“There’s a Berthillon ice cream shop there,” he said.

“How can you even think of ice cream after that huge meal?”

“I can always find a little room for ice cream,” he said. “And portions are small here.”

“I’ll have a lick,” said Lucy. “Just a taste.”

He laughed as they joined other couples and families promenading along the river. It was a lovely spring afternoon, the trees were leafing out, and the river water lapped gently against the stone embankment. Here and there lovers were sitting on benches, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Perhaps inspired by all the public displays of amour, Bill chose passion fruit ice cream, and it was so delicious that Lucy had more than one taste. They were heading home beneath a ravishing pink sky when Lucy’s cell phone rang.

As soon as she heard her daughter’s voice, Lucy knew something was wrong. “Mom,” wailed Elizabeth. “I can’t believe I said all those bad things. I should have done something. . . .”

“What’s happened?” asked Lucy.

“It’s Sylvie,” sobbed Elizabeth.

“She had an accident?”

“No, she’s dead! Murdered.”

“Are you sure?”

“The cops are here.... Will you come?”

Bill took the phone. “As fast as we can, baby,” he promised. “As fast as we can.”

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

A taxi was letting off a passenger just a short distance down the street, so they ran and were able to catch the driver’s attention before he drove off. Bill gave him Elizabeth’s address, while Lucy checked her smartphone for any information about the discovery of Sylvie’s body. At home, she knew the Twitterverse would have plenty to say, as no police activity went unobserved, especially the discovery of a body. In no time at all photos would be posted on Facebook, videos would appear on YouTube, and the mainstream media would be quick to pick up the story. Here in France, however, discretion ruled, and there was little information beyond a brief official press release from the brigade criminelle announcing that the body of a female had been discovered on the quai de Grenelle earlier that day and police were investigating.

When the taxi pulled up in front of Elizabeth’s building, Lucy was out before the car had fully stopped, leaving Bill to pay the driver. He joined Lucy at the doorway, where she was frantically punching at the security keypad. Finally, the door opened, but they were confronted by a uniformed flic, who was blocking their way. “Désolé,” he said, firmly shaking his head. He went on to offer a lengthy explanation, but all Lucy understood was the word interdit, which meant they were not going to be allowed in.

“Nous sommes les parents de Mademoiselle Stone,” responded Lucy, and after checking via two-way radio with a supervisor, the flic stepped aside with a nod.