Thriller In France

Alice loves champagne. That's perfect because she's going to spend a few days in Reims, the capital of Champagne. She's traveling with a famous soccer player and his fiancée. But the couple prefers to drink milk, and unfortunately that's where the problems begin...

Maggie Newberry is an advertising copywriter who’s fast on her feet and a little stunned to realize that she’s over 30 and still hasn’t found true love. When her missing sister ends up dead, Maggie flies to the south of France to find the little niece that no one in the family even knew existed. Along the way, she finds handsome, sexy Frenchman Laurent Dernier to help search for the girl. Meanwhile, her sister’s murderer sets his sights on the little girl - and Maggie.

Alice, an American who loves to speak French, is going to spend a few days in Provence. She dreams of lavender, olives and sunshine. She imagines herself on the village square at a café terrace, a glass of rosé in her hand. Unfortunately, her trip doesn’t go as planned.

Alice, an American who loves to speak French, wants to study in Paris. She spends a week in a language school for adults. The students are friendly, and the school is located on the most beautiful avenue in Paris. At first, it's a dream! But her dream turns into a nightmare when Madame Douce, her French teacher, is found dead in the classroom.

Beleaguered Captain Katel Marelle hopes for an open-and-shut case while investigating a death in the rugged French Ardennes. But an apparent suicide turns vastly more complicated when three IDs are pulled from the glove box of the deceased’s car. Renaud Duval, Pierre Rousseau, Hans Bernard—three men with the same face but different birthplaces. Marelle has her work cut out for her, figuring out not only how the man died but who he really was.

This easy French mystery includes a story in French, a complete English translation, and tons of fun exercises. Il est quatre heures 15 de l’après-midi quand j’arrive dans la rue Saint-Jacques. Je remarque tout de suite qu’il se passe quelque chose de bizarre. "Connaissez-vous monsieur Pierre-Henri de Longchamps ?" Le policier me regarde dans les yeux. Il prend son temps pour choisir ses mots. Un nœud se forme dans mon estomac. "Monsieur de Longchamps est mort, me dit-il. Et vous et votre amie madame Brown, vous êtes suspectées du crime."