Murder on the Ile Sordou by M. L. Longworth Page B

pissed off so many colleagues in Paris that he’s usually alone these days.”
    Marine said nothing; what could she say? She’d only met Sébastien Verlaque twice and hadn’t enjoyed either meeting.
    The Hobbses, having seen Marine and Antoine packing up, realized that they had lost track of time. They had caught up to the Frenchies on the path that led back to the hotel. “Hungry!” Shirley Hobbs called, rubbing her stomach.
    â€œI hope lunch is as good as last night’s dinner,” Verlaque said in English.
    â€œWasn’t that a treat?” Shirley Hobbs said.
    â€œI’m hoping to make my own contribution,” Bill Hobbs said, lifting his blue bucket up. The four of them stopped and looked at the dozen or so small reddish fish. “What are they?” Hobbs asked.
    â€œThey’re little rock-clinging fish called
rougets
,” Verlaque answered. “They’re one of the ingredients of a bouillabaisse in Marseille.”
    â€œOh, we ate that last time we were in Provence,” Shirley Hobbs said. “I’m surprised you’d forget their name, Bill.”
    Hobbs shrugged his shoulders. “I’m going to show them to the chef,” he said. “Have to earn my keep.”
    Marine smiled and she pointed to Shirley Hobbs’s sketchbook.
    â€œWould you like to see?” Mrs. Hobbs asked. She stopped and opened her sketchbook to the first page. It was a watercolor of the sea and Sordou’s westerly cliffs.
    â€œYou’ve made the water sparkle,” Marine said, amazed at the painting’s effervescent quality. Verlaque translated for Shirley Hobbs, who smiled.
    â€œI’ve been taking art classes since retirement,” Mrs. Hobbs said.
    â€œShe really keeps at it,” Bill Hobbs said, beaming. Marine understood the gist of what he said and smiled.
    They walked into the hotel, through the lobby, then through the dining room, out onto the same terrace where they had had breakfast, but it was now shaded by parasols and by white awnings that were suspended from the hotel’s walls. Verlaque gave Marine a quick look as if to ask, “Do we join them for lunch?” and Marine nodded in the affirmative. Verlaque posed the question aloud and the Hobbses said that they would be delighted. Bill Hobbs went into the dining room and knocked at the kitchen door, wanting to give his offering to Émile Villey. Verlaque, Marine, and Shirley Hobbs were shown to their seats by Niki Darcette.
    â€œHow did you find out about Sordou?” Verlaque asked after helping Mrs. Hobbs into her chair.
    â€œIt was Bill’s idea,” she replied.
    â€œWhere are you from?” Marine asked in slow, careful English.
    â€œBellingham.”
    â€œWhere’s Bellingham?” Verlaque asked.
    â€œWashington,” Mrs. Hobbs answered. “Washington State, not the capital.”
    â€œ
Washington, mais pas D.C.
,” Verlaque said to Marine.
    â€œ
J’ai tout compris
,” Marine said.
    â€œMarine speaks beautiful Italian,” Verlaque said. “She’s shy about her English, but she just understood our conversation.”
    â€œPlease tell Marine that she looks like a movie star,” Shirley Hobbs said. “But a proper one, not a made-up one.”
    As if on cue, Emmanuelle Denis walked into the room, now wearing tennis shorts and sneakers, which emphasized just how skinny her legs were. She saw Marine and Verlaque and walked over to their table, raising her hands in the air. “Still no sign of him!” she cried.
    Marine, Shirley Hobbs, and Verlaque saw the panic in the woman’s eyes. Verlaque quickly got up and put his hand on her shoulder. “He’s lost track of time,” he said.
    Emmanuelle Denis wiped her eyes dry with a much-used tissue. “But he could have fallen . . .”
    Verlaque pulled out a chair and motioned for Mme Denis to sit down. She said, “He fights