24The next morning, Tuesday, Molly felt quite a bit more human. Tentatively, she got up and got dressed, made coffee, fed Bobo. All of which was more activity than she was used to these last days, yet it didn’t feel like too much.
“Bonjour Molls,” said Constance, coming in through the front door holding a large pot.
“Bonjour, Constance. Thanks so much for looking after things the way you have been doing. What in the world is that?”
“I just found it sitting on the stoop on my way in. Looks like it’s from Monsieur Nugent.”
Molly unfolded a note and recognized Edmond Nugent’s careful handwriting. He was the owner and sole baker at her favorite place in all of France—Pâtisserie Bujold—and he must have wondered where in the world his most avid customer had disappeared to.
Dearest Molly,
I
