Free 02_Coyote in Provence by Dianne Harman

you to continue what you’re doing and get back to me when you have more information to report.
    It was 9:00 a.m. by the time he showered and dressed. He was having dinner at Elena’s house that night, but he planned on spending the day in the Tain-l’Hermitage and Valence area.
    He decided to dress like a businessman who was visiting galleries between appointments. He put on a lightweight blue pin-striped suit, a white shirt and a muted striped tie.  He added glasses and a false mustache. Jordan looked in the mirror, satisfied  with his  reflection.  Although  he didn’t  think he’d aroused suspicion yesterday, he wanted to play it safe with the disguise. At the last minute he put a photo of the purported chef and possible thief, in his sling bag, planning to show it to chefs working in nearby restaurants in hopes they might recognize the man in the photo.
    The drive was charming. Rolling hills with old stone cottages dotted the landscape. Large chateaus were on top of many of the hills, with sprawling vineyards and olive groves leading up to them. Along the road weathered men in berets prodded animals with sticks that had been sharpened with knives. It was a step back in time.
    Two hours later he walked into Le Routier 7, a beige building which had a bright blue door and blue window coverings. The parking lot was full of trucks. It looked like the articles he’d read about the restaurant had been right - it seemed to be a trucker’s paradise. Jordan ordered scrambled eggs and a croissant as the attentive waiter filled his coffee cup. He took the photo from his sling bag.
    “ Monsieur ,” Jordan said to the waiter, “do you know who the man is in this photograph? I believe he is a chef.”
     “ Non, but I have not been working here very long.  Let me send our chef out. He might know him.” Several minutes later a tall, thin, grey-haired man with an apron tied at his waist appeared next to his table.
    “David tells me that you have a question regarding a man in a photograph.  How may I help you?” the gracious chef asked.
    “ Monsieur, do you recognize this man?  I understand he is a chef, and I would like to talk to him about a restaurant some clients of mine are opening in California. Do you know anything about him?”
    The chef took the photo and walked over to the window where the light was streaming in. He looked at it for several minutes and returned to Jordan’s table. “I am not sure, but it looks very much like Pierre Yount. We met through mutual friends when he studied at the Cordon Bleu, but I have not seen him for many years. I believe his family is from the Avignon area. That’s all I know. I hope it helps,” he said.
    You have no idea . “ Merci beaucoup . Yes, it definitely helps. Thank you for your time and the information.”
    He finished his breakfast, anxious to visit the galleries. The village was quite small. There was one large street with several outdoor cafes. At the far end of the street was the daily farmer’s market. Lanes led off the main street, and he could see old houses and stone cottages separated by trees that looked as if they’d been there for centuries.
    Jordan was surprised that a village this small could support two galleries. Both of them primarily featured the artwork of the owners, but at the second one, hanging on the back wall, was a painting by another California Impressionist artist, Guy Rose. It was a magnificent piece depicting the cliffs of Laguna Beach in various shades of tans set against the deep blue of the ocean. The shallow water at the base of the cliffs was green where the waves lapped against the smooth rocks.
    “ Monsieur,” a distinguished looking man said as he hurried over to Jordan, “I am Blaise Thiers, the owner of the gallery. I’m sorry for not greeting you when you walked in, but I wanted to finish up with Madame Lesalle. Thank you for being so patient.”
    “That’s fine. I was just admiring this painting. Can you tell