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If that doesn’t buttress my argument that Ginger had better find some nice insurance salesman instead of a guy who people are trying to whack—and, sooner or later, will succeed—I’ll have to think of something else.

There was silence, which was then broken by Ostrowski: “We’re back to who sits where?”

[THREE]

Hôtel Maison Rouge

Rue des Francs-Bourgeois 101

Strasbourg, France

2005 15 April 1946

Colonel Jean-Paul Fortin, a trim forty-year-old, marched purposely into the hotel dining room and up toward the table where Cronley and the others were sitting. He was wearing a U.S. Army olive-drab Ike jacket and trousers, and had removed his kepi from his head. Shoulder boards identified him as colonel. He was accompanied by a similarly uniformed officer whose boards identified him as a captain.

Cronley stood up as the officers approached the table. Fortin wrapped his arms around him affectionately.

“Dunwiddie telephoned to say you were coming,” he greeted Cronley. “I expected you at the office, but then DuPres spotted your Nazimobile parked outside.”

“We’re having dinner. There was no place to eat on the way over. Join us?”

“I’ll join you, but Pierre and I have had our dinner.”

He motioned for the other officer to bring them chairs. When he had, they sat down. Fortin signaled for a waiter.

“Bring cognac,” he ordered.

“Everybody,” Cronley then announced, “this is Colonel Jean-Paul Fortin, who tries but usually fails to maintain the peace in Strasbourg. And this is Capitaine Pierre DuPres. I don’t know what he did wrong, but as punishment Pierre was assigned to Jean-Paul as his deputy.”

DuPres laughed.

“Jean-Paul, this is Mrs. Virginia Moriarty and Father Jack McGrath. You know Max.”

“Enchanté,” Fortin said, taking Ginger’s hand and kissing it. “And you are here why, madame?”

Cronley said, “Ginger, who is the widow of Lieutenant Moriarty, is with me.”

“The gentleman who made the mistake of taking a nap in your bed?”

“Uh-huh. End of the interrogation, mon colonel. And before you say something—or, worse, do something stupid—be advised that Father McGrath is Anglican, Church of England, not Roman Catholic.”

“Isn’t that a meaningless distinction, James?” Fortin said.

“Your ignorance is showing again, Jean-Paul,” Cronley replied.

“You may find this hard to believe,” DuPres said to no one in particular, “but they’re really quite fond of each other.”

“Well, you could have fooled me,” Ginger said.

“There’s a rumor going around,” Cronley said, “that when a Catholic priest says something that annoys Colonel Fortin, next thing you know the priest is trying to swim in the Rhine.”

/> “Which is hard to do,” Max Ostrowski added, “after someone has shot you in the elbows and knees with a .22.”

Cronley saw Ginger was looking at Ostrowski with disbelief that turned into horrified realization Fortin was not denying the implied accusation.

She shouldn’t be hearing this.

She shouldn’t be here.