“Choose,” said Mma Makutsi. “Choose one of them.”

“That is not easy,” said the woman.

Mma Makutsi laughed. “No, it never is. But you have to, Mma. You cannot have two husbands. You will be punished for that one day. One of them will find out about the other, and then you will be finished.”

This brought a sharp reprimand from Mma Ramotswe. “Mma Makutsi!” It did not help if the assistant detective said to the client that she would be finished. It was unprofessional.

“I am only telling her the truth, Mma,” Mma Makutsi protested.

Unexpectedly, the woman sided with Mma Makutsi. “Yes,” she said. “You are right, Mma. I will be finished big time—and very soon. I have a very big problem—one of the husbands has gone to work for the other in his business. It is a very small business—just three men. Now one husband—the weekend husband—says that he wants to invite the other husband to have dinner at our house. He asked me to cook for them.” She paused, watching Mma Ramotswe, who was staring at her in anticipation. “And the second husband—the one who has been invited—has now asked me to come with him to this dinner. I will be the lady cooking for that dinner, in the house of my other husband.”

“You see!” broke in Mma Makutsi. “You see where lies and cheating get you, Mma? You see!”

“Thank you, Mma Makutsi,” said Mma Ramotswe. She quickly went over possibilities in her mind. People got themselves into the most uncomfortable situations, and one could not always rescue them. She could not take on the emotional problems of all Gaborone, much as she would like to help. No, she would have to get this woman to shoulder responsibility for the fix she had created for herself. “Now, Mma, I'm very sad that you find yourself in this unhappy position. I would love to be able to solve it for you, but what can anybody do? Some problems we have to solve ourselves—and this is one of them.”

From the other side of the room came Mma Makutsi's verdict. “Yes.”

“You are going to have to speak to these men,” Mma Ramotswe continued. “That is all you can do. I cannot solve this problem for you, you know. I'm very sorry but I cannot.”

The woman looked crestfallen. “Oh, Mma Ramotswe, I'm so frightened …”

“Frightened?”

“Yes, I'm frightened of what these men will do. You know how angry men can become.”

Mma Ramotswe did. For a moment she saw her first, abusive husband, Note Mokoti. She saw his hand raised. She saw the anger in his eyes.

“I have an idea,” said Mma Makutsi.

They both turned to look at her. She was smiling—with the air of one to whom a sudden revelation has come.

“Speak to both of them,” said Mma Makutsi. “Separately, of course. Tell each husband that you have been weak and have been seeing another man. Then ask each man to forgive you.”