She got into her van—the new blue van that drove so smoothly—and made her way over to Mma Makutsi’s house. It was possible that she was at the hospital, she thought, but if she had been there in the morning—as she said she would be—then she might be home by now. And turning into Mma Makutsi’s street, a street of modest houses occupied, she imagined, by people for whom reaching even this level of prosperity and comfort had been a battle, she pictured Mma Makutsi’s reaction to this piece of news about Violet. It was an odd thing, thought Mma Ramotswe, that we take such pleasure in hearing news of some piece of bad behaviour on the part of one of whom we have come to disapprove. Such news should sadden us, as any news of human failings should do, but it tended to do the opposite. Why? Because it confirmed the view we had of such people, and laid to rest doubts about our judgement. So, you see, I was right about her!

Which is more or less what Mma Makutsi said when Mma Ramotswe found her at home. “I am not surprised at all,” said Mma Makutsi. “I have always said that she was a bad woman, right from the first time I saw her at the beginning of our course at the Botswana Secretarial College. You should have seen her, Mma, looking out of the window with such an expression of boredom on her face. Why go to a secretarial college if you are not going to pay attention to what is being taught you? Why bother? Why not just go straight to one of those bars and become a lady of the afternoon?”

“Lady of the night,” corrected Mma Ramotswe gently. “Mind you, we have no proof that Violet was ever involved in that sort of thing. We must be fair to her.”

“Fair to her!” exclaimed Mma Makutsi. “Was she being fair to me when she got a job at Phuti’s shop for the only reason that she wanted to take him away from me? Was that fair, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe made a calming gesture. “Maybe not. All I am saying is that we should not accuse her of things that she has not done. As far as we know, she has never been one of those girls who sit about in bars.”

“But you yourself said that this Mr. Kereleng person met her in a bar. Did he not tell you that? What was she doing in the bar in the first place, Mma? That’s what I want to know.”

Mma Ramotswe felt that there was little point in further discussion of this aspect of the matter. “Whatever else she may have done, Mma, the issue is this: How do we help this poor man? Have you any ideas?”