Read Online Ladies' Detective Agency 01 - The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
Tags: Fiction, General, África, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Women Private Investigators, Women Detectives, Detectives, Botswana, No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (Imaginary organization), Ramotswe; Precious (Fictitious character), Women private investigators - Botswana, Ramotswe; Precious, Today's Book Club Selection, Women Privat Investigators
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nodded.
“I know that. I am going to have to start from scratch.”
The lawyer winced as she spoke. “It’s easy to lose money in
business,” he said. “Especially when you don’t know anything
about what you’re doing.” He stared at her hard. “Especially
then. And anyway, can women be detectives? Do you think they can?”
“Why not?” said Mma Ramotswe. She had heard that people did not
like lawyers, and now she thought she could see why. This man was so certain of
himself, so utterly convinced. What had it to do with him what she did? It was
her money, her future. And how dare he say that about women, when he
didn’t even know that his zip was half undone! Should she tell him?
“Women are the ones who know what’s going on,” she said
quietly. “They are the ones with eyes. Have you not heard of Agatha
Christie?”
The lawyer looked taken aback. “Agatha Christie?
Of course I know her. Yes, that is true. A woman sees more than a man sees.
That is well-known.”
“So,” said Mma Ramotswe,
“when people see a sign saying NO . 1 LADIES ’ DETECTIVE AGENCY , what will they
think? They’ll think those ladies will know what’s going on.
They’re the ones.”
The lawyer stroked his chin.
“Maybe.”
“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe.
“Maybe.” Adding, “Your zip, Rra. I think you may not have
noticed …”
SHE FOUND the house
first, on a corner plot in Zebra Drive. It was expensive, and she decided to
take out a bond on part of it, so that she could afford to buy somewhere for
the business too. That was more difficult, but at last she found a small place
near Kgale Hill, on the edge of town, where she could set up. It was a good
place, because a lot of people walked down that road every day and would see
the sign. It would be almost as effective as having an advertisement in the
Daily News
or the
Botswana Guardian
. Everybody would soon
know about her.
The building she bought had originally been a general
dealer’s shop, but had been converted into a dry cleaners and finally a
bottle store. For a year or so it had lain empty, and had been lived in by
squatters. They had made fires inside, and in each of the rooms there was a
part of the wall where the plaster had been charred and burned. The owner had
eventually returned from Francistown and had driven out the squatters and
placed the dejected-looking building on the market. There had been one or two
prospective purchasers, but they had been repelled by its condition and the
price had dropped. When Mma Ramotswe had offered cash, the seller had leapt at
her offer and she received the deeds within days.
There was a lot to
do. A builder was called in to replace the damaged plaster and to repair the
tin roof and, again with the offer of cash, this was accomplished within a
week. Then Mma Ramotswe set to the task of painting, and she had soon completed
the outside in ochre and the inside in white. She bought fresh yellow curtains
for the windows and, in an unusual moment of extravagance, splashed out on a
brand new office set of two desks and two chairs. Her friend, Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni, proprietor of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, brought her an old
typewriter which was surplus to his own requirements and which worked quite
well, and with that the office was ready to open—once she had a
secretary.
This was the easiest part of all. A telephone call to the
Botswana College of Secretarial and Office Skills brought an immediate
response. They had just the woman, they said. Mma Makutsi was the widow of a
teacher and had just passed their general typing and secretarial examinations
with an average grade of 97 percent; she would be ideal—they were certain
of it.
Mma Ramotswe liked her immediately. She was a thin woman with a
rather long face and braided hair in which she had rubbed copious quantities of
henna. She wore oval glasses with wide plastic frames, and she had a fixed, but
apparently quite sincere smile.
They opened the office on a Monday.
“I know that. I am going to have to start from scratch.”
The lawyer winced as she spoke. “It’s easy to lose money in
business,” he said. “Especially when you don’t know anything
about what you’re doing.” He stared at her hard. “Especially
then. And anyway, can women be detectives? Do you think they can?”
“Why not?” said Mma Ramotswe. She had heard that people did not
like lawyers, and now she thought she could see why. This man was so certain of
himself, so utterly convinced. What had it to do with him what she did? It was
her money, her future. And how dare he say that about women, when he
didn’t even know that his zip was half undone! Should she tell him?
“Women are the ones who know what’s going on,” she said
quietly. “They are the ones with eyes. Have you not heard of Agatha
Christie?”
The lawyer looked taken aback. “Agatha Christie?
Of course I know her. Yes, that is true. A woman sees more than a man sees.
That is well-known.”
“So,” said Mma Ramotswe,
“when people see a sign saying NO . 1 LADIES ’ DETECTIVE AGENCY , what will they
think? They’ll think those ladies will know what’s going on.
They’re the ones.”
The lawyer stroked his chin.
“Maybe.”
“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe.
“Maybe.” Adding, “Your zip, Rra. I think you may not have
noticed …”
SHE FOUND the house
first, on a corner plot in Zebra Drive. It was expensive, and she decided to
take out a bond on part of it, so that she could afford to buy somewhere for
the business too. That was more difficult, but at last she found a small place
near Kgale Hill, on the edge of town, where she could set up. It was a good
place, because a lot of people walked down that road every day and would see
the sign. It would be almost as effective as having an advertisement in the
Daily News
or the
Botswana Guardian
. Everybody would soon
know about her.
The building she bought had originally been a general
dealer’s shop, but had been converted into a dry cleaners and finally a
bottle store. For a year or so it had lain empty, and had been lived in by
squatters. They had made fires inside, and in each of the rooms there was a
part of the wall where the plaster had been charred and burned. The owner had
eventually returned from Francistown and had driven out the squatters and
placed the dejected-looking building on the market. There had been one or two
prospective purchasers, but they had been repelled by its condition and the
price had dropped. When Mma Ramotswe had offered cash, the seller had leapt at
her offer and she received the deeds within days.
There was a lot to
do. A builder was called in to replace the damaged plaster and to repair the
tin roof and, again with the offer of cash, this was accomplished within a
week. Then Mma Ramotswe set to the task of painting, and she had soon completed
the outside in ochre and the inside in white. She bought fresh yellow curtains
for the windows and, in an unusual moment of extravagance, splashed out on a
brand new office set of two desks and two chairs. Her friend, Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni, proprietor of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, brought her an old
typewriter which was surplus to his own requirements and which worked quite
well, and with that the office was ready to open—once she had a
secretary.
This was the easiest part of all. A telephone call to the
Botswana College of Secretarial and Office Skills brought an immediate
response. They had just the woman, they said. Mma Makutsi was the widow of a
teacher and had just passed their general typing and secretarial examinations
with an average grade of 97 percent; she would be ideal—they were certain
of it.
Mma Ramotswe liked her immediately. She was a thin woman with a
rather long face and braided hair in which she had rubbed copious quantities of
henna. She wore oval glasses with wide plastic frames, and she had a fixed, but
apparently quite sincere smile.
They opened the office on a Monday.
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