Blue Shoes and Happiness by Alexander McCall Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

wider with astonishment. Mma Makutsi also seemed transfixed by the tale which their client was telling, and was sitting quite still at her desk, hanging on every word.
    Poppy now paused. “I hope that you do not think that I was being too nosy,” she said. “I know that you should not look into things that are not your business.”
    Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “But it
was
your business, Mma,” she said. “It was surely your business. It is always the business of people who work in a place that somebody else in that place is stealing. That is everybody’s business.”
    Poppy looked relieved. “I am glad you said that, Mma. I would not like you to think that I was one of those nosy people. I was worried …”
    â€œSo,” interrupted Mma Ramotswe. “You have to decide what to do. Is that why you have come to see me today?”
    This conclusion seemed reasonable to Mma Ramotswe, but Poppy held up her hands in denial. “No, Mma,” she said. “I decided what to do straightaway. I went to Mma Tsau the next day and asked her about her husband. I said, ‘Why is your husband eating all this college food? Do you not have enough food of your own?’
    â€œShe was inspecting a pot at the time, and when I asked her this question she dropped it, she was so surprised. Then she looked closely at me and told me that she did not know what I was talking about and that I should not make up wild stories like that in case anybody believed that what I said was true.
    â€œâ€˜But I saw him myself,’ I told her. ‘I saw him in the storeroom over there eating steaks from the college kitchen. I saw him, Mma.’”
    Mma Makutsi, who had been silent, could no longer contain herself. “Surely she did not try to deny that, Mma,” she said. “That wicked woman! Taking the meat from the students and giving it to that fat husband of hers! And our taxes paying for that meat too!”
    Poppy and Mma Ramotswe both looked at Mma Makutsi. Her outrage was palpable.
    â€œWell, she didn’t,” Poppy continued. “Once I had told her that I had seen what was going on, she just became silent for a while. But she was watching me with her eyes narrowed—like this. Then she said that if I told anybody about it, she would make sure that I lost my job. She explained to me that this would be easy for her to do. She said that she would simply tell the college managers that I was not up to the job and that they would have to get somebody else. She said that they would believe her and that there would be nothing I could do.”
    â€œI hope that you went straight to the police,” said Mma Makutsi indignantly.
    Poppy snorted. “How could I do that? I had no proof to give the police, and they would believe her rather than me. She is the senior cook, remember. I am just a junior person.”
    Mma Ramotswe looked up at the ceiling. She had recently read an article about this sort of problem and she was trying to remember the word which was used to describe it. Whistle-blowing! Yes, that was it. The article had described how difficult it was for whistle-blowers when they saw something illegal being done at work. In some countries, it had said, there were laws to protect the whistle-blower—in some countries, but she was not sure whether this was true of Botswana. There was very little corruption in Botswana, but she was still not sure whether life was made any easier for whistle-blowers.
    â€œWhistle-blowing,” she said aloud. “That’s what it is—whistle-blowing.”
    Poppy looked at her blankly. “Who is blowing a whistle?” she asked.
    â€œYou are,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Or you could blow a whistle.”
    â€œI do not see what whistles have to do with it,” said Poppy.
    â€œIf you went to the police you would be a whistle-blower,” explained Mma Ramotswe. “It’s a way of describing a