MMA MAKUTSI was shocked. Three women had dared to contact her claiming to be the woman who had looked after Susan. Three Rosies! And there would be more, she thought, as word got round and every opportunist sensed the prospect of gain. People did not come all the way from Canada empty-handed, after all—there had to be something in the offing.

“I cannot believe it, Mma,” she said to Mma Ramotswe. “Three liars all getting in touch one after the other—just like that. Liar Number One, Liar Number Two, and then Liar Number Three.”

She looked at Mma Ramotswe in a way that expressed outrage. Her glasses flashed in the shaft of sunlight from the office window. This was a band of gold in which flecks of dust floated, weightless, barely moving.

“The country must be full of liars,” she continued. “There must be liars around every corner. Liars hiding behind every bush. Liars just waiting to tell lies about something. Unrepentant liars. Old liars, young liars; perhaps even babies whose first word is a lie. Perhaps even that, Mma.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Mma Ramotswe. “By and large, people are truthful, don’t you think?”

Mma Makutsi shook her head. “No, Mma, I don’t. I think that there are more and more liars. Soon it will be impossible to believe anything that anybody tells you. You’ll ask somebody on the street the time and the answer will be a lie. The person will say that it’s four o’clock when it’s really only three. You’ll ask somebody the way to some place, and what directions will you get? The wrong ones, Mma. They’ll say go that way when you should go the other way. All lies, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled.

“It’s not an amusing matter, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi reproachfully. “It’s very serious. You start with a small trickle of lies, and then the trickle becomes a river—a river of lies. And the river becomes a dam, and then you drown in all the lies, Mma, you drown.”

Mma Ramotswe defended herself. “I’m not saying that lying is not a serious matter, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “All I’d say is that you can’t assume that somebody is lying just because they make a claim that may not be true.”

Mma Makutsi thought for a moment. “But it’s not a question of may not be true, Mma—it can’t be true.” She looked intently at Mma Ramotswe, eager to drive home her point. “Let me put it this way, Mma Ramotswe: There is one Mma Potokwane, is that correct?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “Yes, although there are other people with that name.”

“But I’m talking about Mma Potokwane, the matron of the Orphan Farm. There is just one such lady—is that right?”

“I believe that to be true,” said Mma Ramotswe. “There is only one Mma Potokwane in that sense.”