“This lady has been thinking of these things for many years,” continued Mma Makutsi. “Now she has come to the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency to help her find the people she knew as a child, in particular a lady who looked after her. Please look at the picture and ask yourself: Am I this lady?”

It all came out in a flood, and it surprised not only her audience, but Mma Makutsi herself.

“That was very moving,” said Bandie, as she transcribed the words in her notebook. “The readers will all hope that Rosie steps forward.”

Mma Ramotswe had been thinking. “I’m not sure whether the readers all need to ask themselves whether they are that lady,” she said. “They will know, surely, what their name is. So if you are called Alice, for instance, you will know that it cannot be you.”

Mma Makutsi looked to Bandie for support, but the journalist, after a few moments’ thought, agreed with Mma Ramotswe. “That’s a good point, Mma,” she said. “I think you should say: If you are called Rosie, are you the Rosie this lady is looking for?”

Mma Makutsi pouted. “But that lady may not be called Rosie any longer,” she said. “People change their names. So perhaps I should say: If you have at any time been called Rosie, then are you the Rosie this lady is looking for?”

“That is even better,” said Bandie. She looked impressed. “You ladies are very exact. Perhaps that comes from being detectives.”

“That is true,” said Mma Makutsi. “We are very careful with our words.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled.

“And one other thing,” said Mma Makutsi. “When you print my photograph, could you please refer to me as a graduate of the Botswana Secretarial College?”

Bandie looked up at the certificate on the wall.

“Ninety-seven per cent, Mma,” said the photographer. “Did you see it?”

“That’s an amazing mark,” said Bandie.

“Thank you,” said Mma Makutsi.

“I must tell Quicktime about it,” Bandie went on. “He’s interested in all sorts of records—not just sporting ones. He told me once about a boy in his class at school who got one hundred per cent in all his Cambridge exams.” She waited for a reaction, but none was forthcoming. “One hundred per cent, Mma!”

Mma Makutsi sniffed. “School is one thing; college is another.”

“Oh, of course,” said Bandie quickly. “I’m not saying that one is equal to the other. But it was nonetheless quite an achievement for that boy—one hundred per cent in everything.” She paused. “He was called Brainbox Tefolo, Quicktime said. A very suitable name for a boy like that.”

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