‘How come I always find you in the middle of the trouble, Mrs van Harten?’ said Kannemeyer.
We were back, on the stoep of the farmhouse. Piet handed him the pomegranate. He looked from the fruit to Piet to me. Inside I could hear John moaning, and Didi fussing over him.
‘The baboons,’ I said, ‘they took it from the greenhouse.’
‘Nice work,’ Kannemeyer said to the pomegranate. ‘You went baboon-chasing?’
‘Piet found them,’ I said, ‘in a fig tree.’
‘That woman, Candice, she took Anna and Dirk to go and see the boy in George. Tell him about his ma.’
‘Oh.’
‘I told them now was not a good time to go,’ he said. ‘But the people around here don’t listen to me.’
Piet was looking at the ants on the other end of the stoep.
‘Could you drive the ambulance back to the hospital?’ said Kannemeyer. ‘With John. He needs to get his ribs checked.’
‘Did they tell you what happened here?’
‘No. But we worked it out.’ He shook his head. ‘Of course, no one wants to press charges.’
‘At least Anna and Dirk have stopped fighting,’ I said.
‘With each other, maybe.’
‘What you going to do about that?’ I said, looking at the pomegranate in his hand.
‘Have a word with John.’
‘Best when she’s not around,’ I said.
He nodded. He looked out onto the blue slopes of the mountain.
‘This Candy woman,’ he said, ‘you’re friendly with her.’
‘Kind of,’ I said.
Now he was calling her Candy.
Piet looked at me, then Kannemeyer, then back at me, like something was about to happen.
‘What do you know about her?’ asked the detective.
‘I told you about her yesterday. She’s Martine’s cousin.’
He hadn’t asked me about Candy yesterday. But now that he had seen her, he wanted to know all about her.
‘Tell me more,’ he said.
I shrugged.
‘She drinks,’ I said. Then I felt stupid. ‘Sometimes. She was upset about Martine.’
Kannemeyer smoothed the tips of his moustache.
‘Why do you ask?’ I said.
‘Just interested,’ said Kannemeyer.
Hattie came to fetch me from the hospital in her Etios. As I got in, she handed me a brown envelope with a Riversdale postmark.
‘It was sent speed mail,’ she said. ‘So I thought it might be urgent.’
I had thought of walking down to the Gazette, rather than asking her for a lift, but my legs were walked out and the day was just too hot. At least her car had air conditioning. I breathed in a big mouthful of cool air as we jerked across the car park.
‘So, do tell, Maria, what did you find?’
She was on the wrong side of the road, and she scraped lightly against a low wall to avoid hitting an oncoming car.
I gave her the latest circus, baboon and pomegranate report. She shook her head and clicked her tongue and asked questions in all the right places. Hattie was a good listener, even if she was a bad driver.
‘You must have missed lunch?’ she said, as we raced down Hospital Hill.
‘Ja,’ I said.
‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I thought we could go for a chicken pie.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I said.
She slammed on her brakes and pulled over to the side of the road, bumping into the trunk of a jacaranda tree.
‘Maria,’ she said, ‘are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?’
I watched a few purple flowers land on the bonnet of her car. Loosened by the thud.
She said: ‘The detective called me. He told me what happened. With your shoes.’
Some insect in the tree was creaking like a door that needed oil.
‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ I said.
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t be an idiot,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come and stay with me for a few days?’
‘Did the detective put you up to this?’
‘The man is worried for your safety,’ she said. ‘And I’m worried about more than that. You’re not yourself.’
Now the insect was creaking double time. Calling for a mate, I suppose.
‘I’m tired,’ I said. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night.’
‘Now you say you’re tired. Earlier you said your tummy was sore, and that you’ve got Jessie’s sickness. Now it turns out she wasn’t sick after all. Well, love-sick maybe.’
I heard what sounded like another insect replying to the first one. Creak. Creak-creak.
‘Well, I never . . . ’ said Hattie. ‘Tannie Maria. Are you in love?’
I snorted and folded my arms. Now the insect and its mate were singing together.
‘Goodness gracious. It’s that big detective, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Don’t be stupid, Hattie.’
‘He said you had a police guard last night. Did he stay there himself?’
I watched the shadows of the branches moving across the skin on my hands.
‘Maria van Harten,’ she said. ‘You are blushing.’ She smiled and nudged me. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. Nothing happened. And nothing’s going to happen. It’s hot here, let’s go.’
We drove to the Gazette office in silence. Well, we were quiet, the car was full of the usual revs and squeals.
Hattie stopped just inches behind my blue bakkie.
‘I’ll see you at the funeral in the morning,’ she said. ‘First thing tomorrow I’m going to chat with Mrs van der Spuy about the Chamber of Commerce.’
‘Good luck with that.’ I said, as we got out of her car. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘He’s a real hunk,’ Hattie said. ‘And he obviously cares for you – phoning me like that.’
‘He’s just doing his job,’ I said, climbing into my bakkie.
It was as hot as a beskuit oven in my bakkie, but I drove off without opening up the windows. I didn’t want to hear anything more Hattie had to say. What she said hurt, I don’t know why. Maybe because it gave me hope. Hope hurts.
I rolled my windows down at the end of the block. A warm wind was blowing and fat clouds were gathering in the sky. I hoped for rain. That sort of hope didn’t hurt so much.