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Zusatztext “As wise and lovely as ever.”— USA Today “[McCall Smith] is a master. . . . There's beauty and revelation of one kind or another woven expertly into every line.”— Christian Science Monitor “Alexander McCall Smith is a vivid observer and an elegant writer. . . . Like the best traditions! this series is one we hope will endure.” — The Plain Dealer “It’s time for celebration. . . . McCall Smith has done it again.” — The Washington Times “ “ Tea-time continues McCall Smith’s heartwarming focus on quotidian mysteries and small victories.”— Times-Picayune "There is no end to the pleasure that may be extracted from these books." — The New York Times Book Review “What a treat to discover. . . . Brims with good humor and compassion.” — Entertainment Weekly Informationen zum Autor Alexander McCall Smith Klappentext Fans around the world adore the bestselling 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. In this installment in the endlessly entertaining series, Precious Ramotswe faces problems both personal and professional. The first is the potential demise of an old friend, her tiny white van. Recently, it has developed a rather troubling knock, but she dare not consult the estimable Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni for fear he may condemn the vehicle. Meanwhile, her talented assistant Mma Makutsi is plagued by the reappearance of her nemesis, Violet Sephotho, who has taken a job at the Double Comfort Furniture store whose proprietor is none other than Phuti Radiphuti, Mma Makutsi's fiancé. Finally, the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency has been hired to explain the unexpected losing streak of a local football club, the Kalahari Swoopers. But with Mma Ramotswe on the case, it seems certain that everything will be resolved satisfactorily.Chapter One Mr. Molofololo Traditionally built people may not look as if they are great walkers, but there was a time when Precious Ramotswe walked four miles a day. As a girl in Mochudi, all those years ago, a pupil at the school that looked down over the sprawling village below, she went to her lessons every morning on foot, joining the trickle of children that made its way up the hill, the girls in blue tunics, the boys in khaki shirts and shorts, like little soldiers. The journey from the house where she lived with her father and the older cousin who looked after her took all of an hour, except, of course, when she was lucky and managed to ride on the mule-drawn water cart that occasionally passed that way. The driver of this cart, with whom her father had worked in the gold mines as a young man, knew who she was and always slowed down to allow her to clamber up on the driver’s seat beside him. Other children would watch enviously and try to wave down the water cart. “I cannot carry all Botswana,” said the driver. “If I gave all you children a ride on my cart, then my poor mules would die. Their hearts would burst. I cannot allow that.” “But you have Precious up there!” called out the boys. “Why is she so special?” The driver looked at Precious and winked. “Tell them why you are special, Precious. Explain it to them.” The young Mma Ramotswe, barely eight, was overwhelmed by embarrassment. “But I am not special. I am just a girl.” “You are the daughter of Obed Ramotswe,” said the driver. “He is a great man. That is why you are riding up here.” He was right, of course—at least in what he said about Obed Ramotswe, who was, by any standards, a fine man. At that age, Precious had only a faint inkling of what her father sto...
