Mma Makutsi broke her silence. She spoke loudly—and in a tone of authority. “That rule says ten minutes early, Mma Ramotswe. That is what it says.”

“But let us look at that, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Why should you arrive ten minutes early?”

“Because of the rule.”

“No. What is the reason behind the rule, Mma? If you arrive ten minutes early, then do you not think that it might be awkward for the person you're going to see? Not always, of course, but sometimes.”

“No,” said Mma Makutsi.

Mma Ramotswe tried again. “You see, that person may not have finished cooking … She may have to look for a saucepan, or something like that. She may have to get things out of the fridge …” She made her way towards the fridge and took out the pieces of chicken she had set aside for their dinner.

Mma Makutsi looked unconvinced. “I still think that it is better to be early, Mma. And that is why the rule is: always arrive ten minutes early.”

Mma Ramotswe decided that this was not an argument she could win. She would have to wait until the matter came up again in print—only then would it be possible to present Mma Makutsi with evidence capable of persuading her that she was wrong.

“Well, maybe there are two views on this,” Mma Ramotswe suggested mildly.

Mma Makutsi nodded vigorously. “Yes. A right one and a wrong one, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe turned away to hide a smile. She had to admire Mma Makutsi; so many people these days had no idea of what they believed and were quite happy to bend with whatever wind was blowing. Mma Makutsi was not like that.

She changed the subject. “We need to talk about the Molofololo case,” she said. “I have to get this chicken on the stove, but we can talk while I am cooking.”

“And I can help you,” offered Mma Makutsi.

Mma Ramotswe gave her assistant the task of peeling the potatoes while she relayed to her what she had learned at Big Man Tafa's house.

“So far,” she began, “we know this: Big Man Tafa, the goalkeeper, wants to be captain. He thinks that Rops is past his best and should retire …”

“To the cattle post,” interjected Mma Makutsi.

“Yes, that is what his wife said. But there is more.”

Mma Makutsi, having peeled the first potato, held it up against the light. “They must have talked a lot, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe explained that she had also talked to an informant on the street. “I learned that Big Man Tafa does not like Mr. Molofololo. He said that he is always interfering. And then I learned that Big Man owes money. At least ten thousand pula.”

Mma Makutsi made her disapproval clear. “Ten thousand pula! That is a lot, Mma. That gives him a very powerful motive, don't you think?”

Mma Ramotswe agreed, but pointed out that the person with the most obvious motive by no means always acts upon it. Motives, she reminded Mma Makutsi, could be what Clovis Andersen described as red herrings. She remembered the very passage, which she quoted to Mma Makutsi. Always remember that life is never what we think it will be. There are always red herrings and their job is to mislead you. Never forget that!