When Sue and Rachel returned, they arranged a buffet on the kitchen island and encouraged everyone to help themselves. Lucy took a piece of steak and a bit of salad and retreated to her spot on the sofa. She wanted to be alone with her worries about Elizabeth and her irrational anger toward Bill. She knew she was being unreasonable. There wasn’t anything he could have done differently, but at least he could worry along with her. Instead, he was sitting with the others at the big table, where the wine was flowing along with the jokes, most of which were at Ted’s expense. Ted was taking it good-naturedly, however, now that Pam had returned and was sitting by his side.

Eventually, even Lucy gave up and joined the others for coffee and dessert, little tubs of packaged chocolate mousse that was surprisingly delicious.

“I’m really going to miss the Monoprix when I get back home,” declared Sue. “Everything’s so good . . . the bread, the cheese. Even the butter is more buttery somehow.”

“That’s if we ever get home,” said Bob. “I’ll call Air France tomorrow and see what we have to do to change our flight.”

“And I’ll check in with Sidra,” offered Sue, “and see what Norah wants to do about our accommodations.”

“Try for the Cavendish,” said Pam.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Lucy, licking the last bits of chocolate off her spoon. “I’m beginning to think the Cavendish is a cover for crime.”

“Like Bertram’s Hotel in the Agatha Christie book?” asked Rachel.

“Exactly,” said Lucy.

“But even Miss Marple appreciated the service at Bertram’s,” said Rachel.

“I could use some five-star pampering,” said Pam.

“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Sue.

After dinner, when the dishes were finally all washed and put away, Lucy retreated to the old-fashioned bathroom for a long restorative soak in the huge tub. Her feet and legs were tired from so much walking, and she was emotionally drained. It had been a very long day, beginning with the trip to Chartres and the meeting with Madame Seydoux. Lucy tried to put herself in Madame’s shoes, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not understand Madame’s strange reaction to her daughter’s death. It was all too easy for Lucy to imagine the horror of losing one of her children. She lived with that fear constantly. Whenever she read of a young person killed in a car accident or a missing college coed, she knew in her heart that there was no immunity from tragedy, which could strike unexpectedly at any time. She and Bill had done their best to raise sensible, careful kids who didn’t engage in risky behaviors, but as Elizabeth had demonstrated that very evening, much of their advice had gone in one ear and out the other.