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 didnât stock. A few small tables were outside, for the overflow crowd, but most people were packed in by the bar.
âBeer?â Sarah called. Sheâd managed to maneuver herself closer to the bar than I had.
âFine,â I called back. Beer was my usual. I wasnât picky about the brand.
âTwo Shipyards,â I heard her order. âSummer Ale.â I moved next to the wall, where there was a little more space. Or, Iâd thought there was space. My arm bumped Nicole Thibodeau, one of the co-owners of our local patisserie. âSo sorry,â I said, seeing her white wine dripping down the front of her sweatshirt. âThis place is incredibly crowded.â
âNo problem,â she answered, wiping her chest with a napkin. âI was only going to have a few more sips before I headed for home anyway. If Iâm lucky, all these people will crave croissants in the morning. This is our first big week of the season.â
âWhereâs Henri?â I asked, looking around for her husband.
âNot here,â she said wryly. âSo Iâll be up way before dawn tomorrow. Poor Henriâs mother has Alzheimerâs, and on top of that, two days ago she had a stroke. He went to see her. Heâs talking to the doctors; seeing if sheâll be well enough to go back to assisted living.â
âIâm sorry,â I said, waving at Sarah, who was trying to make her way through the crowd to me carrying our two beers. âDoes his mother live far from here?â
âQuebec,â Nicole answered. âA five-hour drive. Too far to visit on a daily basis, or even weekly, especially in the tourist season. We havenât seen her often since we opened the patisserie here four years ago. The store is demanding. Now Henriâs saying we should move her here, to be close to us. But medical costs in the US are so much greater than in Canada.â
I nodded. âThat makes it difficult for all of you. Tell Henri Iâll be thinking of him.â
Nicole nodded. â Merci . Iâm worried about her, of course. Sheâs almost ninety. But Iâm hoping Henri can come back and start baking again in a day or two. Fourth of July week means nothing in Quebec. Here, itâs crazy time.â
I reached for the cold bottle Sarah held out and took a deep swig.
âHi, Nicole,â said Sarah. âWas Angie telling you about our little challenge?â
â Non ; Iâve been telling her of mine,â said Nicole. âWhat challenge?â
âWeâve been asked to identify a piece of embroidery. Itâs old, and may be valuable.â Sarah leaned over toward Nicole and lowered her voice. âIt looks Elizabethan to me.â
â Vraiment? â said Nicole. âThatâs fantastic.â
âA note written in French was with it. We donât know for sure the note is connected to the embroidery, but we need to have it translated,â Sarah explained, her voice rising a little as the noise of the crowd increased. âDo you think you could take a look at it for us? Translate it, if you could? If the noteâs as old as the embroidery might be, it wouldnât be in contemporary French.â
âMais oui,â Nicole answered immediately. âSuch 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 shouldnât even be here now. I should be back at the patisserie.â
âWhen Henriâs back, then,â I agreed. âAnd thank you. Iâm 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 Iâll make a copy for you.â
âBring it down to the patisserie when you get a chance,â
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley