courage to inquire about the bills.
"I love you too. I miss you horribly. When are you coming back?"
"Wednesday. I keep telling you."
"I know, but I like to hear it. Four more days." She sighed. "That’s still a long time."
"Mm, I’m glad you miss me. Are you home now? How did the supervisors’ seminar go?"
"I just got back from Arizona an hour ago. And I know all about effective supervision now. It’s nothing but a matter of providing a climate conducive to the maximization of intra-group cooperation."
"I always thought it had something to do with planning, delegation, that kind of stuff."
"That shows how out of date you are. How’s life in St. Malo? Still pretty dull?"
"Well, no, as a matter of fact. Remember the Guillaume du Rocher I mentioned to you? They’ve found a dismembered skeleton in his basement, and the police have asked me in. What are you laughing at?"
"It’s amazing. This always happens to you, doesn’t it? So tell me about your dismembered skeleton." He could tell from her voice that she was settling herself comfortably.
He went over it with her briefly. "Everybody," he concluded, "is convinced it’s this SS officer Kassel that Guillaume killed in 1942. Even John thinks so. But I’m just as positive it isn’t. Maybe I’ll find out more today."
"What does your friend Guillaume have to say about it?"
"Guillaume’s dead. He drowned Monday, the same day I got here. The funeral was a couple of days ago."
"Oh, I’m sorry, Gideon. I know you liked him." She was quiet a moment. "Doesn’t it strike you that there’s something funny about that?"
His eyes popped open in surprise. "It sure does, but what makes you think so?"
"Well, I was just thinking…It’s an awfully big coincidence; here’s a body lying hidden under the house for forty or fifty years. Then when it finally gets found, it turns out that the person who’s supposed to have done it got buried the day before. How convenient."
"You know, that’s a good point," he said admiringly. "I never thought about that."
"The bones are found," Julie went on, "the victim is identified, the killer is identified, and the case is all wrapped up—all in one day. Only the only person who can confirm it—or argue with it, I bet—just died. And you never thought about that?"
"No."
"You’re slipping, Dr. Oliver. I think marriage has made you soft. When you get back I’m going to have to keep you less contented."
"Just try it," he said, then got himself more comfortably stretched out on his back and got down to the sweet, serious business of telling her just how much he missed her. And how he was going to show it when he got home.
An hour later, while John went lamenting to Professor Wuorinen’s final lecture ("Larval Invasions of Calliphoridae in Unburied Corpses from Two to Four Weeks Old."
Many graphic color slides
), Gideon was picked up at the hotel and driven to the manoir by a sharply dressed, intense young man with red hair and elevator heels, who introduced himself as Sergeant Denis. Ray met them at the thick oak door and politely invited Denis to join them for coffee.
"No, thank you, monsieur," Denis said, as firmly as if Ray had suggested a double brandy. He bobbed a Joly-style bow and went to break the police seal on the cellar door and get the workmen started digging.
"Well, let’s go sit down," Ray said. "I’ve asked Beatrice to bring us some coffee."
With luck Beatrice would not take Ray’s request in too narrow a sense; he was ravenous, although he’d breakfasted in the hotel restaurant at eight. Delicious as the French
petit déjeuner
of croissants, rolls, and
café au lait
was, its staying power was an hour and a half at most. The French, realizing this, often had a second breakfast at midmorning to tide them over until lunch, and if Beatrice were to offer him something along that line, he would not turn it down.
In the window alcove of the salon were the same people he’d met the evening before, as if
"I love you too. I miss you horribly. When are you coming back?"
"Wednesday. I keep telling you."
"I know, but I like to hear it. Four more days." She sighed. "That’s still a long time."
"Mm, I’m glad you miss me. Are you home now? How did the supervisors’ seminar go?"
"I just got back from Arizona an hour ago. And I know all about effective supervision now. It’s nothing but a matter of providing a climate conducive to the maximization of intra-group cooperation."
"I always thought it had something to do with planning, delegation, that kind of stuff."
"That shows how out of date you are. How’s life in St. Malo? Still pretty dull?"
"Well, no, as a matter of fact. Remember the Guillaume du Rocher I mentioned to you? They’ve found a dismembered skeleton in his basement, and the police have asked me in. What are you laughing at?"
"It’s amazing. This always happens to you, doesn’t it? So tell me about your dismembered skeleton." He could tell from her voice that she was settling herself comfortably.
He went over it with her briefly. "Everybody," he concluded, "is convinced it’s this SS officer Kassel that Guillaume killed in 1942. Even John thinks so. But I’m just as positive it isn’t. Maybe I’ll find out more today."
"What does your friend Guillaume have to say about it?"
"Guillaume’s dead. He drowned Monday, the same day I got here. The funeral was a couple of days ago."
"Oh, I’m sorry, Gideon. I know you liked him." She was quiet a moment. "Doesn’t it strike you that there’s something funny about that?"
His eyes popped open in surprise. "It sure does, but what makes you think so?"
"Well, I was just thinking…It’s an awfully big coincidence; here’s a body lying hidden under the house for forty or fifty years. Then when it finally gets found, it turns out that the person who’s supposed to have done it got buried the day before. How convenient."
"You know, that’s a good point," he said admiringly. "I never thought about that."
"The bones are found," Julie went on, "the victim is identified, the killer is identified, and the case is all wrapped up—all in one day. Only the only person who can confirm it—or argue with it, I bet—just died. And you never thought about that?"
"No."
"You’re slipping, Dr. Oliver. I think marriage has made you soft. When you get back I’m going to have to keep you less contented."
"Just try it," he said, then got himself more comfortably stretched out on his back and got down to the sweet, serious business of telling her just how much he missed her. And how he was going to show it when he got home.
An hour later, while John went lamenting to Professor Wuorinen’s final lecture ("Larval Invasions of Calliphoridae in Unburied Corpses from Two to Four Weeks Old."
Many graphic color slides
), Gideon was picked up at the hotel and driven to the manoir by a sharply dressed, intense young man with red hair and elevator heels, who introduced himself as Sergeant Denis. Ray met them at the thick oak door and politely invited Denis to join them for coffee.
"No, thank you, monsieur," Denis said, as firmly as if Ray had suggested a double brandy. He bobbed a Joly-style bow and went to break the police seal on the cellar door and get the workmen started digging.
"Well, let’s go sit down," Ray said. "I’ve asked Beatrice to bring us some coffee."
With luck Beatrice would not take Ray’s request in too narrow a sense; he was ravenous, although he’d breakfasted in the hotel restaurant at eight. Delicious as the French
petit déjeuner
of croissants, rolls, and
café au lait
was, its staying power was an hour and a half at most. The French, realizing this, often had a second breakfast at midmorning to tide them over until lunch, and if Beatrice were to offer him something along that line, he would not turn it down.
In the window alcove of the salon were the same people he’d met the evening before, as if
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