Chapter TwelveGilles Maron had never eaten a meal at La Métairie; the prices were completely out of reach for a junior gendarme with no money other than his salary. He was surprised to find that the inside of the restaurant was on the plain side, really. He had expected crystal chandeliers and gold leaf everywhere.
Nathalie met him at the door. She was dark and slender, practically no hips at all, just Maron’s type. He had to make an effort to stay professional and not give her The Look. Her skin glowed, and her almost-black hair was glossy, pulled back from her face in a low ponytail that went down to her shoulder blades.
“Anything I can do to help,” she said, as Maron came inside. “Let me take your coat.” Maron slid out of his heavy coat and looked around at the dove-gray walls and car
