There was a long silence until Sid spoke up. “This infidel found a rather nice bottle of brandy at the Monoprix. Who’d like a taste?”

“I’ll bite,” said Bill. “You wouldn’t believe what I had for lunch. . . .”

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

After a second bad night spent beside Bill, who slumbered peacefully, Lucy had to admit she wasn’t really all that interested in the cooking classes. If she had her way, she’d skip the class and sleep in, but that was impossible since her bed was in the middle of the apartment’s living room. The others tried to be quiet and tiptoed through on their way to the kitchen area, but Lucy found it difficult to ignore them. She’d hear a rustle or a footfall, and she’d have to lift her eyeshade and see who was there. After doing this several times, she gave up and got out of bed, reaching the kitchen just in time to get the last cup of coffee.

She was still a bit groggy and out of sorts, however, as the group of friends made their way to Le Cooking School. The others were walking ahead of Lucy and Bill. Lucy was eating her croissant breakfast as she walked, and it slowed her down. Rain was forecast, so she’d brought her travel umbrella, which was also a hindrance as it dangled on a cord from her wrist. The others had disappeared inside when they reached the school, and Bill couldn’t remember the entry code.

���Is it one-oh-four-oh-A or four-oh-one-oh-A?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Lucy, who was watching the early morning parade of pedestrians making their way to the Chemin Vert Métro station. “Try them both.”

Bill punched in one number, and nothing happened. “I guess it’s the other one,” he said. “Which one did I use?”

“I didn’t see,” said Lucy, who was staring across the street at a man standing in the doorway of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle shop, dragging on a cigarette. “Don’t look now, but isn’t that the guy from the market?” she asked, whispering. “Unibrow?”

Bill immediately turned his head in the guy’s direction. “I’m not sure,” he said.

“He’s dark and has a three-day beard, just like that guy. And he’s smoking.”

“There are lots of dark guys with three-day beards in Paris,” said Bill, poking at the keypad. “And they all smoke. I can’t tell one from another.”

“You have a point,” admitted Lucy as the keypad buzzed and Bill pushed the door open. “But I’m pretty sure I saw him yesterday in the same spot, when we were leaving class.”