Free French Pastry Murder (A Lucy Stone Mystery) by Leslie Meier Page A

embassy with Bob, because she discovered the body, and Bill would also go, to support Lucy, but the rest of the group would spend the afternoon pursuing their various interests. They agreed to meet for dinner, at which time, it was hoped, Bob would have good news for them.
    Lucy was much happier when she could take action, rather than sit and fret, so she was feeling quite chipper as she and Bill set out with Bob for the embassy. A quick check on Bob’s smartphone revealed that the embassy was located on the avenue Gabriel, off the place de la Concorde, which was only a short ride away on the Métro.
    The place de la Concorde was buzzing with traffic, which whizzed around the Egyptian obelisk in the center, making a sharp contrast to the fountains and classical buildings. When they walked past the Hôtel de Crillon, Bill remarked that Hemingway liked to drink there.
    “I thought the Ritz was his favorite,” said Bob. “They even named the bar after him.”
    “No, I’m pretty sure it was the Crillon,” maintained Bill.
    “I don’t think there was a bar he didn’t like,” said Lucy, and they all laughed.
    They were still enjoying the quip when they approached the embassy, which was next to the Crillon and surrounded by a sturdy iron and stone fence. At the gate they were confronted by a very serious U.S. Marine, dressed in camouflage and holding a scary-looking gun.
    “What is your business?” he asked.
    “We need emergency passports,” said Bob.
    “You know you can apply online,” said the marine.
    “It’s a rather special case,” said Bob. “We need to see a consular officer.”
    The marine looked them over, then advised them to proceed to the security checkpoint. There Lucy opened her purse for examination and they passed through a metal detector before they were allowed to enter the building. Once inside they were sent to a crowded waiting room and were given numbers.
    “Maybe this is a mistake,” said Lucy. “Our number is forty-seven, and they’re only up to twenty-two.”
    “It will probably go quickly,” said Bob.
    “I doubt it,” said Bill, opening a copy of the International New York Times that somebody had discarded. “Hey, look!” he exclaimed. “Your buddy Richard has a front-page story.”
    Lucy and Ted looked over his shoulders as he read the story, which was an account of the activities of Les Amis du Roi de l’Égypte to restore the monarchy. “ ‘Egypt is in crisis,’ stated the group’s leader, Khalid Sadek. ‘Only the rightful king, Fouad II, can unite the various factions and prevent civil war.’ ”
    The story went on to point out that Fouad II lived a quiet life in Switzerland and seemed to have little interest in reassuming the throne, which he had held briefly when he was less than a year old.
    “That group was holding a conference at the Cavendish Hotel,” said Lucy. “Elizabeth was helping to set it up.” She pointed to the head shot of Khalid Sadek, whom she recognized as the gray-haired man in the old-fashioned suit. “I actually saw him. He was there.”
    “I wonder where they’re getting their money,” said Bob. “That place isn’t cheap.”
    “Maybe they’re selling their jewels, like the Russian émigrés,” Lucy said, speculating. “Maybe this Fouad is like Anastasia, a fake, and that’s why he doesn’t want to claim the throne.”
    “More likely, he doesn’t want to face an angry mob in Tahrir Square,” said Bill, turning to the sports. After learning the Bruins had lost to the Canadiens, they went on to finish the crossword. They were playing a half-hearted game of hangman when number forty-seven was called. Their hopes were high, however, when they were finally allowed to see a foreign service officer.
    “I’m Fox Carrington,” he said, rising from his desk and leaning across it to shake hands. “How can I help you?”
    “I’m Bob Goodman. I’m an attorney representing a group of eight Americans. We all need emergency