Chapter Thirty-SevenAchille sat at the kitchen table eating canned lentils and sausage he had heated up in a saucepan. Usually he scraped his meal onto a plate but that night he ate straight from the saucepan with a big spoon, his hands trembling.
During the evening milking the herd had been restless and skittish, as though a wolf were lurking in the woods with his eye on them. But Achille knew there was no wolf. There was only Molly Sutton and the gendarmes, and he was afraid.
He did not want the boy. The boy was the last thing he needed now. His plan for weeks had been to get rid of Valerie—quickly, painlessly—and then Aimée could come to the farm. He had spent countless hours on the plan and believed it was solid. He wondered if Aimee might be able to learn how to make cannelés hersel
