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away from him.’
    â€˜Maybe the murderer pretended to come back for more sauce,’ said Jessie, ‘and then got rid of the poisoned bottle. Threw it under the table.’
    â€˜Ja,’ I said. ‘Piet found two yellow bottles under the trestle table. He let me sniff them. One smelt like the normal honey-mustard sauce. The other had that garlic smell, the same as Slimkat’s napkin.’
    â€˜Surely the police would’ve seen this gadding about with sauce bottles?’ said Hattie.
    â€˜The queue was busy, and they were watching Slimkat, not the sauces,’ I said.
    â€˜And why the garlic in the sauce?’ said Hattie.
    â€˜A strong flavour to hide the taste of the poison?’ said Jessie.
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘It was because the murderer didn’t know the recipe.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜And she could be the murderer?’ said Hattie.
    â€˜Or just another tannie asking for the recipe,’ said Jessie, looking at the last beskuit on my plate.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Hmm. And you interviewed him just before he died,’ said Hattie.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜What are the Oudtshoorn police telling the press?’ said Hattie.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜But what if The Sun gets there first?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜But, Hattie . . .’ she said.
    Hattie just shook her head.
    Jessie dipped and bit into her rusk.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜I agree this is a big story,’ said Hattie, ‘but so is the KKNK. I still want a full-length report on the festival.