A Delicious Mistake (9 page)

Tendai
parked in front of the lodge, and Sarah sat there for a few moments listening
to the engine pop in the cool evening air. Tendai sat with her. She didn’t know
whether he would mark it down to exhaustion from her long journey that she
didn’t move, or if he could see into her. She didn’t care. She needed a minute
and she didn’t have to justify it to anyone.

She
looked up when the passenger’s door opened for her. Tendai Conteh had gotten
out of the Jeep and walked around it to show her one more gallantry.
Apparently, he had decided her time for sitting and taking in her old home was
up. Sarah nodded absently to him and stepped out of the vehicle. She glanced
around, taking in her surroundings once again. There had been a time when she
had known the modest main house and the huts and the lands around it like the
back of her hand. Now, without Luke here to greet her, it all felt like
unexplored, potentially threatening territory.

“Here
are your bags, Miss Hutton.” Tendai placed her duffel bag and suitcase by her
boot-clad feet. She had dressed for Africa and that had made her flights and
the airports even more exhausting.

Sarah
turned to him and forced out a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Conteh.” She gave him a
nod, genuinely gratefully for his kindness, but dismissingly. She wanted to go
into the lodge on her own.

He
hesitated and then asked, “May I be so bold as to offer you a piece of advice?”

Sarah
frowned. “Of course,” she said warily.

Tendai
took a few steps toward her so that they now stood very close. She had to fight
the instinct to back away at this unwelcomed invasion of her personal space,
but she soon realized he had done it so no one would hear what he had to say.
Intrigued, she found herself leaning toward him, as if preparing herself for
the sharing of a secret.

“You
have done well to come here to find your truth,” he said, his voice quiet but
firm. “But you will not find it where you think.”

Sarah
blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“This
is Africa, Miss Hutton. Truth is not amongst men. Truth is in the land. It’s in
the savannah.” He reached out and grabbed her arm, squeezing so urgently it
almost hurt. “To find your answers, you need not to listen to men. You must
listen to the voices of the ground and of the animals. You must listen to the
voices of the Serengeti. That is the only way you will find your truth.”

Sarah
recoiled from his hold. She searched his face, wary and suspicious. “Do you
know something?”

“I
know nothing.” He shook his head and looked genuinely saddened. “I wish I did.
But the Serengeti knows.”

Sarah
stared at him. He finally released her arm, dipped his head in salute, and
headed back to the driver’s side to climb into the Jeep. As she watched him
drive away with his riddles, she drew in a deep, shaky breath. She had barely
set foot in Tanzania and she was already exhausted. For a minute she doubted
her strength to see this truth, but once again she quickly dismissed those
thoughts of defeat. She wasn’t leaving without answers and without action
having been taken against Luke’s killer. The man responsible for this, whoever
he was, was going to be apprehended, and then justly punished. That was all
that mattered.

“Is
that who I think it is? Is that my
Nzuri Malaika
?”

Smiling,
she thought one thing had not changed—the voice of her beloved Lindiwele still
filled her heart with warmth. Feeling suddenly more relaxed than she had in days,
Sarah turned around. She was shocked to see a stooped, frail old woman making
her slow way toward her with the aid of a cane. Quickly, Sarah hurried to meet
her. She was instantly enveloped in a surprisingly strong hug.

“Welcome
home,
Nzuri Malaika
!” Lindiwele cried. Her dark eyes filled with tears.
She ran an appraising gaze over Sarah. “Oh, you have become such a beautiful,
beautiful
woman!”

Sarah
laughed. She was about to say something predictable along the lines of how
Lindiwele hadn’t aged a day, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie so
shamelessly. Instead, she grasped the old woman’s hands. “I am so glad to see
you, my Lindiwele.” That was very,
very
true.

Lindiwele
had been the home cook at the lodge for as long as Sarah could remember. She had
also taken up the role of a nanny, and Sarah remembered long afternoons and
evenings spent in the kitchen, helping Lindiwele and listening to her beautiful
stories. They both had cried hot tears the day they had to say goodbye to each
other.

Lindiwele
had never called Sarah by her name. She had always used the endearing term of
Nzuri
Malaika
, which in her native dialect, a language Sarah had tried to learn
more than once, meant “beautiful angel.” That the woman was still using the
nickname for her filled her with a security and feeling of homecoming she had
not thought she’d find. Even if it turned out that Benjamin was no longer
anyone she could trust, it appeared that she would have an ally in the district
after all.

* * *

               
Sarah longed for nothing other than a shower and a bed, but she held off
seeking out those comforts. Instead, she had Lindiwele take her around to get
reacquainted with everyone. A few members of the staff Sarah remembered from
her childhood days, and she had to smile at their warm, open-hearted welcomes.
After such a long absence she wouldn’t have expected them to remember or even
to recognize her. She introduced herself to those she didn’t know. They seemed
pleased to be meeting Luke Hutton’s sister. Apparently, Luke had been genuinely
popular among these people. Beneath their kind greetings, she glimpsed a thick
layer of sadness that no warm smile could have hidden. A mood of mourning hung
in the air in the lodge and it dampened what she thought would have otherwise been
a more exuberant reception.

Sarah
couldn’t blame them. She walked from the house to the park rangers’
headquarters, where she met and introduced herself to every man who wasn’t out
patrolling the lands. As she let them show her around, she momentarily forgot
about her fatigue and lost herself in the process of learning to know these
grounds once again. It was odd to not see Luke among the faces—black and
white—or hear his mirthful laughter. Her throat tightened and her heart
clutched with anguish. But she concealed her painful thoughts for these
people’s benefit and forced herself to focus on them. She asked questions about
their jobs and their families. The more she could learn about each of them, the
better—and not just for the good of her investigation. To her surprise, she
found she needed the human contact.

Later
on, after unpacking her bags and refreshing herself with a quick shower, she
also found hunger was going to win over exhaustion. She wandered downstairs to
the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to find Lindiwele sitting at the table with a
book in her hand despite the late hour.

The
old woman looked up and smiled brightly. “What is it,
Nzuri Malaika
? Are
you hungry?”

“Well,
yes,” Sarah admitted. “But please, let me do it.” She held out her hand to stop
Lindiwele from getting up.

The
old cook shook her head, already halfway to standing. “Nonsense, I insist.”
When Sarah opened her mouth to protest, she shook a finger at Sarah. “I haven’t
prepared a meal for you in eleven years. Let me do it.”

Sarah
smiled and relented. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, walking to the oak
kitchen table and sitting down.

She
watched as Lindiwele busied herself in the kitchen, the woman’s movements sure
and quick despite her age. It was such a familiar sight and the sounds of the
pots and pans were so comforting that for a moment Sarah forgot about
everything that had happened. For a few precious minutes she was just a girl
sitting in a kitchen with her favorite adult. Then reality set back in.

By
the time Lindiwele put a plate of baked beans, roast tomatoes, eggs, sausage,
and toast in front of her—complete with a glass mug of peppermint tea, all of
which had been Sarah’s favorite meal as a girl—Sarah knew her face had darkened
again.

“Will
you sit with me?” she asked Lindiwele.

The
woman nodded. “Of course.” She retrieved a mug for herself and sat at one end
of the table next to Sarah. She took a hearty sip of her tea. “Peppermint is
good for the soul, your father used to say.”

“He
still says it,” Sarah said, talking around a mouthful of eggs and sausage. It
wasn’t lady-like at all, and blissfully enough, she never had to watch those
things around Lindiwele. The woman had always allowed her to be herself and
conceded her small, precious liberties that Sarah’s mother never had.

“Well,
he’s right,” the cook declared.

Sarah
smiled. “I guess.”

They
sat in companionable silence for a few moments, and then Sarah decided that she
had to bring up the questions. Lindiwele would be expecting them. She had to
know the reason why Sarah had returned.

Quietly,
she asked, “Have you seen him? Luke? Have you seen his body?”

Lindiwele’s
features tightened and her eyes darkened with pain. “No, child, I haven’t seen
him. None of us have.”

Sarah
nodded. That much she had expected. “What was he thinking, going off on his own
like that when there’s been so much poacher trouble recently?”

Lindiwele
watched her intently. “How do you know? Did the rangers tell you?”

Sarah
hesitated. “I’ve been talking to the police. To Tobias Bankole. He told me all
he knows.”

The
old woman sighed. “That old fool. He’s so sentimental. He wouldn’t be able to
refuse your family anything.” She stared hard at Sarah. “You know that, and
that’s why you’ve been calling him.”

Sarah
shrugged. There was no point in denying it.

“Why
are you here, child?”

Sarah
met the woman’s stern gaze straight on. “I think you know.”

Lindiwele
took a deep breath. She looked like she was trying hard not to go off on a lecture—which
was probably exactly the case. “You have to be careful. It might be wiser to
let the police do their job.”

Sarah
stiffened and shifted on the hard chair. “They’re not doing it very well, are
they? Is it true, Lindiwele? Is Benjamin Ndlovo their prime suspect?”

“Oh,
you hush now, child,” Lindiwele said sternly. “I don’t believe he did it. That
man loved your brother.”

“Maybe.”
Sarah shook her head. She didn’t want to launch into an argument similar to the
one she had already had with her mother. “But love and hate can be pretty
close. I intend to go over to the police station in the morning to talk to
him.”

Lindiwele
frowned. “He’s not at the police station.”

Sarah
started. She stared at the older woman. “Excuse me?”

“He’s
here. Working. He will be patrolling the lands in the morning, as usual. Why
would he be at the police station?”

“Because
he’s a suspect!” Sarah cried, exasperated. “The prime suspect. Why hasn’t an
arrest been made?”

“He’s
a suspect, not a convict.” Lindiwele pursed her mouth tight. She pushed one
hand flat on the table. “Until they can prove anything, he’s an innocent man.”

 “They
should be keeping him in custody.” Sarah pushed her tea away. “Has he at least
been brought in for questioning?”

“Yes,”
Lindiwele said. “They released him afterwards. Until they can prove—”

“Yes,
I heard you the first time,” Sarah snapped.

Lindiwele
let out a sigh. She put a stare on Sarah, her dark eyes kind and worried and
seemed to be searching Sarah’s face as if looking for someone she had once
known. The old woman’s own features softened and her voice was gentle when she
spoke next. “Nzuri Malaika, please don’t be rash. Do not let your sorrow blind
you. Benjamin Ndlovo is a good man and you know it.”

“Do
I?” Sarah retorted. “How well do you ever really know anyone?”

Lindiwele
pressed her lips tight. She didn’t seem to have an answer to that question.
Nobody did. Sarah had already lost count of the times that she had asked
herself and others that very same question. How could she really know Benjamin
was innocent? Maybe he was, but if there was even the tiniest possibility he
wasn’t, the police had no business giving him the chance to run away.

No
longer hungry, Sarah took her plate to the sink. She insisted on washing up.
She needed to do something. But the food sat in her stomach like a lump and the
questions still haunted her.

She
looked down at her soapy hands and found her fingers fisted so tight around the
cutlery that her knuckles had gone chalk white. She could feel her emotions
spiraling out of control and stamped down on them. Rage and confusion churned
inside her, and under them despondency waited, threatening to overtake her
completely.

She
took a deep, calming breath. About one thing Lindiwele was right: she had to be
careful. She had to tread gingerly and take the necessary precautions if she
really wanted to bring down her brother’s killer—whoever he may be. Even if it
proved to be Benjamin.