So much for the glamorous, deliciously decadent undercover role she’d thought she was going to play while in Cannes. Instead of breakfasting at one of the linen-draped tables in the Carlton’s palatial dining room, she was wedged into a tiny café filled with a few oilcloth-covered tables and an astonishing number of people. She shared a narrow bench with a red-faced fisherman who exuded the pungent aroma of his trade and a voluble gray-haired woman who stabbed her croissant into a small cup of café au lait, then waved the soggy pastry in the air to emphasize every point. Maggie didn’t mind the enforced intimacy in the least, however, since the woman beside her possessed just the information she’d been seeking. “But no!” the sweater-clad woman exclaimed. “No, I tell you. The boat you seek is gone.” Maggie ducked as drops of coffee flew in all directions. Despite her evasive action, several more splotches appeared on the once pristine front of her beige-and-white-striped dress.
