Next morning Lucy woke with a plan. If the police thought they were involved in some sort of illegal dealings with Chef Larry, the only way they were going to get back to Tinker’s Cove was if she could discover what Larry had been up to. In other words, she decided, she had to talk to him and get him to tell her who had attacked him and why.

She realized this was easier thought than done. After all, Chef Larry had been under police guard at the hospital and probably still was. And she didn’t know if he was recovering or if his condition had worsened. But she’d never know unless she tried, and she did have a few ideas as to how she could sneak into Larry’s room.

She felt a certain sense of excitement when she went into the kitchen, looking for breakfast, but she wasn’t about to share her plans with the group, and especially not with Bill. She’d make some excuse, she decided. Perhaps she’d express a desire to visit the Musée Edith Piaf, the tiny singer’s two-room apartment, or to seek out the graffiti-covered home of pop star Serge Gainsbourg. Something that none of the others would have the slightest interest in doing.

The TV in the kitchen was on when she poured herself a cup of coffee, and Sue and Pam were watching intently.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“General strike,” said Pam.

“The potato farmers are protesting a cut in their subsidy or something,” said Sue. “And this being France, everybody’s joining in. The Métro’s shut down, truck drivers are on strike, and of course, so are the college students.”

“I’ve never seen the point of student strikes,” said Pam. “What difference does it make if they skip classes?”

“That’s the point,” said Sue. “It’s an excuse to cut classes.”

“That means we’re stuck here,” said Lucy as the coffee took effect, clearing her brain. The TV screen was showing crowds of protesters filling the streets, and the occasional shoving match with police. “We can’t go out in that.”

“Yup.” Sue poured herself another cup of coffee. “Everything’s closed, anyway.”

“Is there anything to eat?” asked Lucy.

Sue nodded. “Tartine.”

“And what is that?”

“You toast up yesterday’s baguette and put jam on it,” said Sue.

“Sounds good,” said Bill, joining them.

Fueled by tartines and coffee, the friends found ways to occupy themselves, while keeping an eye on the TV. The guys sat around the table, playing poker, placing small bets with pocket change. Rachel settled down with a book, Pam practiced yoga, and Sue studied the French edition of Vogue. Lucy found herself wandering around the apartment, going from window to window, checking that all was peaceful outside.