‘Surely the police would’ve seen this gadding about with sauce bottles?’ said Hattie.
‘The queue was busy, and they were watching Slimkat, not the sauces,’ I said.
‘And why the garlic in the sauce?’ said Hattie.
‘A strong flavour to hide the taste of the poison?’ said Jessie.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It was because the murderer didn’t know the recipe.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Yesterday afternoon, I asked at the Kudu Stall for the sauce recipe,’ I told Jessie and Hattie. ‘They wouldn’t give it to me, and they told me that another woman had asked for it too.’
‘And she could be the murderer?’ said Hattie.
‘Or just another tannie asking for the recipe,’ said Jessie, looking at the last beskuit on my plate.
‘Let’s make coffee,’ I said. Mine was lukewarm and ruined by a soggy rusk.
We made fresh coffee, and Jessie carried the whole tin of beskuit out onto the stoep. I took off my jacket and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my arms. The Swartberge were now mostly lit up, with just a few shadows in the kloofs. Those hidden ravines always kept their secrets.
‘I’d agreed not to publish Slimkat’s story until the KKNK was over. To avoid panic,’ said Jessie. ‘But now that he’s dead . . . the other papers will pick up on the story.’
‘Hmm. And you interviewed him just before he died,’ said Hattie.
‘I think he knew what was coming and was giving me his last words. Some beautiful stuff.’ Jess opened a black pouch on her belt and took out her notebook. ‘Listen to this: “We are the ropes to God. When our land is beneath us and the open sky around us, we can feel the power of our ropes.” Slimkat was in training as a healer. They dance around the fire and go into a trance. He told me that when he danced, it was as if he died, and then the others brought him back to life. He said that’s why he was not afraid of death. He’d been there already.’
‘What are the Oudtshoorn police telling the press?’ said Hattie.
‘All they gave me last night was “no comment”. But let’s see what they say this morning. They can’t deny his death.’
Jessie took off her denim jacket, under which she wore her black vest. The gecko tattoos sunned themselves on her brown arms.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Hattie. ‘Let’s have a eulogy-type article now. But we wait until we have a go-ahead from the police before we talk about the death threats and foul play.’
‘But what if The Sun gets there first?’
‘Jessie, we’re a community gazette, not newshounds competing for scoops. Anyway, The Sun doesn’t have the inside information that you have. It’ll still be big news next week.’
‘But, Hattie . . .’ she said.
Hattie just shook her head.
Jessie dipped and bit into her rusk.
‘Jirre, this rusk is good,’ she said. It helped her swallow what her editor had told her. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you that eulogy today. But I’m going to do a bit more investigating while I’m here. Talk to the people at the Kudu Stall. See who comes to get Slimkat’s body. I may even miss some of the shows to do it.’ She looked at Hattie. Her chin was raised, and there was a rusk crumb on it.
‘I agree this is a big story,’ said Hattie, ‘but so is the KKNK. I still want a full-length report on the festival. Even if you don’t review all the shows on your original list.’ She drank the last of her tea. ‘So, Tannie Maria, we’ll head back this morning. After your doctor’s appointment.’
I remembered Slimkat’s eyes on me, and I said, ‘I’d like to stay and help Jessie investigate.’
Jessie smiled at me. We made a good team. Though we hadn’t worked together since the murders of Martine and Lawrence, last year.
‘It’s not really your brief,’ said Hattie.
‘But it is all about food,’ I said.
‘You can’t ride all the way back on Jessie’s scooter,’ she said.
‘I don’t have a spare helmet,’ said Jessie.
‘I’ll make another plan,’ I said. ‘Maybe I’ll go back with Kannemeyer.’
‘Well . . . I assume you’re up to date with your letters?’ said Hattie.
I thought of the letter from the teenager about sex. I hadn’t given her a reply.
‘You have my letters for tomorrow’s edition,’ I said. ‘And I’ll be back in time for next week.’
‘Well, all right then, it’s up to you. Ah, speak of the devil. The big one with the fiery moustache.’
Kannemeyer was pulling up in a police car, a cream Volkswagen sedan. He was alone – no sign of Piet or Reghardt. My heart did a happy jump at the sight of him. But when he got out of the car he was not smiling.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said as he reached us. ‘I have bad news about Slimkat. He passed away last night.’
‘Yes,’ said Jessie. ‘We heard. What happened?’
‘You must wait for the official police report,’ he said.
‘So it is a police matter, then?’ said Jessie.
Kannemeyer didn’t answer.
‘Sit down,’ I said, pulling up a chair. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’
‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘But I was hoping to have a word with you, Maria. Alone.’
Jessie and Hattie looked at each other but did not move.
‘Can you come with me?’ he said.
‘Okay,’ I said, putting on my jacket. ‘Let me just fetch my bag.’
‘You gave full statements last night, didn’t you?’ he said to Jess and Hats as I stood up. They both nodded.
I splashed my face with water and put on some lipstick, then I headed back out with my handbag.
Jessie was asking Kannemeyer a question that I couldn’t hear, but as I got closer I caught his reply: ‘I am not the investigating officer. The case belongs to the Oudtshoorn police. I can’t give you any information.’
He was standing with his arms tightly folded, but they relaxed as he led me to the car.
I waved goodbye to Hattie and Jessie, and Jess winked at me.
‘There’s something I wanted to tell you,’ I said to Henk, ‘about the sauce.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Shall we talk over breakfast?’ he said, as we drove off.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘How about scrambled eggs and roosterkoek?’ He slowed down and stared at me. Then he shook his head and drove us to Langenhoven Street, which was close to the festival area. We walked a block or so together. We didn’t hold hands.
Most of the shops were still closed and some stalls were just setting up, but there was a queue in front of the roosterkoek stall. A red-faced young couple were taking orders and serving. Beside them was a man in a T-shirt and a blue cap, turning the flat bread with braai tongs. Coals glowed in two metal half-barrels with big grids on top of them. There were dark toasted lines on the bread, like the stripes on field mice. The smell was delicious. Two short coloured