The Mystery of the Lost Cezanne Read Online Free PDF Page A

offices on the first floor, on up to the second floor that Jean-Marc and Pierre shared with their neighbor, a retired tax inspector who listened to his television too loudly—despite several pleas from the other tenants—and never seemed to leave.
    The apartment door—still sporting a small Christmas wreath—was ajar and Verlaque walked in to a cloud of cigar smoke. He breathed in and said, “Good evening, my friends. What a lovely smell.”
    Jean-Marc Sauvat stared at Antoine Verlaque with an open mouth, and his partner, Pierre, began to laugh. Gaspard Baille, a law student and the club’s youngest member, put his hand on his heart and knelt before the judge. The club’s president, Fabrice, who owned a string of plumbing stores across southern France, was the first to speak. “
Mon roi
,” Fabrice said, bowing slightly and shaking some ash off his generously proportioned stomach. “We are your humble servants.”
    Antoine Verlaque immediately realized what had happened.“So that’s why people kept smiling at me,” he said, reaching up to his head.
    A flash from a cell phone temporarily blinded Verlaque, and he quickly removed his prize, folding the paper crown and putting it in his coat pocket.
    â€œWhat’s it worth to you for me
not
to send this photo to the newspapers?” asked Julien, slipping his iPhone back into his pocket.
    Verlaque looked at Julien—a gregarious,
très
gourmand
luxury-used-car salesman whom he would trust with his life—and laughed. “My firstborn?” Verlaque asked.
    â€œDeal,” replied Julien. “But I think your beautiful Dr. Bonnet might have issues with that promise.”
    The group laughed and Jean-Marc glanced nervously at his good friend the judge. Never had Antoine Verlaque mentioned marriage, or children, with Marine Bonnet, nor with anyone else for that matter.
    â€œDid you eat dinner, Antoine?” Jean-Marc asked.
    â€œYes,” Verlaque said, rubbing his stomach, which in turn reminded him of his New Year’s resolution. “Thanks.”
    â€œWould you like a whiskey?” Jean-Marc then asked, taking his friend by the arm. “We have some very good Johnnie Walker.”
    Verlaque looked at Jean-Marc and was about to decline when the lawyer, who was also an old friend of Marine’s, began to smile. “Just kidding,” Jean-Marc said. “We have a bit of Ardbeg, if Julien and Fabrice haven’t finished it yet.”
    â€œI hid the rest of it,” Pierre said, appearing beside them.
    â€œGood call,” Verlaque said. He watched Pierre quickly put his arm through Jean-Marc’s, but then draw it away. The couple had just moved in together and only very recently made theirrelationship public to the cigar club. “If you can sneak me some Ardbeg, that would be great,” Verlaque whispered. “I was in court most of the morning, then spent the rest of my day having to eat galettes des rois.”
    Pierre looked at Jean-Marc.
    â€œWe’re having more galettes tonight, aren’t we?” Verlaque asked, following Jean-Marc and Pierre into the kitchen.
    â€œJulien and Fabrice bought three at Michaud’s,” Jean-Marc said.
    â€œFor an insane amount of money,” Pierre added.
    â€œOne’s even decorated,” Jean-Marc continued, his voice flat with sarcasm. “With a big cigar in brown icing. Julien and Fabrice charmed one of the salesgirls into asking the baker to add it.”
    Verlaque smiled at the thought of two overweight middle-aged men being able to charm a pretty young girl in her twenties. Jean-Marc opened a cupboard and reached his hand inside, pouring the hidden single malt into a crystal tumbler, then quickly closing the cupboard and handing Verlaque the glass.
    â€œYou can decline the galette,” Pierre said.
    Verlaque took a drink and smiled. “
Ah, la tourbe d’Islay.
I do like this heavy peaty