THERE WAS NOTHING very much happening at the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency that morning. Mma Makutsi was planning to go out, with a view to pursuing, without any real hope of success, the elusive Zambian financier, and with her correspondence up to date, there was little for Mma Ramotswe to do. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had a car to service, but it was an uncomplicated job and could safely be left to the remaining apprentice. As for Mr Polopetsi, he never liked to be idle, and would fill any spare minutes tidying the garage, sweeping the floor, or even polishing the cars of customers. On several occasions a client of the agency had come out of a meeting with Mma Ramotswe to discover that his car had been washed and waxed while he was consulting the agency. This was often very much appreciated, and was another point in favour of Mr Polopetsi.

“Just imagine if everybody in Botswana was like that,” Mma Ramotswe had remarked to Mma Makutsi. “Imagine how successful this country would be. We would be so rich we wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Can you ever be that rich?” asked Mma Makutsi. “Surely there is always something to spend your money on. More shoes, for example.”

Mma Ramotswe had laughed. “You can only wear one pair of shoes at a time,” she said. “Rich people are like the rest of us—two feet, ten toes. We are all the same that way.”