost look again. ‘Loved . . . She is dead . . . How can something so big in your heart just be gone?’

  She shook her head and put her hand on the centre of her chest. Then she looked past us again, and a bright fire came into her eyes.

  ‘That bastard’s not gonna get away with this,’ she said. ‘I’m going to make him pay. I’m not afraid. If I die, I go straight to Tienie. We’ll be together, with no more worries about men or mielies . . . ’

  ‘Anna,’ I said, ‘Anna.’ She blinked like she had just woken up. ‘Listen to me. Last night someone went to the Van Schalkwyks’ house. Lawrence, the guy who works there, went up to see what was happening. He was shot. Dead.’

  ‘Ag, no,’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Poor Lawrence.’

  ‘We think it was probably the same person who killed Martine. Looked like the same tyre tracks.’

  Jessie said: ‘Dirk couldn’t have done it. He can’t drive with his arms messed up like that, and he was here, drugged, all night.’

  Anna looked at her own drip and tapped her fingers on her plaster cast.

  ‘Maybe someone else shot Lawrence,’ she said. ‘Dirk still might have killed Martine.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  ‘But maybe not,’ said Jessie.

  I saw the doubt wrinkle Anna’s forehead. Her face became smaller and her head sagged onto her chest.

  ‘I miss her,’ Anna said, and then she looked up at us with her brown eyes, her eyelashes wet. ‘You can’t understand how much I miss her.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  We left Anna alone with her missing and a vetkoek, and found Dirk’s ward.

  He was lying on his back, snoring. His sideburns looked like wild veld bushes. A bit of dribble was coming out of the corner of his mouth. Beside his bed was a TV, and a white table with a tray of hospital food that hadn’t been touched. His left arm was in a sling across his chest, and his right was bandaged from the shoulder to the palm of his hand; his fingers sticking out. A foot was handcuffed to the rail on the bed.

  In another bed in the ward was a teenager wearing earphones. A sign above the boy’s bed said Nil by Mouth. I smiled at the boy because I felt sorry for him, but he didn’t look at us, his eyes glued to the television.

  ‘Dirk?’ said Jessie.

  His snores sounded like a warthog grunting.

  ‘Oom van Schalkwyk,’ I said.

  Uncle van Schalkwyk jerked his foot, but didn’t open his eyes. That horse-medicine must be keeping him asleep. I wished I had smelling salts to bring him round. Then I remembered my vetkoek and unwrapped one and held it close to his face. He sniffed and opened one of his eyes a crack.

  ‘Vetkoek?’ he snorted.

  His nose twitched and he opened both his eyes and stared at the line of brown where the mince curry reached the edge of the vetkoek.

  ‘Mama?’ he said.

  ‘Sit up, Dirkie, and eat your vetkoek,’ I said.

  ‘How do you get these beds up?’ said Jessie, picking up the control buttons.

  The television next to his bed suddenly blasted us with an advert for Five Roses Tea. Dirk blinked. Then the TV went off and his bed shot up, into a sitting position.

  ‘Hey!’ he barked.

  Dirk peered at us with soggy eyes.

  I handed him the vetkoek, which he managed to get to his mouth with the fingers on his bandaged right hand. His eating was a bit messy, so I tucked the napkin from his food tray into the top of his hospital gown.

  ‘Lekker . . . Thanks, Ma,’ he said. ‘The food in this . . . hotel is kak.’

  ‘Dirkie,’ I said. ‘Did you go shopping for Martine this week? On Tuesday – the day she died?’

  ‘Martiiiiine,’ wailed Dirk, setting his vetkoek aside, and starting to cry. ‘She’s deeeead.’

  ‘Did you shop for her?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he sobbed. Bits of mince fell out his mouth, rolling across the napkin and onto his sling. ‘I never shopped for her. Never. I was a bad husband. Bad.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘No,’ he said, looking up at us with big red eyes like those hunting hounds. ‘That woman, that rat, she did it. They found her fingerprints.’

  ‘Dirkie, listen to me,’ I said. ‘We don’t think Anna did it. It might be someone else who killed her. Someone shot Lawrence last night.’

  ‘Lawrence?’ said Dirk. ‘Dead?’ I nodded. Dirk looked up at the ceiling as if he might find an explanation up there. ‘Ag, no. I liked Lawrence . . . ’

  Dirk’s eyelids drooped and then he stretched his eyes wide open; he was fighting with the sedative.

  ‘We think the man who killed Lawrence was probably the same one who killed Martine,’ said Jessie. ‘Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Martine?’

  He looked down at his hand, seemed surprised to find half a vetkoek there, and took a big bite. He wiped his mouth with his bandaged upper arm.

  ‘She was a good woman,’ he said. ‘I was a bad husband. I broke her arm.’

  ‘Was there anyone, a man, who . . . ?’

  ‘I’ll kill him,’ he slurred. ‘I swear I’ll kill them both. Him and that dyke.’

  His eyelids were getting heavy again. Then suddenly they popped open as if he had seen a ghost. The teenager was also staring, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging down. We turned around and saw a woman standing in the doorway. She looked like she had stepped out of a 1940s movie. She was wearing a short, stylish black dress that showed off her round breasts and long legs, and black velvet high-heeled shoes. Her hair was sunshine blonde, pinned up at her neck, and her lips were the bright red of cherries. She had a little smile on the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Dirk van Schalkwyk,’ she said. His head swayed with the movement of her hips as she walked towards us. ‘You are a sight!’

  She spoke with an American accent, but from the South I think, like those people from Gone With The Wind. But she’d said Dirk’s name in the proper South African way.

  ‘You’re Martine’s cousin,’ said Jessie, ‘the fashion designer from New York.’

  The excitement, the vetkoek and the horse-sedative were finally too much for Dirk, and he passed out.

  ‘You got me, sugar,’ said the movie star, over the sound of Dirk’s warthog snores. ‘Is there anywhere round here a girl can get a decent martini?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘Candice Webster,’ said the cousin, offering her hand, ‘but call me Candy.’

  ‘Jessie Mostert,’ said Jessie, shaking it, ‘and this is Tannie Maria van Harten.’

  She shook my hand too. Her grip was firm but her skin very soft.

  ‘You girls friends of Dirk’s? I sure could use some help with the funeral.’

  ‘More of Martine’s,’ said Jessie. ‘Let’s go out for that drink.’

  We left Dirk snoring and the teenager with his nil-by-mouth still hanging open.

  ‘Dirk’s an idiot,’ Candy said, her heels clacking as we walked along the hospital corridor. ‘That fella couldn’t organise gravity to drop an apple. If he wasn’t so incapable I’d think he was the one that killed her. If she’s going to have a decent send-off, it’s up to me. Luckily I was in South Africa when I got the call. I’ve got a boutique in Cape Town.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got other close family?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘Her father’s a miser and her brother’s a creep. Don’t give a dried-apple damn about anyone. Turns out they’re in this area anyway, so at least they may pitch for the funeral. I thought we could have it on Wednesday.’

  ‘I’m sure we can help out,’ said Jessie. ‘Follow me down to the Ladismith Hotel. They
serve a good martini.’

  We were in the car park now. Candy opened the door of a little red MG that looked like it had come out of an old-fashioned movie.

  ‘Awesome car,’ said Jessie.

  ‘Yeah. Cute, ain’t she,’ said Candy. ‘Rental.’

  ‘We’ll meet you there, Tannie M.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s been quite a day. I need to go home and rest. I’ll catch up tomorrow.’

  Jessie gave me a hug and Candy kissed the air next to my cheek. The red MG followed the red scooter down the hill, and the one remaining vetkoek and I rode behind them in my little blue bakkie. They turned off to the Ladismith Hotel and we headed right out of town and then along the dirt track that led to my home.

  We sat together at my kitchen table, just the vetkoek and me, then just me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I sank into a heavy sleep and only woke up when the sun was big and bright. It’s not good to start the day so long after the birds, but I just needed the rest. And it was Sunday after all.

  I put on my dressing gown and let my chickens out. They went running to their twenty-four-hour buffet, the compost heap. The morning sunlight showed off the gold and the red in their feathers.

  I sat on the stoep and had my morning tea and beskuit. The rusk tin was running low.

  ‘I should make some more rusks,’ I said to my tea, ‘and bake that vegan cake I promised to the kids.’

  I dressed and ate farm bread with boiled eggs, followed by apricot jam. Then I got going on the date-and-walnut vegan cake. I made enough batter for a small cake on the side that I could taste without cutting into the children’s one.

  I also prepared two big trays of buttermilk beskuit dough. I needed to fill my tin at home, the one at the Gazette, and I also wanted a third tin for the bakkie, as company and padkos. It’s always good to have food for the road.

  When they were ready, I took out the cakes and the trays from the oven, cut up the sweet bread into rusks, turned the oven on to low, then put them back in to dry out. As soon as my baby cake had cooled I sat down at the kitchen table to eat it.