Watching as a beautiful young woman lit a candle and knelt before it, crossing herself and murmuring a prayer, she thought of the millions of people who, even today, were believers. Maybe there was something in it, she decided, pulling a five-euro note from her purse and shoving it through the slot in the cash box. Feeling rather ridiculous, she pulled a thin taper from its holder and lit it from one of the burning candles. Then, making a wish, not anything she would dare call a prayer, but merely a simple plea that everything would be all right for herself and those she loved, she lit a candle. She had never done such a thing before and didn’t know what to expect, but she was a bit disappointed when she didn’t feel any sort of spiritual connection or transformation. It was just like taking her first communion at the Presbyterian church she attended as a child, which served cubic centimeters of white bread and tiny shot glasses of grape juice. But it couldn’t hurt, she told herself as she left the church. It was a sort of insurance.

The gang was gathered in the living room when she returned to the apartment, where they were drinking wine and eating baguette slices spread with olive tapenade.

“I ate way too much, waiting for you,” said Sue in an accusing tone. “It’s all your fault.”

“Don’t believe her,” said Rachel, filling a wineglass for Lucy. “She had two pieces, while the rest of us . . .”

“Who’s counting?” said Pam, passing Lucy a slice of bread loaded with the savory mixture. “This stuff is delicious.”

“Did you make it?” asked Lucy, savoring a bite.

“Bought it at the Monoprix,” said Sue. “I wish we had one in Tinker’s Cove. Even the bags of salad are better somehow.”

“Drink up,” urged Bill. “We have a reservation at Chez Loulou.”

“What were you doing that made you so late?” Rachel asked Lucy as they all trooped down the stairs.

“First, I stopped at the hotel to see Elizabeth, and then I went to the hospital to see how Chef Larry is doing,” she said as they crossed the courtyard and exited onto the street. It was only a short walk to the corner and Chez Loulou, but the sidewalk was narrow, which made conversation difficult. It wasn’t until they were all seated at a long table in the restaurant that they were able to talk.

“And how is Chef Larry?” asked Pam.

“I don’t know,” said Lucy. “He’s apparently alive, but there was a cop sitting outside his door.”

“Did you talk to the cop?” asked Sid.

“Are you kidding?” Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “I got out of there as fast as I could.”

They laughed, then got down to the business of consulting the menu, trying to decipher the French. “What is magret de canard?” asked Pam.