Deadly Slipper by Michelle Wan

recognizable,” added Paul. “Big ones like this are being converted into holiday homes nowadays.”
    Mado had been studying one of the copies with slit eyes through a cloud of smoke. She tapped it with a red-enameled nail. “That’s a sheep.”
    They all craned forward. The object she indicated was faintly outlined and could have been anything because it was largely obscured by a stain.
    Julian had to admit that he hadn’t spotted itbefore. “Looks more like a goat to me.”
    “Sheep, goat. So what?” said Paul.
    “Not everyone raises sheep,” said Mado.
    Paul said, “It’s
one
sheep.”
    Mara asked, “Is there any record of—of sheep farmers in the region?”
    “Are you kidding?” This was from Gaston, who had slumped back in his chair.
    “You have to find someplace with a
pigeonnier
, poplar trees, and sheep—nineteen years ago. It won’t be easy,” Mado concluded, not unsympathetically, nodding in Mara’s direction.
    “I’m prepared to offer a reward.” Mara sounded desperate. “One thousand euros.”
    “Seriously?” asked Gaston, sitting forward again.
    “Seriously.”
    Gaston’s bulbous snout twitched. “Not bad, that.”
    Paul shrugged. “Still a needle in a haystack.”
    Gaston drained his glass and stood up. “Well, I’m off.” He held up a copy of the print. “Can I take one of these? I’ll ask around. You never know.”
    He saluted the company and went out, also leaving money on the bar. They watched as, a moment later, his canary-yellow minivan, with
La Poste
scripted on the side, trundled down the road.
    “Poor Gaston,” said Mado. “He has seven kids. All girls. On a postman’s salary.”
    Julian and Mara rose to leave. Paul walked out the front with them and around to the side of the house, where Mara had parked her Renault.
    “Look, I’ll show my father this picture. He may come up with something, or one of his cronies may remember this
maudit pigeonnier
—” He broke off abruptly. For a moment he stared unbelieving at what was happening in his beloved
potager
, then stuffed the photocopy into his back pocket and gave an outraged bellow.
    Jazz was humping Edith lustily among the newly planted lettuce and tomatoes. For her part, the bitch, tail flagged coquettishly to one side, appeared to be trying to walk away, requiring Jazz to hop athletically behind her and causing a widespread trampling of young seedlings. Human attempts to move or separate the coupling dogs—the scene by then had attracted a small but interested crowd—only resulted in worse damage. There was little to be done except stand back and let nature take its course. It lasted nearly half an hour, during which time the dogs wound up end to end before Jazz finally came free. He was panting hard but looking smug.
    “Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry,” Mara moaned, surveying the wrecked garden in dismay.
    Paul seemed to come out of a trance. Slowly he shook his head.
“Quel dogue!”
he breathed in admiration.
    “Swine,” muttered Julian.
    •
    “I’m going to have to persuade Prudence to hire Mado and Paul to cater her party,” Mara said as she drove Julian back to his cottage. “It’s the only way Ican make it up to them for their garden.”
    Jazz, tongue lolling, lay splayed out across the backseat. Edith, who had never in her life accepted a ride home, had trotted off on business of her own.
    “Oh, don’t worry about Paul,” said Julian tartly. “He’ll get over it. Besides, he liked you. Did you notice the way he wouldn’t look at you? Whenever he refuses to look at a woman, it means he fancies her.”
    “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life!” Mara laughed. “However,” she said after a moment, “Mado has her eye on you.”
    “Eh? What makes you say that?”
    “The way she checked me out. She regards you as her property. You two haven’t got something going, have you?” Her tone was bantering.
    “I hunger for her cooking, not her body.” Julian replied with