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commenting on the fireworks and the weather (only a visitor from away would say the weather was chilly on the Fourth) and asking for brands the bartender didn’t stock. A few small tables were outside, for the overflow crowd, but most people were packed in by the bar.
    â€œBeer?” Sarah called. She’d managed to maneuver herself closer to the bar than I had.
    â€œFine,” I called back. Beer was my usual. I wasn’t picky about the brand.
    â€œTwo Shipyards,” I heard her order. “Summer Ale.” I moved next to the wall, where there was a little more space. Or, I’d thought there was space. My arm bumped Nicole Thibodeau, one of the co-owners of our local patisserie. “So sorry,” I said, seeing her white wine dripping down the front of her sweatshirt. “This place is incredibly crowded.”
    â€œNo problem,” she answered, wiping her chest with a napkin. “I was only going to have a few more sips before I headed for home anyway. If I’m lucky, all these people will crave croissants in the morning. This is our first big week of the season.”
    â€œWhere’s Henri?” I asked, looking around for her husband.
    â€œNot here,” she said wryly. “So I’ll be up way before dawn tomorrow. Poor Henri’s mother has Alzheimer’s, and on top of that, two days ago she had a stroke. He went to see her. He’s talking to the doctors; seeing if she’ll be well enough to go back to assisted living.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said, waving at Sarah, who was trying to make her way through the crowd to me carrying our two beers. “Does his mother live far from here?”
    â€œQuebec,” Nicole answered. “A five-hour drive. Too far to visit on a daily basis, or even weekly, especially in the tourist season. We haven’t seen her often since we opened the patisserie here four years ago. The store is demanding. Now Henri’s saying we should move her here, to be close to us. But medical costs in the US are so much greater than in Canada.”
    I nodded. “That makes it difficult for all of you. Tell Henri I’ll be thinking of him.”
    Nicole nodded. “ Merci . I’m worried about her, of course. She’s almost ninety. But I’m hoping Henri can come back and start baking again in a day or two. Fourth of July week means nothing in Quebec. Here, it’s crazy time.”
    I reached for the cold bottle Sarah held out and took a deep swig.
    â€œHi, Nicole,” said Sarah. “Was Angie telling you about our little challenge?”
    â€œ Non ; I’ve been telling her of mine,” said Nicole. “What challenge?”
    â€œWe’ve been asked to identify a piece of embroidery. It’s old, and may be valuable.” Sarah leaned over toward Nicole and lowered her voice. “It looks Elizabethan to me.”
    â€œ Vraiment? ” said Nicole. “That’s fantastic.”
    â€œA note written in French was with it. We don’t know for sure the note is connected to the embroidery, but we need to have it translated,” Sarah explained, her voice rising a little as the noise of the crowd increased. “Do you think you could take a look at it for us? Translate it, if you could? If the note’s as old as the embroidery might be, it wouldn’t be in contemporary French.”
    â€œMais oui,” Nicole answered immediately. “Such a thing could be very valuable. I would be delighted to help. But are you in a dreadful hurry? Because Henri is out of town, and I shouldn’t even be here now. I should be back at the patisserie.”
    â€œWhen Henri’s back, then,” I agreed. “And thank you. I’m going to ask Lenore Pendleton to hold the note and the embroidery for us, so nothing happens to them. Before I take the note to her I’ll make a copy for you.”
    â€œBring it down to the patisserie when you get a chance,”