By Pierre Fortin
Sans doute Julie Landry aurait-elle dû se contenter de photographier, jour après jour, tous ces incroyables graffitis qui ornent les mystérieuses et presque souterraines buildings des autoroutes de l. a. ville… sans doute.
Seulement il y avait aussi là, jour après jour, ce vieil itinérant qui n’était pas sans lui rappeler ce père dont elle n’avait plus de nouvelles et qu’elle se reprochait souvent d’avoir abandonné. Sans doute aurait-elle dû se contenter du regard complice de ce vieil homme que son téléobjectif, trop curieux, avait réussi à saisir et peut-être aurait-il mieux valu qu’elle ne mène pas plus loin son «enquête»… peut-être.
Mais voilà : Julie Landry n’est pas moins indiscrète que ses lentilles et c’est bien au-delà des cathédrales et des catacombes désaffectées que constituent les entrailles des systèmes routiers et des usines désertées du bas-Montréal qu’elle et ses amis seront entraînés dans leur recherche d’une resolution à l’énigme qui entoure los angeles disparition du vieillard, surnommé Le cook dinner.
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Extra info for L'Homme qui n'avait pas de table
She reached out and cupped one of Erin’s hands. “You know I wouldn’t suggest something I thought would hurt you. ” Erin smiled at the memories of the BFF, or Best Friends Forever Club, they had formed in middle school. She squeezed her friend’s hand in acknowledgment but remained silent. “I think you’re wrong for not giving this guy a chance,” Carol said. “He’s the real deal. Single. Hardworking. ” “Yeah, a real Boy Scout,” Erin said. Carol threw up her hands. “What am I going to do with you?
Or because it was for a charity he deeply believed in. But last night another woman had gone missing. He planned to mingle with the crowd. Keep his ears open to idle conversations. Keep his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. Because something was very much out of the ordinary. A monster had invaded their peaceful community. They’d already discovered two bodies and now a third woman was missing. Tony scanned the crowd for the hundredth time. It looked like a Norman Rockwell painting and he smiled in spite of himself.
And she didn’t want to. She carried the tray to the trash. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice a person trying to squeeze past until it was too late. He slammed into her with the force and speed of a defensive football player. Making a frantic grab for the nearest post to break her fall, she glanced over her shoulder. The man not only hadn’t slowed down, he had already disappeared. Steadying herself, she vowed to pay closer attention to her surroundings and keep her mind off of Tony before she got plowed over.