Free Treasure of Saint-Lazare by John Pearce

Paris at the turn of the 20th century. A streetcar, its headlight and windows brightly lighted, passed by the theaters at Châtelet. He had recognized the location immediately.
    They had walked down sleepy Palm Avenue to a Spanish restaurant on Main Street. The dinner had been lively. Eddie told her of the changes in France since she’d been a student in Lyon and she told him of her life in Frankfurt before her mother had died, then of her life in Sarasota.
    At 10:30 she looked at her watch and said, “We’re going to close this place. We’ve been here more than two hours and Sarasota’s not a late-night town. We can have a nightcap back at the gallery by the light of the pictures.”
    She took his arm as they crossed the deserted street, holding it tight against her breast. They stopped once under a tree for a long kiss, and after Jen locked the front door behind them she took his hand and led him toward the back of the store.
    “The previous owner lived in Orlando, and when he came here he didn’t want to go to a hotel, so …” She opened a door to reveal a small efficiency apartment with its own bathroom and kitchen and a large double bed. “My boss won’t be back for several days.”
    His dream replayed in slow motion as they slowly undressed each other. He dreamt of sliding under the cool white sheet, and of Jen climbing in beside him, pressing herself close.
    He awakened slowly to the realization that it was no longer a dream. Then he was fully conscious of her naked body pressed close to his, her breast resting on his chest.
    Without a word, he put his arm around her and pulled her astride him. After an hour they tried to sleep, but soon Eddie felt her hand caress him as she put her leg over his.
    “My turn this time,” he said as she rolled onto her back and clamped her legs around him. “Sleep is for later.” As he entered her he heard her murmur, “Old times.”

8
    Sarasota
    “I want to help Thom Anderson solve this case. He seemed bright and determined, but I’m not sure he’s convinced yet it was murder.” Jen said.
    She had been reviewing her conversations with the detective over the remains of a fried-egg-and-bacon breakfast. “I’m not used to this much breakfast,” Eddie told her. “I will have to watch my weight here.”
    “I’ll do all I can to help you get exercise,” she said with a mischievous grin.
    Eddie smiled but changed the subject.
    “We need to be careful in case it goes beyond one murder. Tell me about the detective.”
    “Thom’s a long-time Sarasota cop, and the force here is pretty good, based on the few experiences I’ve had with them at the gallery. Why don’t I call him and ask him to see you today?”
    “Ask him to meet me at the site. That will make it easier for both of us to re-imagine what happened.”
    Jen went into the kitchen to call the detective and Eddie took his iPhone from his pocket. A text message from Aurélie said she would call him later in the day, before midnight Paris time. As he returned the phone to his pocket, Jen came back carrying a note. “I reached Thom,” she said. “He’ll meet us in half an hour. I told him I will stay just long enough to introduce you and then I have to go to the gallery and make sure everything is still working there. Here’s his number.”
    As they walked through the house toward the front door, Eddie said to her, “When we come back later today I want to go through the house carefully just in case there’s something that might help us.”
    “I think you should. I looked it over carefully, but I didn’t know what we know now. I think it’s possible he left other clues for us.”
    She locked the door as they left, then handed Eddie a key. “Keep this, in case you come back when I’m not here. You can use Roy’s study. There’s a wired internet connection there. He didn’t trust wifi.”
    They turned to walk the block and a half to their rendezvous point, and as they approached the spot they saw