14
Sunday afternoon in Bergerac. The townspeople had been to mass, if they were inclined, and enjoyed a substantial meal over several hours.
The sun had already peaked by this point and the sky was gray and just beginning the quick march toward dusk, when a few of the hardier residents of Bernard Petit’s neighborhood went out for a walk and a breath of fresh air. Though the walking part was rather quickly put to the side as they met each other on the sidewalk, and enthusiastically discussed their neighbor’s murder.
“I’ve been lying awake at night, thinking about it,” said Rachelle Combe, who lived in the house two doors down from Petit’s. “Do you think it’s some crazy marauder, and we should fear for our lives?”
Tristan Ducasse, who lived around the corner, shook his head. “You’ve only
