Chapter NineThe day after his aunt died, Michel Faure sat in a café opposite her mansion, drinking coffee and pretending to read a novel. He had been out of work for months, and the small price of the coffee was money he should not have been spending, but he shrugged that knowledge off and spent the money anyway, feeling irritated.
Castillac in winter was a different place than in warmer months. He had no idea what people his age did with themselves, but they weren’t out on the streets, that was for sure. The people-watching aspect of sitting in the café was more or less null, as the only passersby were an old lady walking very slowly with a cane, who Michel thought was a schoolmate’s grand-mère, and the mailman.
He wanted a plate of cookies—this particular café was known for them, after
