The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (Book 1)
Alexander McCall Smith
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THE NO. 1 LADIES’ DETECTIVE AGENCY - Book 1
Fans around the world adore the best-selling No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series and its proprietor, Precious Ramotswe, Botswana’s premier lady detective. In this charming series, Mma Ramotswe—with help from her loyal associate, Grace Makutsi—navigates her cases and her personal life with wisdom, good humor, and the occasional cup of tea.
This first novel in Alexander McCall Smith’s widely acclaimed The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series tells the story of the delightfully cunning and enormously engaging Precious Ramotswe, who is drawn to her profession to “help people with problems in their lives.” Immediately upon setting up shop in a small storefront in Gaborone, she is hired to track down a missing husband, uncover a con man, and follow a wayward daughter. But the case that tugs at her heart, and lands her in danger, is a missing eleven-year-old boy, who may have been snatched by witchdoctors.
The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency received two Booker Judges’ Special Recommendations and was voted one of the International Books of the Year and the Millennium by the Times Literary Supplement.
they can drive the car home.” Billy Pilani looked surprised. “All for nothing?” he asked. “Nothing to be paid?” “Nothing,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It’s just a question of returning property to its rightful owner. That’s all. You believe in that, don’t you Billy?” “Of course,” said Billy Pilani quickly. “Of course.” “And Billy I want you to forget you’re a policeman while all this is going on. There’s not going to be any arrest for you.” “Not even a small one?” asked Billy in a disappointed
we can drink tea while we decide what to do next.” CHAPTER NINETEEN MR CHARLIE GOTSO, BA MR CHARLIE Gotso looked at Mma Ramotswe. He respected fat women, and indeed had married one five years previously. She had proved to be a niggling, troublesome woman and eventually he had sent her down to live on a farm near Lobatse, with no telephone and a road that became impassable in wet weather. She had complained about his other women, insistently, shrilly, but what did she expect? Did she
was a bit rusty and that some of the things he did seemed a bit surprising. For example, he had sewed several wounds up quite badly and the stitching had to be redone. “But sometimes he was really quite good. For example, a couple of weeks ago we had a woman coming in with a tension pneumothorax. That’s a pretty serious matter. Air gets into the space round the lungs and makes the lung collapse, like a popped balloon. If this happens, you have to drain the air out as quickly as you can so that
Maybe he’s not a doctor at all. He could have been a hospital porter or something like that.” Dr Maketsi shook his head. “We went through all that,” he said. “We checked with his Medical School in Nigeria—that was a battle, I can tell you—and we also checked with the General Medical Council in Britain, where he did a registrar’s job for two years. We even obtained a photograph from Nairobi, and it’s the same man. So I’m pretty sure that he’s exactly who he says he is.” “Couldn’t you just test
isn’t here, Mma,” said the woman, slightly testily. “I am the nurse. You can see the doctor on Monday afternoon.” “Ah!” said Mma Ramotswe. “It is a sad thing to have to tidy up on a Friday evening, when everybody else is thinking of going out.” The nurse shrugged her shoulders. “My boyfriend is taking me out later on. But I like to get everything ready for Monday before the weekend starts. It is better that way.” “Far better,” Mma Ramotswe answered, thinking quickly. “I didn’t actually want to