“I would say it was impossible.”
“Why impossible?”
“Because the other reason the metalsmith fabricated only one ring was because the war greatly foreshortened his career. He died on the morning of the D-Day invasion. He was part of the five-man team who went to Pointe du Hoc and never came back.”
_____
Dodging puddles the size of kiddie pools, I retraced my steps back to the Church of St. Joan of Arc to take a picture of the commemorative plaque for Nana’s Legion of Mary meeting, then set a course back to the boat by way of the cobblestoned mall with the giant clock.
Madeleine had been right. With the skies clearing, I didn’t need my umbrella anymore, but the sun was doing little to cast light on the mystery of how Woody Jolly could be in possession of a one-of-a-kind ring worn by a Resistance fighter whose body had been incinerated in the Allied bombing of Pointe du Hoc on the morning of the D-Day invasion. Had Pierre Lefevre removed the ring before undertaking his mission? That would have made sense. A shiny object like a brass ring might have given away their position. But how would the ring have then found its way to America to become an heirloom in the Jolly family? Had it become one of the spoils of war, pocketed by an Allied soldier as a souvenir? Yet Woody had said the ring had been in his family for as long as he could remember, so that didn’t square.
Well, some cryptic chain of events had allowed the ring to survive the war, because Woody was wearing it.
Turning the corner onto the Rue Grand Pont, I slowed my steps as another explanation suddenly occurred to me.
Nah, that wasn’t possible, was it? But if it were … Good God.
“Are you on your way back to the boat?”
I avoided colliding with the man by mere inches. Startled, I did a double-take, laughing with relief when I saw his face. “Patrice! Fancy running into you here. I mean, literally running into you. Sorry.”
“You recognize me out of uniform?”
“Any reason why I wouldn’t?”
“Most guests don’t.”
“It seems to be a universal problem. Don’t take it personally. Free afternoon?”
“Oui. One afternoon and one morning a week. Rouen is a good port. Many sales along the Gros Horloge.” He smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “Cycling shoes. A man can never have enough.”
“You’re a cyclist?”
“I ride a bicycle. There is a difference. But the Tour de France passes through much of the countryside nearby, so I avail myself of the same roads. Do you need directions back to the boat?”
I chuckled. “Nope. They’ve been involuntarily imprinted on my brain. I couldn’t forget them even if I wanted to.”
“The police cars will probably still be there when you arrive.”
Unh-oh. “Police cars?”
“Oui. Something to do with the woman who suffered the fatal accident in Étretat yesterday.” He lowered his voice. “One of the staff overheard the conversation the police were having with the captain, so there’s a rumor flying around the ship now.”
“What kind of rumor?”
“Apparently, what was initially thought to be an accident was no accident at all.”
thirteen
“Drug overdose,” said Nana.