MMA MAKUTSI WAS sitting at her desk drinking a cup of tea when they arrived back at the office. She glanced up at Mma Ramotswe and knew immediately that something important had happened.

“You have found something?” she asked. “You look very happy.”

“We sure do,” said Clovis Andersen. “We are feeling very happy, Mma Makutsi.”

Mma Makutsi gave him an encouraging smile. Star-struck, thought Mma Ramotswe. You are still star-struck.

“Mr. Ditso Ditso has not been behaving very well,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And this means, I hope, that we shall be able to persuade him to drop his plans.”

Mma Makutsi clapped her hands together. “That is very good news, Mma—very good news.”

There was still a further step, though, and Mma Ramotswe now made the request that would make it possible for that step to be taken. “Mma Makutsi,” she began, “am I right in remembering that you have a picture of your graduation from the Botswana Secretarial College?”

Mma Makutsi seemed surprised, but was obviously pleased by the question. “As it happens, Mma, I do have that photograph in my drawer here. Would you like to see it?”

“It would be very useful, Mma.”

Mma Makutsi opened a drawer in her desk and took out a photograph that had been pasted onto a piece of stiff cardboard. “Here it is,” she said, dusting it reverentially. “There were fifteen ladies who graduated in my group. Here we all are, sitting with the Principal. And there, you see, is the college crest and the motto.” She turned to Clovis Andersen. “Ninety-seven per cent, Rra. That is what I got in the final examinations.”

“Ninety-seven per cent!” he said. “That’s almost impossible. Virtually flawless.”

She bobbed her head. “That is what some people said. I am very lucky.”

“Not luck, Mma Makutsi,” he said. “Talent.”

Mma Ramotswe took the proffered photograph and examined it. “Yes,” she said. “This is what I need.” She looked up. “May I borrow this photograph, Mma? Not for very long, and I will take very good care of it, I promise you.”

Mma Makutsi sounded puzzled. “Of course you may, Mma. But why do you need it?”

“I need a photograph of Violet Sephotho,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And this is the only one we have, I think. This is her in the middle row, isn’t it?”

Mma Makutsi wrinkled her nose. “She looked the same then as she looks today. Look at all that lipstick. Look at it.”

“And the nails,” mused Mma Ramotswe. “Those nails. They have a lot to do with this.”

“With what?”

“With this enquiry,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“Nails, Mma?”

“I shall explain everything very soon, Mma Makutsi. In the meantime, Mr. Andersen and I need to go into town.”

There was something in Mma Makutsi’s look that made Mma Ramotswe hesitate. It was a look of disappointment, coupled, perhaps, with yearning.

“Unless you would like to come with us, Mma Makutsi?” she said.