Chapter 11 - THE WOMAN WHO SMILED AT FUNERALS“Judith, listen to me very carefully.”
My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
“Don't confront her. Don't let her know you've spoken to me. Go somewhere safe and call Detective Nkosi.”
Judith was crying.
“But Sisi, she has keys to the house.”
“Then leave the house.”
“She'll know.”
I glanced toward Mara.
“Judith, your safety matters more than anything in that building. Please.”
There was a pause.
Then she whispered, “All right.”
The call ended.
Sphandla was already standing.
“What's happening?”
I turned toward him.
“Your aunt is at the house.”
His expression darkened.
“Why?”
“Apparently, she's collecting some of my belongings.”
“She has no right to do that.”
I stared at him.
“Then call her and tell her to leave.”
He reached for his phone.
Mara stopped him.
“Don't warn her until we've spoken to the detective.”
For a moment, I thought Sphandla might argue.
Instead, he handed Mara his phone.
“Then call whoever you need to call.”
It was a small thing.
An ordinary act of cooperation.
But after weeks of watching him control every uncomfortable situation, it felt significant.
Detective Nkosi arranged for officers to check on Judith and preserve any relevant evidence.
Celia had already left when they arrived.
Judith was safe.
Nothing obvious had been stolen.
But the bedroom medication cabinet had been opened.
And the small drawer where Sphandla kept copies of my medical records was empty.
When Detective Nkosi told me, I felt an unexpected calm.
I wasn't imagining things.
Something was happening around me.
And now other people could see it too.
That evening, I received a phone call from an unfamiliar number.
“Ndoni, darling.”
The woman's voice was smooth and polished.
I recognized her name before she said it.
“Celia.”
“My goodness. Jason said you were doing better. I wanted to check on you personally.”
I looked toward Mara, who was sitting across from me.
She gestured for me to remain calm and put the phone on speaker.
“That's kind of you,” I said.
“Of course. You're family.”
The word sounded almost threatening.
Celia continued.
“I understand you've been asking some difficult questions.”
“I've been trying to understand what happened to me.”
“Naturally. But you must remember that you're still recovering.”
I stared at the phone.
“People keep reminding me.”
“Because we're concerned.”
“Were you concerned when you went through my bedroom?”
Silence.
Then a soft laugh.
“Oh, sweetheart. I was collecting documents Jason requested.”
“Jason didn't request them.”
“Perhaps there was a misunderstanding.”
“Did you arrange my medication?”
Another silence.
This one lasted longer.
“I helped coordinate your care when you were discharged,” Celia answered carefully.
“Did you personally handle my pills?”
“Ndoni, I really don't think these questions are healthy.”
I felt anger rise.
“Neither is internal bleeding.”
Mara raised an eyebrow.
I continued.
“Did you know the medication in my bottle didn't match my prescription?”
Celia's voice cooled.
“I think you should discuss medical matters with your physician.”
“I intend to.”
“Good.”
“And the police.”
A long pause followed.
Then Celia spoke in a completely different tone.
“You always were determined to make everything difficult.”
My skin prickled.
“Excuse me?”
“Before your accident, you had a habit of seeing evil wherever business decisions disappointed you.”
“People lost their homes.”
“Development requires sacrifice.”
“Whose sacrifice?”
She laughed.
“You really haven't changed.”
I looked at Mara.
She gave me a small nod.
I took a breath.
“Celia, what happened the night of my accident?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you know Victor Masebe was following me?”
“I'm afraid I don't know who that is.”
That was interesting.
Sphandla had told me she worked with Victor regularly.
“That's strange,” I said. “His company was involved in Eastbank security.”
“Jason handles countless contractors. I can't possibly remember them all.”
I lowered my voice.
“Then maybe you'll remember Meridian Development Services.”
Silence.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Celia said, “Ndoni, I suggest you stop listening to people who are trying to turn you against your own family.”
I felt a cold determination settle inside me.
“My family?”
“Yes.”
“Family doesn't make someone afraid to ask questions.”
Her voice hardened.
“You don't understand what you're getting involved in.”
“Then explain it.”
“You have no idea how many livelihoods depend on this company.”
“I know how many livelihoods were damaged by it.”
She exhaled sharply.
“Be careful, Ndoni. Some people aren't as forgiving as I am.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Mara immediately saved the recording we'd made with my consent, then noted the time and details for the investigator.
“That was a threat,” I whispered.
“It may be relevant evidence,” Mara replied. “Let the detective assess it.”
I leaned back.
“Did I really spend years having family dinners with that woman?”
Mara smiled sadly.
“You did.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes we spend a very long time trying to belong to families that only value us when we're agreeable.”
Her words stayed with me.
The next morning, Judith came to my apartment.
She arrived carrying an old shopping bag.
She seemed nervous the moment she stepped inside.
I made her tea.
For several minutes, she barely spoke.
Then she put the bag on the table.
“I brought something.”
Inside was a small spiral notebook.
“What is this?”
“My work diary.”
She explained that she'd kept notes for years.
Cleaning schedules.
Delivery dates.
Staff appointments.
Household purchases.
Nothing remarkable.
But I knew from the look on her face that something inside mattered.
She opened it to a page dated four days before my hospital emergency.
“Mrs. Celia came while you were resting.”
I looked at her.
“Did she bring the medication?”
“She brought a pharmacy bag.”
Judith's eyes filled with tears.
“She told me Dr. Maseko had adjusted your prescription. She said Jason already knew.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Judith lowered her head.
“She spoke as though everything had been arranged. She's a powerful woman, Sisi. And I was afraid of losing my job.”
I reached for her hand.
“Judith, look at me.”
She hesitated.
“You were misled. You should have checked, but you didn't know what was in those pills.”
She began crying.
“I should have.”
“Maybe. But telling the truth now matters.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“There's something else.”
She turned another page.
On the morning after Celia's visit, she'd written:
Guest bedroom—black handbag found in hallway. Returned to Mrs. Celia.
Beneath it was another note.
Pharmacy receipt dropped near stairs. Kept in drawer.
My pulse quickened.
“Do you still have it?”
Judith reached into her purse.
She handed me a folded receipt.
Mara examined it carefully without unnecessary handling, then photographed it for reference before arranging to give the original to Detective Nkosi.
The receipt listed a prescription collection.
The patient's name was mine.
But the payment method belonged to Meridian Development Services.
Mara looked at me.
“That's a significant lead.”
I swallowed.
“Does it prove Celia changed my pills?”
“Not alone. But it gives investigators another place to look.”
Judith lowered her eyes.
“I wish I'd understood.”
I squeezed her hand.
“You're helping now.”
For the first time, she managed a small smile.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown sender appeared.
It contained a photograph of Judith entering my apartment building.
The image had been taken less than five minutes earlier.
May you like
Underneath were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HER STAY QUIET.
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