To the Land of Long Lost Friends: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (20) Read Online Free Page A

saying they can’t be nice. It’s just that while they’re being nice, they’re also being stupid.”
    “You must have been very embarrassed,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    Calviniah laughed. “Yes, it can be embarrassing to be late,” she said. “Or to be late and not late at the same time, if you see what I mean, Mma. Anyway, they printed a correction, and an apology. But these were on the back page near the sporting news, and many people did not see them. Who wants to read about football, Mma? Only men want to read that sort of thing.”
    Mma Ramotswe relaxed. “I was thinking exactly the same thing, Mma. When I saw you, I had a big shock. But…but it is such good news, Mma, that you are alive after all.”
    “And we should go and have something to eat,” Calviniah said, steering Mma Ramotswe towards the food tent. “People think that late people don’t feel hungry…”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni smiled. “That is very funny, Mma.”
    Calviniah smiled at him, and to Mma Ramotswe she said, “You have a very nice husband, Mma. I have some friends who are keen to get married. Can you tell me about the place where you found him so that they can have a look too?”
    They both laughed. “This is a very happy day in so many ways,” said Mma Ramotswe.
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    —
    THAT WAS ON A SATURDAY. On the Monday after the wedding, Mma Ramotswe was at her desk early, catching up with correspondence. Mma Makutsi was slightly late in coming in, and when she did, Mma Ramotswe had already made the first cup of tea.
    “I am sorry I’m a bit behind this morning, Mma,” Mma Makutsi said. “Phuti lost his car keys and we had to search every corner of the house before he found them.”
    “Men,” sighed Mma Ramotswe. And then, realising how unfair this was, she said, “Well, I suppose women lose their keys too.” It was wrong to speak like that of men, she thought. It was very tempting sometimes to do so—to blame men for everything—but there were too many women doing it and it was not right. Men could take the blame for many things, but not everything.
    Mma Makutsi sat down at her desk and polished her large round spectacles. “You know what they taught us at the Botswana Secretarial College, Mma? You know what? They said: Make a key board. Put your office keys on hooks. A key that is on a hook is never lost, Mma. I have never forgotten that. A key that is on a hook is never lost.”
    Mma Ramotswe agreed. “I’m sure that is right, Mma.”
    “And the same goes for other things,” went on Mma Makutsi. “Hooks are the answer.”
    Mma Ramotswe had a momentary vision of Mma Makutsi’s house covered in hooks. Even her baby, Itumelang, would be suspended in a basket from a hook; and Phuti would have a hook too, a large, solid one, from which he would dangle by his collar, awaiting instructions from his wife.
    Unware of this vision, of course, Mma Makutsi continued to expound on the merits of hooks. “It’s a good idea to have hooks for men’s clothes, in my view. You know how untidy they are, Mma. You know how they leave their things lying around on the floor.”
    Mma Ramotswe, in spite of her commitment to fairness, had to agree. Men were very untidy, for the most part. They could not help it, she knew, and one could not blame them for it, as neither could they help being men. It was just the way things were.
    “You’re right about clothes on the floor, Mma Makutsi,” she said, a tinge of resignation in her voice. “I’m always picking up clothes. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni does it, and so does Puso. They just leave them on the floor. And then…” She remembered something with a shudder. “It can be dangerous too. Puso left his trousers on the floor one night and the next morning, when he put them on, a scorpion was hiding in one of the legs.”
    Mma Makutsi winced. “That would have been very sore, Mma.”
    “It was,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Those creatures give a very bad sting. Very bad.”
    Mma Makutsi winced again.