The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (13) Read Free

in a sense, of all she surveyed.
    Mma Makutsi let her disappointment be known. “It’s nobody,” she said. “Just her.”
    Mma Ramotswe, who had not been looking out of the window, now did so. “But it’s Mma Potokwane, Mma. She is not nobody.” The reproach in her voice was evident and was picked up by Mma Makutsi.
    “I’m sorry, Mma,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude aboutMma Potokwane. It’s just that I thought that it might be the man you saw in your dream. One never knows.”
    Mma Ramotswe let it pass. Mma Makutsi had never enjoyed a particularly good relationship with Mma Potokwane—the natural rivalry, Mma Ramotswe thought, that results from the juxtaposition of two strong personalities. That had changed more recently, though, and in particular there had been what amounted to a cordial truce when Mma Potokwane had offered to apply her undoubted organisational skills to the planning of Mma Makutsi’s wedding. This offer of help had been gratefully accepted, and had relieved Mma Makutsi of much of the anxiety that accompanies a wedding. Mma Ramotswe hoped that this cordiality would persist: she did not like conflict in any form, and it pleased her to think that these two women, who had so much to offer, might now cooperate rather than seek to undermine each other. Perhaps Mma Makutsi might help the orphan farm in its fund-raising activities, now that she was Mrs. Phuti Radiphuti and the occupant, therefore, of a reasonably elevated position in the town. Phuti was a man of substance, with the resources of the Double Comfort Furniture Store behind him and a large herd of cattle at the Radiphuti cattle post off to the west of Mahalapye. The size of that herd could only be guessed at—“A very large number of cattle, all of them quite fat,” was all that Mma Makutsi had said on the subject—but whatever its dimensions, it meant that Mma Makutsi would now surely have the resources to help the orphan farm in some way.
    Mma Potokwane herself was not unaware of the change in Mma Makutsi’s fortunes, and it was possible, Mma Ramotswe thought, that this visit was connected with precisely that awareness. The matron of the orphan farm was famous for the vigour of her support for her charges, with every meeting, every encounter being seen as an opportunity to solicit support for the orphancause. But as Mma Potokwane settled herself into the client’s chair in the office that morning, it became clear that it was business of a very different sort that was on the matron’s mind. Immediately after the normal greetings, Mma Potokwane cleared her throat and fixed first Mma Ramotswe and then Mma Makutsi with a baleful stare.
    “I have come to see you about a very difficult matter,” she said. “In all my years as a matron, I have never come across something as difficult as this.”
    “You must have seen many things,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    “Many very heartbreaking things,” added Mma Makutsi from the other side of the room.
    Mma Potokwane turned her head to glance briefly at Mma Makutsi. “You’re right about that, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “Or should I be calling you Mma Radiphuti now?”
    Mma Makutsi beamed with pleasure at the recognition. “That is very kind of you, Mma Potokwane. I shall be Mma Radiphuti when I am in my house—and when I go to the shops.” That last qualification was important, as Mma Potokwane and Mma Ramotswe were quick to acknowledge. The Radiphuti name would certainly bring respect—and all necessary credit—when bandied about in shops.
    “However,” went on Mma Makutsi, “my professional name remains Makutsi. That is quite common these days, you know. Professional people—doctors and lawyers and detectives—often keep their maiden name when they marry. That is because their clients and patients, and so on, all know them by that name.”
    Mma Ramotswe thought it a bit presumptuous for Mma Makutsi to include herself in the company of doctors and lawyers, but did not say