Mma Potokwane turned to her friend. She knew how much she owed Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. He had nursed their old pump for years, he had fixed the Orphan Farm van, he had tinkered with the hot-water system and kept the boilers going for far longer than their allotted, biblical span. She owed Mma Ramotswe many favours, and she could not recall Mma Ramotswe ever calling them in. A dog would be popular with the children, and they would give it the love it needed. There was only one answer.

“He must stay,” she said. “He can be the father of these two children. He will love them.”

“You are very kind, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “There is nobody kinder than you.”

She meant it, and as she spoke, she thought how strange it was that we so very rarely said complimentary things to our friends, and how easy it was to do so, and how it made the world seem a less harsh place.

“The dog is very happy, Mma Potokwane,” said Fanwell. “He will be a very good dog out here. He will make the children happy.”

Mma Potokwane nodded. “We must drink some tea,” she said. “We have dealt with several problems very quickly. Now we should have tea in case any further problems arise.”

“I hope they do not,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“So do I,” said Fanwell. “I am very grateful to you, Mma Potokwane, for taking this poor dog.”

Two out of three, thought Mma Ramotswe: Mr. Polopetsi, and now Zebra—both crossed off the list with no complications at all. Now all that remained was the easiest task of all: bringing Rosie and Susan together—an easy task, it would seem, and one that should have every bit as satisfactory an ending as this one.

But then a feeling of foreboding set in. It was insidious in its onset, but by the time Mma Ramotswe had dropped Fanwell off at his uncle’s house in Old Naledi, she was beginning to feel less confident about seeing Rosie. She was not even sure that she would find her—she knew that she worked in a bakery out towards Kgali Hill, but she had no telephone number for her, nor a home address. And she was not even sure about the location of the bakery—new businesses were springing up all the time—and closing too—and bitter experience had taught her that tracing people at their work could be difficult: people changed jobs, went off on holiday without warning, and even occasionally used assumed names at work in order to avoid tax.