“ON THE NIGHTSTAND, I found a note in Miranda’s small, neat script. It said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Underneath the thanks, these words: “A souvenir. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but maybe it’s important.” I tucked the note—an odd souvenir, I thought, or at least an odd inscription—in the drawer of the desk. A few minutes later, as I was brushing windblown leaves off a chair in the garden, Jean appeared, a cordless phone in his hand. “A call for you.” Inspector Descartes was on the... line. “I have something interesting to show you,” he said. “Can you come to my office?” “Yes, of course. I was just about to have breakfast. Tea, toast, and strawberries in the garden. Can I eat first, or do I need to come right away?” “You can eat first,” he said, then, “or…I could come there. We could talk over breakfast.” “I’ll ask Jean—” “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said, and the phone went dead in my hand. DESCARTES TOOK HIS COFFEE BLACK AND CONCENTRATED: a small shot of espresso so dense he could almost have eaten it with a fork.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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