“No. I don’t think so.”

“All right. There will be more questions. Stand by.”

And he hung up abruptly, leaving her clutching the phone to her ear, listening to dead air. Were they treating her with so little respect because she was American, because they thought she was a criminal, or both?

It didn’t matter. She didn’t like it one bit.

Since the weather was warm and sunny, the birds singing above, the sky the blue of a Caribbean Sea, Diana decided to walk back to the hotel and decompress. On the way, she passed Notre Dame, with its impressive flying buttresses, spires, and gothic architecture as well as the intricate stained-glass windows. I am stopping by you, later, she thought at it as she passed. I promise. But right now, I have things to do.

As she walked, again checking to see if anyone was following her, she thought about Luc. Claude. Why were there so many lovable foolish men in the world? It appeared America did not have a monopoly on them, which made Diana a little sad about her trip. She hadn’t come on this trip to find romance, but in a way, it had been the impetus to get her here—that memory of Stéphane. So yes, part of her had thought . . . hoped . . .

Don’t do that to yourself, Diana. You have far more important things to think about now.

Indeed, she did. She couldn’t trust the police. If she didn’t figure out what happened to that necklace, and soon, she’d never be able to leave France.

She’d noticed a display outside the restaurant at Le Bonne Auberge advertising a coq au vin lunch special, so she stopped in there and sat down at the bar, fishing for her itinerary in her purse as she went. She pulled it out, opened it up, and told the bartender she’d have the special and a glass of house wine.

As he went off, she buried her face in the book, grabbed a pen, and began crossing out all the things she’d missed, trying to arrange them for later. But her time was running short.

Besides, she had other thing on her mind. She’d meant to put in, somewhere, Tour Notre Dame, but instead put in, Go back to Versailles?

Tomorrow, she was due to leave Paris and take that drive toward the coast.

Sighing, she scratched all that out, too. It was definitely a good idea she hadn’t booked those hotels everywhere like she’d planned to. Besides, maybe it would be easier just to take the train, instead of renting a car.

She flipped five days forward and saw the word Florence circled in black ink. She’d always wanted to visit Florence, almost as much as Paris.

If she didn’t find that necklace, she’d probably have to cross Florence out too.

No, she told herself. Paris may have turned sour. But over my dead body will I cross out Florence too.

It was with that resolution in her head that her lunch came. She scooped up a little chicken in brown sauce and took a bite, savoring the taste. Perfect. All the food in France was always good