“It’s a very encouraging development—thanks to you and Sidra,” said Lucy, who was only too aware that she wasn’t out of the woods, not by a long shot. For one thing, she was the only one of the eight who had been subjected to an in-depth interview by the proc. All the others, including Bill, had merely been asked to confirm their identities and contact information. She was afraid that she was the prime suspect in Chef Larry’s murder, and remembering Elizabeth’s assertion that you weren’t suffering from paranoia if they really were out to get you, she was pretty sure she wasn’t being paranoid.

But while she still had her freedom, she was determined to enjoy it. “I, for one, am going to forget our troubles . . . for the day, anyway. I’ve always dreamed of going to the Paris flea market, and now I’m actually going,” she said, thinking it would be a day to remember when she was confined to a dark and dank French prison cell.

“I know,” said Sue, grinning broadly. “I can’t wait for someone visiting my house to notice some adorable little treasure, maybe a watercolor or a Quimper plate, and being able to say, ‘Oh, I picked that up in Paris, at Les Puces.’ ”

“You’ve got the tone right,” said Pam approvingly. “It has to be offhand, like you spend every weekend combing the Paris flea markets.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Lucy. “Like, oh, it was nothing. It just caught my eye at Clignancourt.”

“What do you suppose they’ll have?” Rachel wondered aloud. “I hope I can find something small and packable.”

“If I could find one of those gorgeous aged-wood wine-bottle racks, I’d gladly pay to have it shipped,” said Sue, earning a groan from Sid.

“Shipping something like that would cost a small fortune,” he protested. “I thought you were going to look for a ‘little treasure.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

Sue ignored him, lost in an interior design fantasy. “And I bet I could carry a grape-picker’s basket on the airplane. I could even hold it in my lap, if I had to. I can just picture it on the wall in my dining room, filled with sunflowers or dried hydrangeas.”

“Okay, ladies,” said Lucy, checking her watch, “we’ve got to get moving, or we’ll be late for meeting Elizabeth and Sylvie. Sylvie said we should get there early if we want the best pickings.”

The four women wasted no time, leaving the men to clear up the breakfast things, and headed out to the Métro. They had agreed to meet Elizabeth and Sylvie at the Strasbourg–Saint-Denis station, where they would change to the number 4 line, which ended at Porte de Clignancourt.