French Fried by NANCY FAIRBANKS Read Free Book Online Page A

morning run tomorrow. Given the problems I’d had just walking to the hotel, the thought of my husband loping along in that traffic was terrifying.
    Professor Laurent answered the question for Sylvie. “Our law officers tend to suspect runners of being criminals escaping the scene of their crimes. Unless, of course, they are running on designated paths.”
    “I didn’t see any running paths as I took the train over to the university,” said Jason. “I want something close to the hotel.”
    “If you go early in the morning, you shouldn’t have a problem,” said Catherine. “Where is your hotel?”
    Jason told her, and she suggested a route he might take before traffic became heavy. She was a handsome woman, although rather aloof.
    “It is most unfortunate that Adrien and Albertine had to leave Lyon before your arrival,” said the chairman. “I believe Albertine had plans to show Madam Blue the city. Is that not so, Victoire?”
    “She mentioned the murals, the churches, and the traboules, all sights visitors to Lyon would wish to see. Unfortunately, I have too many engagements to assume those duties myself. Perhaps you can hire a guide, Madam Blue.”
    Jason frowned. Doubtless he thought a guide would be expensive, but what did he expect me to do? Sit in my room at the hotel watching the leaves blowing on the slender branches outside. For excitement I could eat hotdogs at the Perrache Station and visit newspaper kiosks.
    “I would be happy to show Madam Blue around Lyon.” Sylvie flashed me a merry smile. “We could go to see the murals first. You will find them so exciting.”
    I thanked her, while pondering the fact that Sylvie had a British accent, but spoke what sounded like excellent French. Her husband warned me that I would have to put up with her endless picture taking.
    “Indeed, our Sylvie is worse than a Japanese tourist,” said Madam Laurent.
    “And you must ride in a car with no top,” her husband continued. “An ancient Austin Healy.”
    “Still, the weather is fine, Raymond, so why would one need a top? Anyway, I am having a new one made. Perhaps it will be ready tomorrow.”
    I agreed to ride in the topless car and then discovered that Jason would have to bring me to the university with him tomorrow to meet Sylvie, which meant getting up very early after so little sleep this afternoon. However, that trip would give me the chance to question the secretary about the pâté. And a local guide with a car was not to be passed up, unless, of course, rain was predicted.
    Following Sylvie’s offer, Gabrielle Doigne decided that she would be the best person to show me the major churches of Lyon, although Sylvie was welcome to drive, and finally Madam Laurent offered to devote a morning on the third day to showing me the traboules, passages cut through private property so that pedestrians could cross from one street to another. They dated from the days when residences crowded together, sharing walls, for long distances. Even in the company of the chairman’s acerbic wife, I longed to see the traboules; they had courtyards, towers, and ornate winding staircases inside.
    “I will drive that day, too,” said Sylvie. “The traboules are—”
    “Garçon,” commanded Laurent, evidently tired of the plans to entertain me. He burst into a stream of irritated French, and the waiter promptly removed the one chair that had sat empty beside Catherine.
    “Robert didn’t tell you that he would be absent from the dinner?” Madam Laurent demanded. “That is unlike him.”
    “He has been absent all day. But wait.” The chairman turned to Jason. “Did he not meet you at the airport, Professor Blue?”
    “Levasseur?” Jason asked, and his question gave me a start. “I haven’t seen him. We received a message saying the Guillots had to leave town. In fact, I left Carolyn at Perrache because I hoped to talk with Robert today.”
    “Very strange,” muttered the chairman. “Levasseur was to meet you