Page 5 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

“You didn’t.”

“There’s an attic.”

“There’s a crawl space.”

With no need to say more, they split up, Armand to search the crawl space, sparing Jean-Guy his phobia of enclosed spaces, while Beauvoir would climb through the trapdoor to the attic, sparing Armand his phobia of heights.

“Sûreté!” they heard each other call. “Come out!”

There was silence.

Armand took a deep breath, then dropped through the opening. As soon as he hit the dirt, he hunched low and swung his light around the space, his keen eyes taking in everything. Taking in nothing. There was nothing to see. At least nothing human.

Something grazed his head. Armand batted it away then studied the ground.

The dirt had been disturbed, but how recently, he couldn’t tell.

He climbed back out. “Jean-Guy?”

Beauvoir had opened the trapdoor into the attic, and an old wooden ladder had unfolded itself.

With one hand on his phone, flashlight on and videoing the whole thing, his other hand on the gun in his pocket, he climbed.

Popping his head through the opening, aware he was a sitting duck should anyone be up there, he hunched his shoulders and swung his flashlight quickly around.

The attic was full of junk. Old mattresses and cardboard boxes lay on top of fluffy pink insulation.

But there was no one there. Pulling himself all the way through, he did a more thorough search.

“Nothing,” he reported to Armand a few minutes later. “But it does look like someone was up there recently.”

“Same with the crawl space.”

Unlocking the front door, Armand stood back.

“I think you owe me an explanation,” said Clara, who was cold in every way now.

“I think it’s mutual.”

CHAPTER 3

By the time Clara showered and changed and joined them at the bistro, Olivier had installed the Sûreté officers on the sofa and armchairs by the fireplace.

Reine-Marie had joined them, picking cobwebs out of Armand’s and Jean-Guy’s hair while Gabri used a dish towel to swat dirt from their clothes.

It was still early and the bistro was not officially open, so they’d have an hour, probably more, of privacy before any of the other villagers arrived.

Without having to ask, strong cafés au lait arrived in bowls. Gabri lit the log fire. As the rain fell outside, and the sky began to lighten, the small group sat together around the hearth.

“Armand—” Clara began, but he lifted his hand slightly.

“Can it wait just a few minutes? Isabelle is joining us.”

And sure enough, an unmarked Sûreté vehicle descended rue du Moulin, past the bench on the hill with its mysterious inscriptions.

I pray you will be a brave man in a brave country. I pray you will find a way to be useful.

And below that: Surprised by Joy.