Recipes for Love and Murder. Sally Andrew

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      CHAPTER TWELVE

      We heard the buzz of Jessie’s scooter fading away and then the rattling of a big car arriving, its brakes screeching as it stopped; a door slamming, boots stomping up the pathway.

      Hattie peeped outside. Her eyebrows shot up and she scooted backwards, her hand on the door, like she might close it.

      ‘Haai!’ a woman shouted. ‘Ek soek Tannie Maria!’

      She was looking for me. Her voice was rough but had some sweet flavour, like Christmas cake with stones in it.

      ‘I’m afraid she’s not currently available,’ said Hattie.

      ‘Where’s she? Who’re you?’

      ‘Would you like me to take a message?’

      Hattie was blocking the door but the woman pushed past her.

      ‘Blikemmer,’ she swore. Tin bucket. ‘I must see her.’

      She was wearing a man’s overall and no make-up. Her hair was short but deurmekaar, like she’d been running her hands through it. But you could still see she was a good-looking woman in her thirties, her eyes brown with dark eyelashes.

      ‘And you?’ she said when she saw me.

      She looked like she was going to klap one of us. Who was she going to smack first? She wasn’t as tall as Hattie, but she looked strong enough to take us both on.

      I was going to tell this rude woman that I was the cleaning lady and she was messing up the floor with her dirty shoes.

      But then I saw, stuck to the mud on one of her big leather boots, a little white feather.

      ‘I am Tannie Maria,’ I said. ‘Sit. Sit. I’ll make us coffee.’

      She sat on the edge of Jessie’s chair and frowned at me, like she didn’t like the way I was putting sugar in her coffee. But I carried on anyway, and added milk too.

      Then there was a sound like someone had stood on a puppy, and I got a fright. The woman’s face crumpled and the sound was her crying. Then she was tjanking, howling like a dog that’s been left alone. I put her coffee along with the tin of rusks on the table next to her, and pulled my chair closer to hers.

      ‘Heavens above,’ said Hattie and closed the door.

      But she needn’t have worried because the woman got much quieter. Tears ran down her face; you could see the lines because her cheeks were a bit dusty. They ran right into her mouth. She was tjanking softly now, and I could make out some words:

      ‘Tienie. My Tienie,’ she said. ‘I love her.’

      The tears kept streaming down. Ag, I felt sorry for her.

      Then there was a loud knocking, and Hattie went to open the door.

      ‘Police!’ barked a man’s voice. ‘I am Detective Lieutenant Kannemeyer. We are looking for Anna Pretorius. Her bakkie is outside.’

      Hattie said nothing and for the second time someone pushed past her. The policeman was big and tall with short hair and a thick handlebar moustache. It had a nice shape, like he took care of it. His moustache was a chestnut colour and his hair was a darker brown with silver streaks above his ears.

      The woman jumped up from her chair, knocking the tin, and spilling the rusks onto the floor.

      ‘Anna Pretorius,’ said the man, ‘you must come with me for fingerprinting.’

      Anna wiped her face with the back of her hand and then, with that same hand full of dust and tears, she made a fist and punched the policeman in his jaw. He jerked back and touched his fingers to his face. His eyes were a storm-cloud blue. He reached out his long arm. The long arm of the law they say, but I’d never seen it in person before, you know, reaching out like that. But she ducked under his long arm and darted for the door. He seemed to move slower than her, but somehow he caught her. She was jumping, and beating out with her fists, her face as red as a beetroot. But he just wrapped his arms around her, like a giant bear, and pinned her to him until she went still. There was sunlight shining on his arms and you could see that chestnut-coloured hair again.

      ‘Konstabel Piet Witbooi,’ he said.

      A little guy with the high cheekbones of a Bushman popped up beside the detective. His hair was like peppercorns and his skin was wrinkled and yellow-brown like a sultana. His hands moved quickly and quietly as he slipped handcuffs around Anna’s wrists. I thought she was still going to kick and bite, but when I saw her face I realised the fire had gone out of her. The tears were slipping down her cheeks again.

      ‘Why do you need fingerprints?’ I said to the policemen.

      They did not reply, but I knew the answer. Anna was a suspect in the murder of her friend.

      ‘You’ve got to help me,’ Anna said, looking at me with her wet brown eyes.

      I knew that I would try. But I also knew that I would never be able to help her with her biggest trouble. That huge eina loss of the one she loved.

      And then, it was funny, and I know it was a selfish thing to do, but I felt jealous of her, standing there looking so miserable, with the big policeman holding her. I envied her love. That deep love I had never had.

      Constable Witbooi and Detective Kannemeyer and Anna left Hattie and me standing there, looking down at the muesli buttermilk rusk crumbs, trampled all over the floor.

      I shook my head. What a sad story.