Free Precious and Grace by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

Andersen, from Muncie, Indiana—what would he say about the Fat Cattle Club if he were told about it? She thought for a moment, and then she heard his voice:
Be very careful of anything that looks too good to be true.
Because if it looks too good to be true, that’s probably because that’s exactly what it is!

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DOG REALLY LOVED THAT SMALL MAN
    S HE COULD TELL from Mma Makutsi’s expression that something had happened. It was not her
Something dreadful’s happened
expression; it was more her
You’ll never guess what’s happened
look
,
and it involved a wry, rather coy smile.
    “So you are back,” said Mma Makutsi. “And how was my friend Mma Potokwane?”
    “She was very well, Mma. She sends you her good wishes. She was asking after you.”
    Mma Makutsi’s smile broadened. “I’m glad to hear that, Mma. I haven’t seen her for some time—I should go out and visit her, perhaps.” She paused. “Fruit cake?”
    Mma Ramotswe nodded. “It was as delicious as usual.”
    “How many pieces?” asked Mma Makutsi, adding hurriedly, “I would never blame you for having more than one, Mma. Her fruit cake really is special.”
    Mma Ramotswe was able to be strictly honest; the question had been about fruit cake, not goat stew. “Just one piece, Mma.” She added, “Since you ask.”
    Mma Makutsi shuffled a small pile of papers on her desk. “I must do some filing,” she said. “These papers are getting on top of me.”
    Mma Ramotswe knew what was expected of her. “Did anything happen round here, Mma?”
    She had read the situation correctly. Mma Makutsi did not wait long to reply, and her tone was triumphant. “Have you been round the back?” she asked.
    “Round the back?”
    “Yes, outside. The back of the garage. Go and take a look.”
    The back of the garage was part of Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni’s domain and Mma Ramotswe rarely ventured round there. It was a place for the storage of oil drums, old tyres, empty wooden crates, and the sundry detritus of a small garage business. It was a place where Charlie and Fanwell liked to sit, perched on empty oil drums, and eat their lunchtime sandwiches. It was a male rather than a female place, one devoted to bits and pieces of old garage equipment, to things that were not currently useful but that may come in handy at some point; a place where men would feel at home.
    She left the office by its front door and began to walk round the building. She had no idea what would await her, and her surprise was complete when she saw the dog tied to an old engine block. It was the dog that Fanwell had run over and that she had taken back to Old Naledi. It was back, and it greeted her with a frantic wagging of the tail and a combination of barks and howls. There was no sign of Fanwell, but as she stood there she saw him emerge from the back of the garage, hesitate when he saw her, but then come up to her. His expression was apologetic.
    “The dog came back, Mma,” he said, pointing at the excited creature at his feet. “It was while you were over at Mma Potokwane’s place. He came back.”
    “So I see,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    “I don’t know how he did it,” Fanwell continued. “They say that dogs are very good at finding their way. Do you think it’s to do with their very strong sense of smell? Do you think that’s how they do it, Mma? Don’t you think he’s clever, Mma?”
    His eagerness betrayed his anxiety, and when Mma Ramotswe looked at him, he winced.
    “I didn’t encourage him to come back,” he muttered. “I promise you, Mma.”
    Mma Ramotswe made a gesture of acceptance. “I know you didn’t, Fanwell. This is not your fault.”
    “I didn’t know what to do, Mma. So I tied him up here.”
    “That’s all right, Fanwell,” she said. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”
    His relief was obvious.
    “Has Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni said anything?” she asked.
    Fanwell sighed. “He said that I would have to take him back again. He said we cannot