Precious and Grace by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

she could accept that they had somehow touched her skirt. For that was how she viewed it: we all had a skirt, and those who touched our skirt became our concern.
    After a few sips of tea, Mma Ramotswe had reached her conclusion. “Mma Makutsi,” she said, “you’re nearer the door. Could you call Fanwell in, please?”
    Fanwell came in, wiping his hands. He looked timidly at Mma Ramotswe, expecting further reproach. But that was not what Mma Ramotswe had in mind.
    “Fanwell,” she said. “That dog can come to Zebra Drive this evening. It can stay there until we work something out. You needn’t worry.”
    Fanwell clapped his hands together, dropping the paper towel as he did so. “Oh, Mma…Oh, Mma, you are the kindest lady in Botswana—in the whole of Africa. That is one hundred per cent true, Mma—I’m not just saying it. You are the best lady there is…” He glanced at Mma Makutsi. “And you too, Mma Makutsi, you are a very good lady too. You are both very kind.”
    Mma Ramotswe explained that she would need his help to create a run for the dog. “We’ll need a long wire pegged out so that we can attach his lead—you know the sort of thing. That will mean that the dog can run backwards and forwards when we are not there.”
    “I’ll make that myself, Mma,” promised Fanwell. “The dog will be very safe there, at your place. And he will keep burglars away too, Mma. They’ll see the dog and think,
I’m not going to steal from that place—not with that dog there.
”
    “No burglar would dare to steal from Mma Ramotswe anyway, Fanwell,” said Mma Makutsi.
    “No, maybe not,” said Fanwell.
    “Why?” asked Mma Ramotswe.
    Fanwell looked at the floor. “Because…because…” It was to do with traditional build, but he could not say that. He had never witnessed Mma Ramotswe engaged in a physical struggle—not surprisingly, since she abjured violence of any sort—but he had heard that when absolutely pressed, she had been known to sit on people, crushing the resistance out of them remarkably quickly and efficiently. A well-informed burglar might know that, and give the house on Zebra Drive a wide berth for that reason.
    Mma Makutsi took over. “Because burglars aren’t stupid, Mma. They know that you’re a detective. What burglar would steal from a detective’s house? Only a very stupid one, Mma.”
    “Yes,” said Fanwell hurriedly. “That’s what I meant, Mma. That’s exactly what I meant.”
    Mma Ramotswe looked at her watch. “Get your dog ready, Fanwell,” she said. Then, to Mma Makutsi, she said, “Mma, have you talked to Mr. Polopetsi recently? He hasn’t been in for a while.”
    Mma Makutsi made a vague gesture. “He’s been teaching, I think. You know what he’s like—he never tells anybody what he’s doing. The school calls him up at short notice.”
    “But have you spoken to him?”
    Mma Makutsi replied that she had seen him the previous week. “He was very excited. He came to my place.”
    Mma Ramotswe was interested. “Specially to see you?”
    Mma Makutsi smiled. “Yes. You know about his scheme? You know he has a business scheme, Mma?”
    Mma Ramotswe caught her breath. “Yes,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve heard about it.”
    “It’s a very good scheme, apparently,” said Mma Makutsi.
    Mma Ramotswe hardly dared ask. “And did you…”
    She did not finish. Mma Makutsi looked pleased. “You know something, Mma? He let me in on very preferential terms.”
    Mma Ramotswe sighed. “He did, did he?”
    “Yes. Phuti gives me a bit of money now and then for my own savings—you know how kind he is. Well, I put some of that into Mr. Polopetsi’s scheme. He wanted ten thousand, but I didn’t give him that. I put in three thousand pula, though, and I believe that I shall be getting—”
    “Twenty-five per cent return,” supplied Mma Ramotswe.
    “Exactly. How did you know, Mma? Are you in on it too?”
    Mma Ramotswe sighed again. “I heard about it,”