She was a little girl dancing with her father, and her mother said, “The child is clumsy.”
Jean Claude was holding her close. “You’re a wonderful dancer.” “Thank you.”
Do you hear that, Mother? Toni thought, I wish this could go on forever.
On the way back to the hotel, Jean Claude said, “Chérie, would you like to stop at my house and have a nightcap?”
Toni hesitated. “Not tonight, Jean Claude.” “Tomorrow, peut-être?” She squeezed his hand. “Tomorrow.”
At 3:00 a.m. Police Officer René Picard was in a squad car cruising down Grande Allée in the Quartier Montcalm
when he noticed that the front door of a two-story redbrick house was wide open.
He pulled over to the curb and stepped out to investigate. He walked to the front door and called, “Bon soir. Y a-t-il, quelqu’un?”
There was no answer. He stepped into the foyer and moved toward the large drawing room. “C’est la police. Y a-t-il, quelqu’un?”
There was no response. The house was unnaturally quiet.
Unbuttoning his gun holster, Officer Picard began to go through the downstairs rooms, calling out as he moved from room to room.
The only response was an eerie silence. He returned to the foyer. There was a graceful staircase leading to the floor above.
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