The mayor had taken his shot. A couple of balls had bounced around with nowhere to go. Looked random to me. Bonnet was examining his options. The mayor put a thick arm around Bonnet, distracting his concentration no doubt. He had a massive gold ring on one of his fingers. The mayor addressed Madame Vaugeois and me. “If you think Antoine’s good at billiards you should see him play tennis.” He squeezed Bonnet, who winced and smiled grimly. I didn’t blame him for feeling uncomfortable. The mayor grinned and looked the cop up and down. “This one is definitely going places.”

Simone Vaugeois coughed. I could see her preparing to impose herself on the conversation. She addressed the mayor with the kind of formal determination a hostess can pull off. She said, “Monsieur the mayor, may I present Tom Keeler, a lost Vaugeois from America.”

The mayor smiled and leaned his cue up against an antique cabinet. His blue eyes were exceptionally light colored. They flicked between Vaugeois, myself, Rigalle, and Bonnet, gauging the audience and their various needs and demands. The mayor was a large and commanding presence. He extended a hand. “Jean-Baptiste Marbot.” I took it. The hand almost completely enclosed mine, thick as a rib steak.

The mayor didn’t let go. His other hand waved the cigar around while talking. He looked me in the eyes and said, “There are no lost persons in Alencourt, monsieur. And certainly no lost Vaugeois. Your relations are my closest and dearest neighbors.” He looked at Madame. “The only house in town nicer than Brumaire is mine. Isn’t that so?”

Simone Vaugeois smiled and shrugged. “A very nice house, Monsieur the Mayor.”

I remembered the house across the river, when I’d been riding in the back of the unmarked police car. I could imagine Marbot there, maybe eating a cake on the terrace.

I looked down at my hand, encased in what is known as a power grip. Rigalle was at the mayor’s shoulder, smirking, his face red with drink. I looked at Mayor Marbot, who was trying to do some kind of forceful trick with his eyes, while trying to strengthen his grip on my hand. The mayor held the look a little too long, and in his eyes I saw indifference, like that of a predatory animal.

Marbot’s eyes flicked around like pale pins, agitated and calculating. Probing the room. Taking its temperature. He pulled me in towards him. It was one of those classic politician power moves, playing to the bleachers, the well-off men and women in the room, by demonstrating physical domination. I saw Bonnet standing off to the side and watching, thoughtfully. I met his eye for a moment, then turned back to the mayor.

The entourage laughed. Simone Vaugeois stood smiling, oblivious.