Free Alexander Mccall Smith - Ladies' Detective Agency 05 by The Full Cupboard of Life Page B

the police that
fraud had been perpetrated because there would be no proof of what they had
said to the butcher. They could argue that they had told him all along that
they would have to put in substitute parts, and there would be many other
mechanics who could go into court and testify that this was a reasonable thing
for any mechanic to do in the circumstances. And if there were no help from the
police, then Mr J.L.B. Matekoni would have to speak to the manager of First
Class Motors, and he did not relish the prospect of that. This man had an
unpleasant look on his face and was known to be something of a bully. He would
not stand for allegations being made by somebody like Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, and
the situation could rapidly turn threatening. It was all very well, then, for
Mma Ramotswe to tell him to go and deal with the dishonest garage, but she did
not understand that one could not police the motor trade single-handed.
    Mr J.L.B. Matekoni said nothing. He felt that the whole day had taken an
unsatisfactory turn—right from the beginning. He had encountered a
shocking case of dishonesty, he had been suspected of listening in at doors
(when all he had been doing was listening in), and now there was this
uncomfortable expectation on the part of Mma Ramotswe that he would confront
the unpleasant mechanics at First Class Motors. This was all very unsettling to
a man who in general only wanted a quiet life; who liked nothing more than to
be bent over the engine of a car, coaxing machinery back into working order.
Everything, it seemed to him, was becoming more complicated than it need be,
and—here he shuddered as the thought occurred to him—there was also
hanging over him the awful threat of an involuntary parachute descent. This was
far worse than anything else; a summons to a seat of judgment, an undischarged
debt that sooner or later he would have to pay.
    He turned to Mma
Ramotswe. He should tell her now, as it would be so much easier if there was
somebody to share his anxiety. She might accompany him to see Mma Potokwane to
make it clear to her that there would be no parachute jump, at least not one
made by him. She could handle Mma Potokwane, as women were always much better
at dealing with other dominant women than were men. But when he opened his
mouth to tell her, he found that the words were not there.
    “Yes?” said Mma Ramotswe. “What is it, Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni?’
    He looked at her appealingly, willing her to help him
in his torment, but Mma Ramotswe, seeing only a man staring at her with a vague
longing, smiled at him and touched him gently on the cheek.
    “You
are a good man,” she said. “And I am a very lucky woman to have
such a fiancé.”
    Mr J.L.B. Matekoni sighed. There were cars
to fix. This hill of problems could wait for its resolution until that evening
when he went to Mma Ramotswe’s house for dinner. That would be the time
to talk, as they sat in quiet companionship on the verandah, listening to the
sounds of the evening—the screeching of insects, the occasional snatch of
music drifting across the waste ground behind her house, the barking of a dog
somewhere in the darkness. That was when he would say, “Look, Mma
Ramotswe, I am not very happy.” And she would understand, because she
always understood, and he had never once seen her make light of another’s
troubles.
    But that evening, as they sat on the verandah, the children
were with them, Motholeli and Puso, the two orphans whom Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had
so precipitately fostered, and the moment did not seem to right to discuss
these matters. So nothing was said then, nor at the kitchen table, where, as
they ate the meal which Mma Ramotswe had prepared for them, the talk was all
about a new dress which Motholeli had been promised and about which it seemed
there was great deal to say.

    CHAPTER SEVEN

    EARLY MORNING AT TLOKWENG ROAD SPEEDY MOTORS
    M MA MAKUTSI woke early that day, in spite of having been to
bed late and having slept