The Case of the Missing Coq au Vin

Merle had lost track of time underneath the Provencial sunshine, the three Armagnacs making his grocery list much more like a mad dash from village storefront to storefront.  He could picture the days here of D'Artagnan himself, who his author described as a modern Don Quixote, riding his

own trusty horse Rocinante through the lavender fields, the hedgerows and foothills of the Pyrenees back

to his private fiefdom for a feast of chicken fricassee.  Who needs cars anyway Merle found himself thinking, when a horse would do just fine. He tried to picture the image of lining his three children behind him on the horse in order to get to school.  Waiting at the curbside, trusty steed tied to a bike rack, after school?  Such things.  He sat instead behind the wheel of his rented Dodge mini van and sixteen minutes later arrived at the shared drive of their holiday rental and remarked at the invitation of the backfarm pool.

He pulled up on the handles of his two grocery bags and walked onto the patio leading to the walk-in kitchen, which still mesmerized him in its colorful simplicity.  Once he stood there, at the doorway

 into the house, he reconsidered his role as recipe sleuth and wondered if he could just open his auberge here at home and never leave?  He had felt this very way about a kitchen only one other time in his life, when he spent a summer as a butler in Charleston S.C. overlooking King Street.  Where else would anybody need to be?  "Hello.  Home," he said, anticipating some murmur of voice from the living room or upstairs. 

Merle began to set up all the ingredients for Fricassee instinctively: assorted chicken, olive oil, butter, morels mushrooms, shallots, a cooled bottle of white wine, some thyme and parseley, chives, and finally his creme freche and set them all out onto the cupboard island.  He could finally hear soft voices out in the direction of the swimming pool.  The last thing he unloaded from his front pocket was Henri III business card -- its note on the back reminding him of their meeting at the Lupiec Hotel 

later that night.  He shrugged his shoulders.  Maybe this would make for a nice Provencial family visit?