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"Dreadful waste of a life, I agree," smiled the Chief

"Well," she looked down at the papers, "I guess I can’t count on another body showing up I ht just have to read these now"

She looked around Peter had gone inside and Clara wondered if she should too To read the reviews in peace and quiet In secret

Instead, she thanked Ga the heavy papers to her chest She could see Olivier out on the terrasse, serving drinks Monsieur Beliveau sat at a table, with its blue and white sun u the Sunday newspapers

Indeed all the tables were taken, filled with villagers and friends enjoying a lazy Sunday brunch As she appeared most eyes turned to her

Then looked away

And she felt a stab of rage Not at these people, but at Lillian Who’d taken the biggest day of Clara’s professional life and done this So that instead of s celebrations, now people turned away Clara’s triurocer, Monsieur Beliveau, who quickly dropped his eyes

As did Clara

When she raised theain a moment later she al within inches of her, holding two glasses

"Shit," she exhaled

"Shandies," he said "Made with ginger beer and pale ale, as you like thelasses then back to Olivier A slight breeze picked at his thinning blond hair Even with an apron around his slender body he ed to look sophisticated and relaxed But Clara re in the corridor of the Musée d’Art Contemporain

"That was fast," she said

"Well, they were actually ency"

"That obvious?" smiled Clara

"Hard not to be, when a body appears at your place I know"

"Yes," said Clara "You do know"

Olivier indicated the bench on the village green and they walked over to it Clara dropped the heavy newspapers and they hit the bench with a thump, as did she

Clara accepted a shandy from Olivier and they sat side-by-side, their backs to the bistro, to the people, to the cri eyes and averted eyes