Cake was produced, and their conversation continued for another ten minutes before Mma Ramotswe looked at her watch and said that she would have to leave. Although it was mid-afternoon, she wanted to call in at the agency and deal with one or two matters before going home. So she said goodbye to Mma Potokwane and began the drive back to town, thinking, as she did, of the story Mma Potokwane had told her of Mr. Polopetsi and the Fat Cattle Club. It was none of her business what Mr. Polopetsi did in his spare time, but she was fond of him and she felt a certain responsibility towards him. He was, after all, an employee—even if only a very part-time one, and a volunteer at that. More importantly, though, he was a friend, and Mma Ramotswe would never allow a friend to do anything stupid without at least issuing some sort of warning. Was that what she needed to do here? Was Mr. Polopetsi being stupid, or, on the contrary, astute? He was an intelligent man, with his degree in chemistry from the university, but intelligence and judgement were two different things—as her work had shown her on so many occasions and as Clovis Andersen, she seemed to remember, said at some point in The Principles of Private Detection. The great Clovis Andersen, from Muncie, Indiana—what would he say about the Fat Cattle Club if he were told about it? She thought for a moment, and then she heard his voice: Be very careful of anything that looks too good to be true. Because if it looks too good to be true, that’s probably because that’s exactly what it is!

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DOG REALLY LOVED THAT SMALL MAN

SHE COULD TELL from Mma Makutsi’s expression that something had happened. It was not her Something dreadful’s happened expression; it was more her You’ll never guess what’s happened look, and it involved a wry, rather coy smile.

“So you are back,” said Mma Makutsi. “And how was my friend Mma Potokwane?”

“She was very well, Mma. She sends you her good wishes. She was asking after you.”

Mma Makutsi’s smile broadened. “I’m glad to hear that, Mma. I haven’t seen her for some time—I should go out and visit her, perhaps.” She paused. “Fruit cake?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “It was as delicious as usual.”

“How many pieces?” asked Mma Makutsi, adding hurriedly, “I would never blame you for having more than one, Mma. Her fruit cake really is special.”

Mma Ramotswe was able to be strictly honest; the question had been about fruit cake, not goat stew. “Just one piece, Mma.” She added, “Since you ask.”

Mma Makutsi shuffled a small pile of papers on her desk. “I must do some filing,” she said. “These papers are getting on top of me.”

Mma Ramotswe knew what was expected of her. “Did anything happen round here, Mma?”