The Mystery of the Lost Cezanne Read Online Free PDF

taste,” he said. “Thank you for managing to save me some.” He sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter.
    â€œRough day?” Jean-Marc asked.
    â€œIt began terribly but was salvaged by hearing a ten-year-old sing Fauré, but then—” He closed his eyes and took another sip. “I’m not sure what happened after that. Something went wrong with Marine, but I have no idea what, or why. Do you two ever have those lapses of communication?”
    â€œNever,” Jean-Marc replied, while Pierre said, “All the time.”
    They laughed, and Verlaque added, “And I think I will decline on the dessert.”
    â€œWhat’s this about dessert?” Julien asked, entering the kitchen. “When do we get our galettes?” He helped himself to a chocolate and Pierre slapped his hand.
    â€œHow can you still be hungry?” Pierre asked. “You had two helpings of Jean-Marc’s daube.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Julien,” Jean-Marc said, flattered that his Provençal beef stew had gone over so well. “Antoine was just saying he might pass on dessert.”
    â€œWhat—?”
    â€œWho’s passing on galettes des rois?” Fabrice asked, forcing his way into the small kitchen.
    â€œAntoine,” Julien said, looking suspiciously at Verlaque’s glass.
    â€œHey, guys!” Gaspard called out over the heads. Gaspard Baille was six foot four, almost a foot taller than Julien and Fabrice. “We want to start smoking the Hoyo de Monterrey. What are you all doing, gabbing in the kitchen like a bunch of old ladies?”
    â€œ
Merci, Gaspard!
” Jean-Marc hollered, ushering the men out with his hands. “I could use a little more room in the kitchen to load the dishwasher and start it running.” Jean-Marc was never comfortable when he hosted a dinner party unless he had the kitchen cleaned and the dishwasher
en route
.
    Pierre, knowing his boyfriend’s quirks, followed the men out of the kitchen, taking Verlaque aside in the hallway. “When things have calmed down a bit, I have a favor to ask.”
    â€œNo problem,” Verlaque replied, trying to block out the noise of Julien and Fabrice squabbling over possession of an armchair. “Has your apartment sale gone through?”
    â€œYes, no hitches,” Pierre said. “Cash buyer. My favoractually concerns the apartment. Well, not my apartment, but my neighbor’s.”
    â€œThe cranky old guy?”
    Pierre laughed. “Yes, I quit the rue Boulegon for a more upscale street in Aix, only to end up with another cranky old guy as a neighbor.”
    â€œThe well-off can be even more surly—”
    â€œAntoine! Pierre! We’re opening the cigar box!”
    â€œ
On arrive!
” Verlaque hollered back.
    Verlaque walked into Jean-Marc and Pierre’s small but elegant living room and saw Julien hovering over Fabrice—who had won the armchair fight—with his watch in his hands. “I’m timing Fabrice,” Julien said, trying to pick at the small dial on his expensive Tag Heuer watch. His hands were too large, and Virginie, the club’s sole female member, offered to help. Verlaque looked on, perplexed.
    â€œFabrice gets thirty minutes in the chair,” Virginie explained, setting the watch’s alarm with her slender fingers.
    â€œOh for heaven’s sake,” Verlaque replied, but he couldn’t help laughing.
    Gaspard passed around a small bundle of the evening’s second cigar. Verlaque selected a bouncy, still-humid cigar, and took out his cutter. “There’s no band,” he remarked as he turned the dark brown torpedo-shaped cigar in his hand. He felt his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket and hoped that it was Marine.
    â€œThey’re from our Cuba trip,” Gaspard replied.
    â€œ
Bijou!
” Fabrice yelled.
    â€œJewel?” Verlaque asked, looking at