“I was very sad, Mma. I cried and cried. It was like losing my own child.”

Mma Ramotswe inclined her head briefly and then looked up again. “I can imagine how you felt, Mma.” She gazed out of the window at the slice of sky that could be seen from this angle. Blue—almost white with heat. No cloud. No rain. Just dry air all the way up to the heavens. Dry, hot air.

“The house?” Mma Makutsi said. “Do you remember where it was?”

The woman replied immediately. “Of course, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe drew in her breath. “Where was it, Mma?”

The woman pointed over her shoulder. “That way.”

“In the Village? In the old part?”

The woman shook her head. “No, more towards town. You know where the Sun Hotel is? You know that place where the ladies sell their lace tablecloths? You know that place?”

“Of course.”

“On one of those roads that go off the main road right there. On one of them. Round a corner.”

Mma Ramotswe made a further note. “Could you show us, Mma? If I took you in my van—could you show us?”

The woman thought for a moment. “I suppose so.”

“Right now, Mma?”

“If you want me to.”

Mma Ramotswe saw Mma Makutsi make some sort of sign, but she could not make out what it was. She threw her an enquiring glance, but all that Mma Makutsi did was to shake her head slightly.

“My van is very small, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “There would not be room for the three of us, but I can borrow my husband’s car. He runs that garage through there.”

The woman made to stand up. “I’m ready, Mma. I can show you where the place is.”

Mma Ramotswe slipped her notepad into a drawer and rose from her chair. “Mma Makutsi and I will go and fetch the car,” she said, looking purposefully towards Mma Makutsi. “We will only be five minutes or so.”

The woman sat down again. “I can wait, Mma,” she said. Then she added, “Tell me, Mma: Is this Mma Susan wanting to say something to me?”

Mma Ramotswe stood still. “What do you mean, Mma?”

“I mean: Why is she wanting to see me? Is she wanting to…” She did not finish the sentence, but Mma Ramotswe knew what lay behind the question. Avarice, she thought, always shows in the eyes. Avarice could shine, could shine forth like a searchlight.

“I think she wants to thank you,” she said. “That is all I know.”

It was true, and she saw the effect of her reply. The woman smiled, and in an attempt at modesty said, “Oh, I do not need to be thanked.”

“But she would like to do so,” said Mma Makutsi. “Sometimes that is important for people.”

The woman said nothing.

“We shall fetch the car,” said Mma Ramotswe.

—