by Sally Andrew
The birds were awake then, and calling to each other, so there was no need for us to talk. Then we heard a car turning off the R62, heading up my driveway.
‘That’ll be Sergeant Vorster,’ said Kannemeyer, checking his moustache for crumbs.
‘Do you wax your moustache?’ I said.
‘Sometimes. Just the tips,’ he said. ‘With beeswax.’
That explained why he smelled of honey.
‘I’d better get going,’ he said.
‘The old man, in hospital,’ I said, then I shook my head. ‘Never mind.’
I knew he wouldn’t tell me and I didn’t want to ruin our game.
‘Have a nice day,’ I said.
‘See you later,’ he said, standing up.
He bent over close, with his honey and cinnamon smell, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye. But of course he was bending down to pick up our bowls and plates, which he took into the kitchen. The game was over.
‘I’ll clean up,’ I said. ‘Never mind.’
I dished Vorster the rest of the porridge.
Kannemeyer drove off and I stood on the grass and fed my chickens and listened to the sound of his car moving further and further away.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
The phone rang. I thought it might be Hattie with news of the meeting last night. But it was Jessie.
‘There’s a lawyer. At the hospital.’
‘Is the old man okay?’
‘He’s alive, but weak.’
‘Is Candy there?’
‘Ja, and the brother. She asked my mother and the police guard if they’d sign a document as witnesses, but they said no.’
‘I wonder if it’s his will,’ I said. ‘Can’t the police stop it?’
‘They’re doing nothing illegal,’ she said.
‘We’ll have to stop them ourselves,’ I said.
I parked my blue bakkie next to Jessie’s red scooter in the hospital car park. We shared the shade of the rubber tree. The day was hot already and the cicadas were singing their same tuneless note.
Jessie was pacing at the hospital entrance. She wore khaki pants and what looked like army boots, and was armed with a pen and paper. I had khaki veldskoene and a Tupperware with some grapes in it. We were ready for battle.
It felt good to have Jessie by my side again. We marched into the hospital together and met Sister Mostert, her uniform as white and fresh as always.
‘Hallo, Ma,’ said Jessie, giving her a soentjie on the cheek.
‘I’ll show you where they are,’ said Sister Mostert.
A woman police guard stood at the entrance to the ward.
Sister Mostert led us past her, saying: ‘Oupa Brown, you’ve got visitors.’
But three of them were blocking our way to Oupa.
Candy was in cream again, with her peach skin and her sunshine smile. The brother was still in his shiny suit, crumpled now, as if he’d slept in it. He frowned at us like there was a bad smell in the air, but all I could smell was disinfectant.
I could tell the lawyer by his briefcase and expensive haircut. He didn’t smile or frown, he just looked at us as if he was trying to guess our kilograms and centimetres. I think he was deciding if we could be useful to him.
‘Maria,’ said Candy, ‘Jessie. So glad you’ve popped by.’
‘How’s your uncle doing?’ I asked.
‘Much better, as you can see.’
But I couldn’t see because they were in my way. One on each side, and one at the foot of the bed. I opened my Tupperware and held out the grapes; I used them to wind my way past Candice towards the old man.
‘Some sweet grapes for Oupa,’ I said.
The brother twisted round and wrinkled his nose at me, and Jessie took the gap and ducked past him. We now stood on either side of the old man. He looked pale and old, and he seemed to hardly see us. But he reached out for the grapes. The police guard stepped forward and took them away. The old man squawked.
‘No,’ I said.
Those were the last I had of those nice black grapes.
‘Sorry, sir, ma’am,’ the policewoman said. ‘No food’s allowed from outside the hospital. For your own protection.’
‘Poison,’ the old man whispered to Jessie. ‘Someone tried to poison me.’
‘You’re just in time,’ said Candy, ‘to act as witnesses.’
The lawyer had a piece of paper on a clipboard that he held up.
‘We just need you to witness that Mr Peter Brown is, in actual fact, signing these documents.’
I opened my eyes wide, like this was all news to me. Jessie gave me a little wink.
‘Do you know what’s in this document, Mr Brown?’ asked Jessie.
‘Oh, man,’ said David, ‘we’ve been through this twice. Can we just get this over with?’
Jessie ignored him.
‘Mr Brown?’ she said.
‘It’s my will,’ said the old man. ‘Some changes.’
‘Have you read and understood the changes?’ she asked.
‘I can’t find my specs. But Candy explained them to me,’ he said.
‘We just need you as witnesses that he is signing,’ said the lawyer, putting the pen into the hand of the old man. ‘Other details are not relevant.’
The old man made a long wobbly signature like the trail of a snail that you sometimes find on the sink in the morning. Then the lawyer gave the pen to Jessie, and tapped the place on the page for her to sign.
‘Where?’ she said, looking at the page, even though he was already showing her where.
‘Just sign here,’ he said.
She dropped the pen.
‘Oops,’ she said.
The lawyer bent down to pick it up, but it somehow skidded across the room. Maybe someone bumped it with her foot. The air conditioner was making a humming noise now.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said David.
While David and the lawyer went after the pen, Jessie read through the page. She was like a reading machine. By the time the lawyer was back with the pen, she was passing the page across to me. The lawyer reached for it, but his arms weren’t long enough. I thought Candy might try grab it from me, but she didn’t.
The lawyer got on his cell phone and made a call to someone, telling them to get the hell over here to witness a document.
My reading was slow, and the language was all round-about, long lawyer-words, but I could see what it was saying.
‘My assistant is on her way,’ the lawyer said. ‘You can go.’
‘Hang on,’ I said.
When I’d finished reading I looked up at Jessie and we both nodded. I signed and then she did too.
‘Stop!’ a voice said.
It was Kannemeyer. I hadn’t heard him come in, and now he was at the foot of the bed looking down on us all. His moustache was quivering in the way that squirrel tails do when they are all worked up.
‘Candice Webster and David Brown. I need to you to come to the station for questioning. Now.’
‘My clients are not obliged to answer anything,’ said the lawyer.
Candy put a hand on her hip and cocked her head to one side.
‘Why, Detective Kannemeyer,’ she said. ‘Just the man I wanted to see.’
She gave him a smile, not her usual sweet smile, but a strange small one, as if she was in pain. He didn’t smile back.
‘Perhaps this can answer your questions for you,’ she said as she handed him the clipboard with the paper.
I watched him reading the changes to the will. He didn’t read as fast as Jessie, but he wasn’t as slow as me either.
What the new will said was that all of Martine’s share of her father’s trust was to go to the care of her son. Anything left over would go to the institution that looked after him. The money was watched over by a board of trustees which included staff from that home as well as Candice. She could not use the money for herself. There was also a paragraph that said that if the old man died in any ‘unna
tural’ way, then his son David Brown would get nothing from the will.
When Kannemeyer had finished reading he looked up at Jessie and me, and then at Candy.
She avoided his gaze, and straightened the sheets on her uncle’s bed as she said: ‘Now you can get on with finding Martine’s murderer without wasting any more of your precious time on us.’
Then the doctor came in. He was a very black man in a white jacket. From Zimbabwe, maybe, with that black skin. His eyes and his teeth were white like his clothes, and they shone when he smiled.
‘Having a party here, are we?’ he said. ‘I hope there’s no ice cream. We got your test results, Mr Brown. The good news is your stomach cancer is still in remission. The bad news is you’re allergic to milk. And you’ve got a stomach ulcer probably caused by the allergy.’
‘Yes, yes, I know about the cancer . . . ’ said the old man.
‘You didn’t tell me,’ said David. ‘You said you were dying.’
‘But milk,’ the old man continued, ignoring David, ‘I’ve always drunk milk. It’s good for you.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the doctor. ‘Although most doctors would agree with you, so they don’t even bother to test for lactose allergy. The truth is many people can’t digest lactose properly and in some this develops into a severe allergy. It may worsen with age, and certainly under stress. The chemo you had would probably have exacerbated the allergy. If you can get rid of that ulcer by cutting out lactose, your stomach cancer has a much better chance of staying in remission.’
‘So, he wasn’t poisoned then,’ said David, this time addressing the doctor.
‘No. Unless a milk tart can be considered poison.’
‘You see?’ said David. ‘You see? All these years, and this, this is the thanks I get.’
‘Now, David,’ said Candy, ‘nobody said you actually— ’
‘Rubbish!’ said David. ‘He’s said it. The will says it, for Christ’s sake. It’s insulting.’ Little bits of spit were coming out with his words. ‘After everything I’ve done.’
He marched out and Kannemeyer turned as if to follow him, but then rubbed his hand on his forehead and stayed with us.
‘He did give me that milk tart,’ said the old man.
I couldn’t stand by while an innocent was accused.
I wasn’t going to let anyone speak badly of Tannie Kuruman’s melktert.
‘They were very good melkterte,’ I said, ‘and a milk tart must have milk in it. There’s no getting around that.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Kannemeyer and I stood on either side of the old man. Everyone else had gone.
‘So I find you again, in the middle of the trouble,’ said Kannemeyer, giving me that frown of his.
But he didn’t look all that cross. Oupa was eating the grapes that the policeman had given back to him.
‘How come you’re following me?’ I said.
Kannemeyer smiled and shook his head. That smile of his.
‘So are you going to say sorry to Candice?’ I said.
‘For what?’ he said.
‘For suspecting her.’
The old man popped another grape into his mouth and looked back and forth between us like he was watching a tennis match.
‘It’s my job to suspect people,’ Kannemeyer said. ‘And she might have done all this because she knows I suspect her. The motive could still have been there at the time of the murder.’
‘Ag, you don’t really think she did it?’ I said.
He didn’t reply.
‘She’s a good girl, Candy,’ said the old man. ‘A good girl.’
‘I think her feelings are hurt,’ I said.
‘She’s used to getting her own way,’ said Kannemeyer.
‘Did you get in her way?’ said the old man, offering Kannemeyer some grapes.
Kannemeyer shook his head, and gave his answer to me: ‘Not in the way she wanted me to.’
‘They are very sweet grapes,’ I said.
The old man nodded his agreement.
‘I’ve had a good breakfast,’ Kannemeyer said, still looking at me.
His phone rang, and he stepped back to answer it.
‘Van Wyk,’ he said. ‘Ja? . . . Mmm. Mmm. Okay. Ek is op pad.’
‘Was that Van Wyk from the Spar?’ I said.
He was marching towards the door.
‘You stay out of this,’ he said, shaking a finger at me. Then his face changed from serious to sad. ‘Please.’
‘It’s too late,’ I said. ‘I’m already in it.’
But he’d left the room so it was only Oupa and the last grape who heard me. Oupa popped the grape in his mouth.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
As I drove back down Hospital Hill I wondered about the phone call Kannemeyer had got from the Spar. I had some ideas of my own about the Spar thefts. I knew Kannemeyer would say I should leave it alone. But stealing in a small town makes everyone look at each other funny. And the Spar workers were getting a hard time from the manager, which wasn’t fair . . .
I was heading to the Gazette; I wanted to find out from Hattie how her meeting with the Chamber of Commerce had gone. But before I got to Eland Street, my arms just decided to turn the steering wheel towards the road that led to Dwarsrivier Bed & Breakfast. When I got to the B&B, my feet stepped on the brakes and I stopped in the shade of a big bottlebrush tree. It was red with flowers.
I wiped my lipstick off with a tissue and ran my hands through my hair so that it looked a mess. I took the lipstick I kept in my cubbyhole and I walked in through the Dwarsrivier garden gate.
Georgie was sitting alone on a bench in the front garden, as if she’d been waiting for me. She was wearing a white dress with pale blue stripes which went well with her grey hair and made her look a little less short and round than she really was. I wondered where I could get a dress with those sort of stripes.
‘Tannie Maria,’ she said, shifting up so I could sit down beside her.
I patted my hair, tidying it up a little.
‘Thanks for the sermon yesterday, Georgie. You did a good job.’
Georgie smiled and dipped her head.
‘I just wanted to use your bathroom, to freshen up,’ I said.
‘Sure,’ said Georgie.
‘I’m going to the Spar,’ I said. ‘I hear they’ve put in hidden cameras all over the shop.’
‘Oooh wooo,’ said Georgie.
‘They’ve had some thefts – tins and stuff. So now they’ve got fancy security.’
Georgie looked at the grass.
‘I don’t want them filming me shopping when I’m looking all scruffy,’ I said.
Georgie patted her grey curls. I went inside and used the ladies’ room. I tidied my hair, washed my face and put on fresh lipstick. When I went out the front again, Georgie had left the garden. I walked past reception to the back, where the rooms looked onto the pool area, and found her talking quietly to some women in a room. They went silent when they saw me at the door.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ I said, looking at all their faces turned to me.
‘Hi,’ said Emily.
She was back with her flock; her long red hair was coiled around her head like a crown.
I wondered which one of them had written me the letter asking for camping recipes.
‘Thanks. See you,’ I said.
I smiled and waved at them.
‘Goodbye, Tannie Maria,’ said Georgie.
‘Thanks,’ said Emily.
My legs took me back out to the car, and my arms drove me round the block, to the Gazette.
‘I went to the Chamber of Commerce meeting last night,’ said Hattie, before I even stepped inside. Jessie was at her desk, her face turned away from me. ‘And I made a little speech about the independence of the press and they voted on whether to keep supporting us.’
‘And . . . ?’ I said, my hand on the front door.
‘They voted ten against two.’
My face and
hand fell.
‘In favour!’ said Hattie. ‘Ten in favour of us.’
Jessie turned around and I saw her big grin.
‘And when Marius had a hissy fit, Mandy’s Furniture Shop said they could sponsor the website from now on!’
I gave Hattie a hug, but it was hard because she was bouncing up and down on her toes, and I don’t believe in bouncing. I made us tea and coffee and there was still some honey-toffee cake in the fridge, which added to the celebration.
‘Marius can go to pot for all I care,’ she said, waving a piece of cake in the air.
‘Ja, bugger him,’ said Jessie.
‘Now, now,’ said Hattie, but she was still smiling.
There was quite a pile of envelopes on my table, and I flipped through them. One had a small brown smudge on it. I wondered if it was another letter from that nice mechanic. But the stain didn’t look like grease and my name was typed: TANNIE MARIA. No address. Hand-delivered.
‘Did someone come by with this envelope?’ I asked Hattie, holding it up for her to see.
‘It was on your desk when I brought the other post in,’ she said. ‘Thought you’d left it there.’
I opened the envelope. Inside was an A4 piece of paper, with that same kind of stain, but much bigger. It was a bit sticky and I unfolded it carefully.
The smell hit me at the back of my throat as I saw the dark red shape across the white page.
At the top of the paper, four words were typed:
BACK OFF OR DIE
The folded paper had turned the red shape into a butterfly.
A butterfly of blood.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
They give people pictures like that when they go to psychologists. They ask them what they see, and then decide what kind of crazy they are.