Chapter 3
736 Words
Two evenings later Mira sat at her dining room table, studying a spray of small white slips of paper, each covered in her indecipherable handwriting. They were stuck with sticky tape to the table, in a way that made sense only to her. What she knew was that someone wanted d**k Solomon dead – and they got what they wanted.
The question in Mira’s mind was: what did the murderer gain now that d**k Solomon was dead? Once she figured that out, it was usually an easy path to the killer.
She looked at her table and sighed. So many holes, she thought. Lots of work ahead for her.
Just then there was a knock at the door. She suspected it was her daughter, Dodi. She’d called earlier saying that she needed to come over and get some advice. Dodi was a sculptor and had been working for some time on a series of pieces she called ‘Botswana Freedom?’ She had someone in Cape Town interested in an exhibition, but Dodi was starting to experience the controversy around her sculptures and how that might make her life difficult. Basically she was getting scared.
Mira opened the door and was surprised to see it was not Dodi at all, but instead her neighbour of three houses down, Bashi.
He walked past her toward the kitchen with no greeting. They’d stopped doing greetings probably about five years ago now. Bashi, like Mira, was unsentimental, all about the business; the only problem was that the ‘business’ between Bashi and Mira was a bit murky.
“Here to fix that leaky tap,” Bashi said, setting his metal tool box next to the kitchen sink with a loud clang.
“I didn’t notice it was leaking,” Mira said.
“It is. You wouldn’t notice it until your kitchen was flooded knee-deep.” He had a point. She went to the fridge and got two Black Labels, opened them and handed one to Bashi.
“Dodi’ll be here just now,” Mira said.
“You got a new case?” Of course he had seen the dining room table. Bashi didn’t miss anything and he knew Mira’s methods well.
“Yeah. A murder.”
“Dodi gonna bring Noni too?” Bashi asked.
“Likely.”
“So’s it that d**k Solomon guy then?”
“Yes.”
Bashi tested the tap he’d finished fixing and then shut it off again. “That’s it then.” He sat down at the table with his beer and Mira joined him. “A nice guy, him. Always paid immediately.”
“So you did his car?” Bashi had a garage in Broadhurst.
“Sure. His, the wife’s, and their useless son’s.”
“Why’s the son useless?” Mira asked.
“Mira, you know these Maruapula, Phakalane kids. Same old s**t. Rich and spoiled. Don’t like work. Kago said he’s dealing drugs. I know he uses, that’s for sure. He don’t make any effort to hide that.”
The front door opened and Mira heard her daughter. “You home?” she called.
Noni came into the kitchen first. Fifteen years old and taller than Mira already – and Mira was over six feet. Noni kissed Bashi on the cheek and threw her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders, kissing her ear and then joined them at the table.
“Hi there, Shorty, what’s up?” she said to Mira. She’d been calling her Shorty ever since she was the short one.
“Bashi fixed the tap,” Mira said.
“Hi Mom,” Dodi said, bending down and kissing her mother on the lips. She patted Bashi’s head. “Saw Kago at the petrol station, with quite a beauty in the passenger seat.”
Bashi shook his head. “Don’t ask me about my son’s love life. I know nothing and I want to keep it that way.”
“She’s called Bontle. They’ve been dating for a year and half,” Mira said.
Bashi stood up. “Gotta go. ManU is playing.” He disappeared before anyone could say bye.
“Shorty, what’s this?” Noni was standing looking at the dining room table. “Is this the guy shot at the chemical place?”
“Don’t mess up my papers!” Mira warned.
“Do you know who did it yet?” Noni asked. She was quite enamoured by her detective grandmother. When she was little she swore she too was going to be a police detective when she grew up. Now she talked a lot about becoming an actress in Hollywood. Mira thought she’d be good at both.
“Not yet,” Mira said. “But the answer’s out there. I just need to cut back the weeds.”
- Writer
