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The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection (No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series #13)

The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection (No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series #13)

4.3 61
by Alexander McCall Smith

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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



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.
Precious Ramotswe is haunted by a repeated dream: a vision of a tall, strange man who waits for her beneath an acacia tree. Odd as this is, she’s far too busy to worry about it. The best apprentice at Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors is in trouble with the law and stuck with the worst lawyer in Gaborone. Grace Makutsi and Phuti Radiphuti are building the house of their dreams, but their builder is not completely on the up and up. And, most shockingly, Mma Potokwane, defender of Botswana’s weak and downtrodden, has been dismissed from her post as matron at the orphan farm. Can the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency help restore the beloved matron to her rightful position?
As wealthy and powerful influences at the orphan farm become allied against their friend, help arrives from an unexpected visitor: the tall stranger from Mma Ramotswe’s dreams, who turns out to be none other than the estimable Clovis Andersen, author of the No. 1 Ladies’ prized manual, The Principles of Private Detection. Together, Mma Ramotswe, Mma Makutsi, and their teacher-turned-colleague help right this injustice and in the process discover something new about being a good detective.

BONUS MATERIAL: This ebook edition includes an excerpt from Alexander McCall Smith's The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon.  

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Smith wisely doesn’t tamper with his winning recipe for literary comfort food in his 13th excursion to Gaborone, Botswana, in the company of bighearted PI Precious Ramotswe (after 2011’s The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party). An unknown tall man appears in a dream to Mma Ramotswe, and before long, one shows up for real, in the person of American Clovis Andersen, author of the bible of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, The Principles of Private Detection. Invited to the country by a woman working on an American project to build school libraries, Anderson ends up assisting his biggest fan in looking into the dirty laundry of a businessman whose plans to make the local orphanage more efficient threaten the role of its matron and its successful operation. As always, the detection is secondary to Smith’s continuing exploration of the rhythms and social dynamics of smalltown African life. Agent: Robin Straus, Robin Straus Agency. (Apr.)
From the Publisher

“In Mma Ramotswe, [McCall Smith] minted one of the most memorable heroines in any modern fiction.”

“Enthralling. . . . Mma Ramotswe is someone readers can’t help but love.”
   —USA Today

“If you’ve never read a No. 1 Ladies’, now’s the time. . . . The brilliance of this series … is that what may seem like tiny cases expand into considerations of virtue, love, ambition, greed, and evil.”
   —Booklist (starred review)
“An oasis. . . . Full of wit, nuance, and caring.”
   —Chicago Sun-Times

“Smart and sassy . . . [with] the power to amuse or shock or touch the heart, sometimes all at once.”
   —Los Angeles Times

“There is no end to the pleasure that may be extracted from these books.”
   —The New York Times Book Review

“These gentle stories of manners and morality have a clarity that . . . seems far harder to discern in our own rushed, deadline-driven lives.” 
   —The Scotsman

“Endearing, amusing. . . . Sparkles with African sunshine and wit.”
   —Dallas Morning News

“The best, most charming, honest, hilarious, and life-affirming books to appear in years.”
   —The Plain Dealer

Kirkus Reviews
Three relatively ordinary cases for Botswana's No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency are complicated by an altogether-extraordinary meeting. Mma Silvia Potokwane, the traditionally built matron of the orphan farm, tells Precious Ramotswe that there's something not quite right about board member Ditso Ditso, the well-known businessman who's insisted on building a central kitchen for the facility that will make food preparation and delivery more efficient but less loving. Soon enough, however, the matron has bigger problems to worry about: At the instance of Rra Ditso, she's fired from the job she thought she'd have forever. While Mma Ramotswe is digesting this sad news, she learns that Fanwell, the more industrious apprentice at her husband J.L.B. Matekoni's Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, has been arrested for doing illicit (and unwitting) mechanical work on stolen cars. There's even skullduggery afoot in the construction of the new home furniture dealer Phuti Radiphuti is building associate detective Grace Makutsi, whom he married at the end of The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party (2011). All this might well be overwhelming even for Mma Ramotswe, who's also headed for a rare adventure outside Gaborone, if she weren't fortified by support and wise counsel from Clovis Andersen. And not just from Andersen's tome The Principles of Private Detection, her own professional scripture, but from the author himself, who turns up in her office just in time to offer help as sententious and self-effacing as it is effective. Longer but not better than the 12 earlier accounts of the Agency. Few fans, however, will want to miss the byplay between Mma Ramotswe and her revered mentor.

Product Details

Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date:
No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series , #13
Sold by:
Random House
Sales rank:
File size:
3 MB

Read an Excerpt

In Botswana, home to the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency for the problems of ladies, and others, it is customary—one might say very customary—to enquire of the people whom you meet whether they have slept well. The answer to that question is almost inevitably that they have indeed slept well, even if they have not, and have spent the night tossing and turning as a result of the nocturnal barking of dogs, the activity of mosquitoes or the prickings of a bad conscience. Of course, mosquitoes may be defeated by nets or sprays, just as dogs may be roundly scolded; a bad conscience, though, is not so easily stifled. If somebody were to invent a spray capable of dealing with an uncomfortable conscience, that person would undoubtedly do rather well—but perhaps might not sleep as soundly as before, were he to reflect on the consequences of his invention. Bad consciences, it would appear, are there for a purpose: to make us feel regret over our failings. Should they be silenced, then our entirely human weaknesses, our manifold omissions, would become all the greater—and that, as Mma Ramotswe would certainly say, is not a good thing.
Mma Ramotswe was fortunate in having an untroubled con-science, and therefore generally enjoyed undisturbed sleep. It was her habit to take to her bed after a final cup of red bush tea at around ten o’clock at night. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, her husband and by common consent the finest mechanic in all Botswana, would often retire before her, particularly if he had had a tiring day at work. Mechanics in general sleep well, as do many others whose day is taken up with physically demanding labour. So by the time that Mma Ramotswe went to bed, he might already be lost to this world, his breathing deep and regular, his eyes firmly closed to the bedside light that he would leave for his wife to extinguish.
She would not take long to go to sleep, drifting off to thoughts of what had happened that day; to images of herself drinking tea in the office or driving her van on an errand; to the picture of Mma Makutsi sitting upright at her desk, her large glasses catching the light as she held forth on some issue or other. Or to some memory of a long time ago, of her father walking down a dusty road, holding her hand and explaining to her about the ways of cattle—a subject that he knew so well. When a wise man dies, there is so much history that is lost: that is what they said, and Mma Ramotswe knew it to be true. Her own father, the late Obed Ramotswe, had taken so much with him, but had also left much behind, so many memories and sayings and observations, that she, his daughter, could now call up and cherish as she waited for the soft arms of sleep to embrace her.
Mma Ramotswe did not remember her dreams for very long once she had woken up. Occasionally, though, an egregiously vivid dream might make such an impression that it lodged in her memory, and that is what happened that morning. It was not in any way a bad dream; nor was it a particularly good dream, the sort of dream that makes one feel as if one has been vouchsafed some great mystical insight; it was, rather, one of those dreams that seems to be a clear warning that something special is about to happen. If a dream involves lottery tickets and numbers, then its meaning is clear enough. This dream was not like that, and yet it left Mma Ramotswe feeling that she had somehow been given advance notice of something out of the ordinary, something important.
In this dream she was walking along a path in the stretch of bush immediately behind Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, the building that the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency shared with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni’s garage. She was not sure where she was going, but this did not seem to matter as Mma Ramotswe felt happy just to be walking along it with no great sense of having to reach a destination. And why should one not walk along a path, particularly a comfortable path, without any idea of getting anywhere?
She turned a corner and found herself faced with a large acacia tree, its foliage extending out like the canopy of a commodious umbrella. To dream of trees is to . . . to long for trees, and finding herself under the shade of this tree would have been enough to make the dream a satisfactory one. But there was more to it. Underneath the tree, standing in such a position that the mottled shade of the leaves all but obscured his face, was a tall, well-built man. He now stepped forward, held out a hand and said, “I have come at last, Mma Ramotswe.”
And that was the point at which Mma Ramotswe awoke. The encounter with this stranger had not been threatening in any way; there had been nothing in his demeanour that was suggestive of hostility, and she had not felt in the slightest bit anxious. As for what he said, she had simply thought, even if she had not had the time to say it, Yes, it has been a long time.
For a few minutes after waking, she had lain still in bed, mulling over the dream. Had the man been her father, then the dream would have been easy to understand. She knew that she dreamed of her father from time to time, which was only to be expected, given that not a day went past, not one day, when she did not think of that great and good man, the late Obed Ramotswe. If you think of somebody every day, then you can be sure you will dream of him at night; but it was not him whom she encountered under that acacia tree—that was very clear. It was somebody quite different, somebody she sensed was from a long way away. But who could that be? Mma Ramotswe did not really know anybody from a long way away, unless one counted Francistown or Maun, where she knew a number of people. But those towns, although several hundred miles from Gaborone, are both in Botswana, and nowhere in Botswana was the abode of strangers. That was because Botswana, to those who lived there, was home, and familiar, and comfortable, and no place in such a country will seem far away. No, this man under the tree was from somewhere outside the country, and that was unusual and puzzling and would have to be thought about at some length.
“I had a very unusual dream,” she said to Mma Makutsi as they attended to the morning’s mail in the office.
Mma Makutsi looked up from the envelope that she was in the process of slitting open. “Dreams are always unusual,” she said. “In fact, it is unusual to have a usual dream.”
Mma Ramotswe frowned. She thought that she understood what Mma Makutsi meant but was not quite sure. Her assistant had a habit of making enigmatic remarks, and this, she suspected, was one such remark.
“Phuti,” Mma Makutsi continued, referring to her new husband, Phuti Radiphuti, “Phuti has many dreams, every night. He tells me about them and I explain what they mean.” She paused. “He often dreams about furniture.”
“That is because he has a furniture shop,” Mma Ramotswe said. “So perhaps it is not surprising.”
“That is so, Mma,” agreed Mma Makutsi. “But he can dream about different pieces of furniture.” She paused, fixing Mma Ramotswe on the other side of the room with the cautious look of one about to reveal sensitive information. She lowered her voice. “Some nights he dreams about beds; other nights he dreams about dining room tables. It is very strange.”
Mma Ramotswe looked down at her desk. She did not like to discuss the intimate side of anybody’s marriage—particularly when the marriage was as recent as Mma Makutsi’s. She thought of new marriages as being rather like those shy, delicate flowers one sees on the edge of the Kalahari; so small that one might miss them altogether, so vulnerable that a careless step might crush their beauty. Of course, people talked about their dreams without too much embarrassment—most dreams, after all, sound inconsequential and silly in the cold light of day—but it was different when a wife talked about a husband’s dreams, or a husband about a wife’s. Dreams occurred in beds, and what occurred in marital beds was not a subject for debate in the office—especially if the dream related to beds, as it appeared that some of Phuti Radiphuti’s dreams did.
But if Mma Ramotswe was reluctant to probe Phuti’s dreams too closely, the same was not true of her assistant. The topic had now been broached, and Mma Makutsi pursued it enthusiastically.
“There is no doubt about a dream about beds,” she continued. “The meaning of that dream is very clear, Mma. It should be very obvious, even to a person who does not know much about dreams, or other things, for that matter.”
Mma Ramotswe said nothing.
“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi, “if a person says I have been dreaming about beds, then you know straight away what the dream means. You can say to them, I know what that dream means. It is very clear.
Mma Ramotswe looked out of the window, which was high, and gave a view from that angle only of a slice of blue; empty blue; blue with no white of cloud; nothingness. “Is the meaning of dreams clear, Mma? Do any dreams make sense, or are they just like . . . like clouds in the sky, composed of nothing very much? Maybe they are clouds in our mind, Mma; maybe that is what they are.”
Mma Makutsi was having none of this. “The meaning is often clear,” she retorted. “I have no difficulty, Mma, in understanding a dream about beds.”
Mma Ramotswe sighed. “Well, they do say, don’t they, Mma, that men have such things on their minds most of the time. They say that men think only of that, all day. Listen to the way Charlie speaks when he thinks you can’t hear him. That shows you what men think about—or at least, young men. I do not think that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni has thoughts like that in his head all day. I do not think that, Mma.”
It was as if Mma Makutsi had not heard her. “Yes, Mma. The meaning of a dream about beds is very simple. It means that you are tired. It means that you need more sleep.”
Mma Ramotswe stared at her assistant for a few moments. Then, with some degree of relief, she smiled. “Well, there you have it, Mma. That must be what such a dream means.”
“On the other hand,” went on Mma Makutsi, “a dream about a dining-room table is different. That does not mean that you are tired.”
“No, it does not mean that, Mma. A dream about a dining-room table means that you are hungry. I think that is very obvious.”
Mma Ramotswe looked first at the teapot, and then at the clock. She would wait, she decided; if one kept bringing forward the time at which one had tea, then the period after teatime would become far too long. Tea had to be taken at the right time; if anything was clear, it was that.
She decided to steer the conversation back to her own dream. But just as she was about to do so, Mma Makutsi came up with a further observation on Phuti’s dreams. “When he said to me one morning that he had dreamed of dining-room tables, I was worried. Was I giving him enough to eat, I wondered?”
“And what did you decide, Mma?”
“I think I’m giving him enough food. I believe in demand feeding. I think that is what it’s called. I always leave some food out in the kitchen so that Phuti can pick up a snack if he feels hungry. There are other women who believe that you should only feed your husband at set times, so that he gets used to it. But I am not one of those women, Mma. I leave food out.”
Mma Ramotswe suppressed a grin at the thought of demand feeding for husbands. The conversation, although potentially sensitive, had proved to be more amusing than anything else, and she knew that it could drift on indefinitely. It was her own dream that had started it, and it was to her dream that she now returned.
“I had a very strange dream last night, Mma,” she said. “As I was saying.”
“Please tell me what it was, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “I cannot guarantee that I will be able to tell you what it means, but we shall see.”
“I dreamed that I was walking along a path,” Mma Ramotswe began. “And—”
Mma Makutsi interrupted her. “That means you are going on a journey, Mma. There can be no doubt about that.”
Mma Ramotswe acknowledged this. “Possibly. But then the path came to a place—”
“That is your destination,” announced Mma Makutsi. “Thatplace that you saw in your dream was your destination in life. That is very clear indeed. What was it like, Mma? Was it a very good place?”
“There was an acacia tree—”
Again there was an interjection. “Then that means you are going to end up under a tree, Mma. That is where you will find yourself, under a tree.” She looked at Mma Ramotswe sympathetically.
“That is not too bad, Mma. There are many worse places to end up.”
“But the tree was not all that important,” said Mma Ramotswe, raising her voice slightly to prevent further interruption. “There was a man standing under the tree. It was as if he was waiting for me.”
“That will be Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.”
Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “It was not him. It was a man I had never seen before. And he did not come from here. He was a stranger.”
Mma Makutsi’s glasses flashed in a slanting band of sunlight. “Not from Gaborone?” she asked. “Not from Botswana?”
“No. He was from somewhere else. He was not an African at all.”
Mma Makutsi was silent. Then she delivered her judgement. “You are going to meet a stranger,” she said, with an air of gravity. “You are going to meet a stranger under an acacia tree.”
“I thought it might mean something like that,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But then I thought that it probably didn’t mean anything at all. That it was just a dream, and I would forget about it by this afternoon.”
Mma Makutsi looked doubtful. “I don’t think you should forget it, Mma Ramotswe. I think that you should remember it, so that when it happens, when you meet that stranger under the acacia tree, you will be prepared.”
She said nothing more, but gave Mma Ramotswe an oblique look; a look that Mma Ramotswe interpreted as a warning. But she had not understood—for all her claims to understanding dreams, Mma Makutsi had missed the point. This stranger was not threatening; this stranger, for whom Mma Makutsi said she should be prepared, was not somebody to be dreaded or guarded against. On the contrary, this stranger was a good man, a kind man, and his arrival—if he were ever to come, which was highly unlikely—was something to be welcomed, something to be celebrated. And there was something else—something that was hard to put into words. The man in the dream might have been a stranger in that she had never seen him before, but somehow she felt that she knew him. She knew him but did not know him.
She glanced at her watch again. Resolve can be weakened by time, and by talk about dreams and by heat.
“I know it’s a bit early, but I think that we should have tea now,” she said to Mma Makutsi. And Mma Makutsi, who had removed her glasses to clean them, looked up, finished her task of polishing the lenses and said that she completely agreed.
“On a hot day,” she said, “we dream of tea.”


Meet the Author

Alexander McCall Smith is also the author of the Isabel Dalhousie series, the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series, the 44 Scotland Street series, and the Corduroy Mansions series. He is professor emeritus of medical law at the University of Edinburgh and has served with many national and international organizations concerned with bioethics. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and taught law at the University of Botswana. He lives in Scotland.

Brief Biography

Edinburgh, Scotland
Date of Birth:
August 24, 1948
Place of Birth:

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The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 61 reviews.
pugsnhugs More than 1 year ago
Alexander McCakk Smith writes some of the most interesting and fun to read books I have ever read. Some times sad, but in the end everything comes out and you can't believe the book is at the end.
afrodiamondchild More than 1 year ago
I love this series...wish they would bring it back to tv...Jill Scott was an exceptional actress playing Mma Ramotswe.....plus i looked forward to watching it every Sunday night @ 8.
TurningThePagesBlog More than 1 year ago
I first started reading the No. 1 Ladies' Detective back in the summer of 2010, shortly after the HBO show of the same name aired on television. A lot of you already know that I have a wee obsession with all things Africa so this series is my little escape to Botswana when I read it. When I read this back in June, it had been a whole year since I had opened one of the books in this series and I was starting to miss Mma Ramotswe and the other colourful characters that Alexander McCall Smith so artfully writes into his novels. When ever I read the series I feel like I'm coming home and this novel was no different from the others in that aspect. For me, I have certain authors that I resort to reading when I'm in a certain mood and when I read this one I needed a good old fashioned comfort read. In this latest installment in the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency we are once again brought into the comforting embrace of Mma Ramotswe. In this book I got to meet up with my old friends Mma Makutsi, Phuti Radiphuti, Rra Matekoni and his faithful assistants at the garage he owns as well as being introduced to Mma Ramotswe's hero Clovis Anderson. I know many people say that these books shouldn't be classed as mysteries because the "case" Mma Ramotswe solves are often pretty trivial but for me I just love the feeling these novels give me. This time around the mystery was close to home as one of Rra Matekoni's assistants is put in a delicate situation in which Mma Ramotswe, Mma Makutsi and and Clovis Anderson get on the case and try to rescue him! This one turned out to be even better than the previous book in the series which surprised me because I thought the series had peaked at the time I read the last one so I was pleasantly surprised to find that that was not the case. This one still had the homey feeling that all the novels have but it was nice to see the different characters backstories evolve because less face it after a certain amount of books in a series things can become a little stagnant. For me this one actually turned out to be the best book in the series (besides the first one) in my opinion and was certainly the most enjoyable. I can't wait to read the next book. I think the direction the author has taken with the book is one that readers will like. At least I hope other do because I really did. If you haven't read the series and want a unique reading experience I highly suggest reading this series. *I revieved a copy of this book for free from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for my FREE and HONEST review. All thoughts and opinions expressed are my own and I was in no way compensated for my review.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm never disappointed with these books. I began with book one and each and everyone has been fun to read. It's not necessary to read the previous ones to enjoy this but it is an advantage to follow these entertaining characters from their beginnings and follow them through the series.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Delightful - just like the rest of the series.
cloggiedownunder More than 1 year ago
The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection is the thirteenth in the Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith. In this instalment, Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi find themselves investigating not for clients, but rather, for themselves and their friends. Precious and Grace are delighted to find that Clovis Anderson, author of their much-consulted bible, The Principles of Private Detection, is visiting Botswana and decides to stop in for a chat. Precious uses the opportunity to get his advice on a troubling situation affecting her dear friend, Matron of the Orphan Farm, Mma Potokwani. It seems the Orphanage Board has decided to institute changes which Mma Potokwani feels will be detrimental to the orphans, and her dissension is to cost her her job. In an uncharacteristic move, the usually forthright matron retreats to her lands: is this the end for Mma Potokwani? Fanwell, the irreproachable apprentice at Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, reluctantly agrees to help an old acquaintance and finds this decision has unforeseen serious consequences. While Mr J.L.B. Matekoni and Mma Ramotswe give him their full support, a surprisingly resourceful Charlie demonstrates unexpected loyalty and comes to the rescue. And newlyweds, Grace and Phuti, find that building a house can be complicated, especially when the builder is not completely honest. As always, the lives of our favourite Gabarone residents keep the reader engrossed; their dialogue, especially that of Mma Makutsi (and her shoes!) provide many light moments; the courtroom scene is pure farce; we discover the origin of Grace’s obsession with shoes; we learn more about Fanwell’s background; Grace’s musings on physical and mental comfort are worth consideration, as is the concept of the guilt-free sofa; Mma Ramotswe’s inner monologue is full of gentle philosophy and it was a lovely surprise for the reader to meet the much-quoted (and apparently very human) Clovis Anderson. Another delightful novel.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
First of all, I have not yet read the book so I am, in essence, judging the book from the knowledge I have. I have read all 12 of Mr. Smith's books so far, and I have savored each and every one. His writing is superb and expresses true love for the friendly and diverse country of Botswana. I hope to be able to read his newest book, the 13th in the series, very soon. I also want to express gratitude to Barnes and Nobles for their thorough review and extensive excerpt. This is one of the many reasons why you (B&N) are by far my favorite book store.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
If you enjoy reading about other cultures and other countries, then you should definitely read Alexander McCall Smith's series about a woman detective and her assistant in Botswana. The latest book, The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection is full of interesting characters, mystery and humor and wisdom .
NahvilleReader More than 1 year ago
Charming series, fun to read. Always ends too quickly and I wish it the story hadn't ended.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really like the No1. Ladies' Detective Agency series. It is an easy and fun read. Just right for summer days at the beach or just when you want a good light mystery.
OregonreaderGS More than 1 year ago
This is not the best one in the series - but time spent with Mma Ramotswe is always enjoyable and worthwhile!
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I wanna join this class lairs are really cool!!!!!!!!!!
MerleF More than 1 year ago
A fun book to read. Like all of Mcall Smith's books, well developed characters. Sometimes the story drags, but lots of good local color and plausible plot.
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This book is as enjoyable as the previous 12 in the series with the addition of "meeting" Clovis Anderson we've all read so much about in the previous books.
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As entertaining as usual .........
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love this series! Not only is it a great detective series, it is also a wonderful series that shows true human warmth and humility. I hope there is soon another book in this series.