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

passports.”
    “All your passports were stolen?” asked Carrington, who looked as if he’d stepped out of a J.Crew catalog. He was clean-cut and smooth shaven and had a slight Southern accent. Lucy thought he was perhaps old enough to be in high school.
    “Not exactly,” explained Bob. “We were enrolled in a cooking school, and the teacher—the chef, actually—was assaulted. The investigating police officer confiscated our passports.”
    Carrington put down his pen. “Did I hear you right? You’re involved in a crime?”
    “Definitely not involved,” said Bob. “We had nothing to do with it.”
    “But this French cop took our passports, which I don’t think he is allowed to do,” added Lucy.
    “Did this assault take place while class was in session?” asked Carrington. “Were you all witnesses?”
    “No, nothing like that,” said Bill. “Class was over. We were leaving, waiting for the rain to stop.”
    “But I forgot my umbrella, and when I went back to the classroom to get it, I found Chef Larry on the floor, bleeding, with a knife in his chest.”
    Carrington tented his hands and nodded. It was as if he heard stories like this every day. Perhaps he did, thought Lucy.
    “He would have died, except for my wife, here. She called for help,” said Bill.
    “And what thanks do I get?” asked Lucy. “None at all. Instead this cop took our passports and said we have to stay indefinitely, which is a real problem, because our flight is in ten days. And I have children at home, who need me.”
    “And you know what it’s like to change flights,” said Bob, rolling his eyes. “We’ll have to pay exorbitant fees.”
    “I didn’t even think about that,” said Bill.
    “Did this cop give you a card or anything? Do you know his name?”
    “Lapointe,” said Lucy, proud of herself for remembering. “Commissaire Lapointe.”
    “No card? No phone or email?” asked Carrington.
    “An unfortunate omission,” admitted Bob. “I should have thought of that.”
    “You were taken by surprise,” said Bill.
    “We were all in shock,” said Lucy.
    “Without more information, there isn’t much I can do,” said Carrington.
    “Well, they’re going to be calling us for statements. We can get more information then,” said Bob.
    “Good,” said Carrington. “You must cooperate, of course. You must cooperate with the French authorities.”
    “Does that mean we can’t leave on schedule?” asked Lucy.
    “Out of the question,” said Carrington. “The French authorities are within their rights to detain you until they are satisfied with the case.”
    “That’s outrageous,” said Bob. “We had nothing to do with this attack. We didn’t even know Chef Larry until yesterday.”
    “It’s unfortunate, but that’s how it is. When you travel outside of the States, you leave your rights as an American citizen behind and you’re subject to the laws of the land you’re visiting, which happens to be France. Believe me, it could be much worse. Take Italy, for example. Or Saudi Arabia.” He shuddered at the thought. “Of course, the less you appear to know, the sooner you will get your passports back. Once they are satisfied you are not involved, they will return them and you will be free to go.”
    “How long do you think that will take?” asked Bob. “I mean, as a general rule.”
    Carrington considered the question. “I don’t like to say. It could be wrapped up in a day or two, or it could go on for some time. We had a case, an American woman who married a French citizen and then killed him. She claimed self-defense, said he was abusive. It was a very sad thing. I think they finally did release her, but she was in prison for more than a year.”
    Lucy felt her chest tighten, picturing herself in a dark, dank prison cell. “That couldn’t happen to us, could it?”
    “I doubt it, but I’m not really in a position to say.” He clapped his hands together and rose, signaling the interview was