The Woman in Blue

Chapter 9: The Sword of Tiberius

La Palette. October 2, 2004. Saturday evening.

"You've wanted to go to La Palette for months," Peter said as he and El walked to the bistro from their parking space. "What makes it so special?"

"The bistro serves classic French cuisine similar to what we'd have on the Left Bank in Paris," El explained. "According to the reviews, La Palette has an authentic unpretentious French atmosphere. And then there's the art."

"What about the art?"

"The owner's an artist, and the walls are covered with works by contemporary New York artists. A clever gimmick is that the artists who are chosen to display their works receive a discount on their tabs. It's a winning strategy for everyone involved. The artists receive free publicity in addition to the discount. For the bistro, the paintings are a unique and powerful draw to attract a well-heeled, cultured clientele. As for the patrons, not only are they able to enjoy the works but they also have the opportunity to mingle with the artists."

Peter smiled. "I bet Neal has a painting hanging there. He couldn't resist a deal like that."

"Do you know if he comes here often?" El asked.

"He told me it's one of his favorite places, but the first time I heard him mention it was as the location for his first meeting with Mansfeld." Peter opened the door to the restaurant. That was exactly two weeks ago today."

"No wonder he'd like some happier memories," El said as they walked inside. "Let's make sure that happens."

They spotted Neal standing by the long carved walnut bar at the front of the bistro. 

"They should hire him to sit there," El murmured. "He looks so dashing in that dark blue shirt and sports jacket. But he's also thinner than I remember. Has he lost weight or is he simply giving off an artist vibe?"

Peter scrutinized him. He did seem on the skinny side. Mansfeld's cuisine couldn't compensate for the strain of undercover work.

Neal was talking with a stocky, gray-haired man behind the bar. He motioned them over when he spotted them. "Elizabeth, Peter, I'd like you to meet Jacques Legault, the owner and master chef of La Palette."

Jacques walked around the counter to greet them. "So you are the famous Burkes of whom I've heard so much! Enchanté, madame. Your beauty graces my establishment. And, monsieur, to you I owe a debt of gratitude."

"Thank you," Peter said, "but I'm not following you."

"Ah, you don't know? In the past, whenever Neal was here I worried about my restaurant being raided by the FBI. I had nightmares of him being chased by agents through the kitchen and causing my soufflés to collapse. My soufflés and I thank you for making an honest man out of him."

"Jacques, don't inflate Peter's ego," Neal protested with a grin. "The FBI never knew when I was in New York, let alone in your bistro. My record stands unblemished—not a single takedown."

"You were in our sights," Peter joshed, knowing Neal would take it as such. "We would have caught you within the month."

"Would have, could have, should have, pfff!" Neal said breezily.

"Let me show you to your table," Jacques said. "Neal, a new shipment of Volnay arrived from the Clos des Ducs. You and your guests must do me the honor of being my wine tasters tonight. I'd like your opinion before I add it to the wine list. You may need to try two bottles before you make your decision," he said with a wink. "Bon appétit!"

"Neal this place is fantastic," El said after Jacques had left. "Thank you so much for inviting us." Gazing around at the paintings she added, "I could spend hours simply looking at the art. Do you have a painting displayed?"