23This was a terrible idea, thought Dufort as he tried to straighten up his living room on Sunday evening. He had invited Marie-Claire over for an apéro, forgetting that the Bennett case had thrown him off his usual routines, and his small apartment in the gendarmerie was not really tidy enough for company—especially for company he was hoping to impress. Quickly he tossed back ten drops of tincture and dashed around the living room, neatening and straightening, shoving things under the sofa and into drawers.
Marie-Claire drove up in her ancient deux chevaux. Dufort watched her check her makeup in the rearview mirror, which made him smile. He went to the kitchen and took out a bottle of pineau and then out the door to welcome her.
“Bonsoir!” he said, very glad to see her. She was wearing
