{"id":256453,"date":"2026-07-13T14:48:14","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T11:48:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/cold-midnight-in-vieux-quebec-eric-wilson\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T14:48:14","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T11:48:14","slug":"cold-midnight-in-vieux-quebec-eric-wilson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/cold-midnight-in-vieux-quebec-eric-wilson\/","title":{"rendered":"Cold Midnight In Vieux Quebec – Eric Wilson"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\u201cWell, I. . . .\u201d Tom laughed. \u201cMichelle\u2019s invited me to Mardi Gras. There\u2019s a seven-course dinner.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t drink from the fingerbowl.\u201d Dietmar looked at a wooden platform above their heads. \u201cThat thing\u2019s just been built. I love the smell of new lumber.\u201d His eyes travelled along an enclosed walkway which connected the platform to the city wall.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wonder what that\u2019s for?\u201d \u201cSee the windows of those rooms built into the city wall? Some VIPs are going to wait in a room, out of the cold, until the parade approaches. Then they\u2019ll go to the review stand.\u201d \u201cBy the way, where are we going today? You haven\u2019t told me.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m looking for a place called Le Tatouage.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s that mean?\u201d Tom shrugged.<\/p>\n

\u201cTattoo, something like that.\u201d He looked down a narrow street, where really old houses lined the sidewalks. \u201cBritish cannonballs once rained down on these very streets, Oban. Imagine\u2014we\u2019re a part of history.\u201d \u201cDid you just say tattoo? As in tattoo parlour?\u201d \u201cYeah.\u201d Tom arranged his face in an innocent expres\u00ac sion. \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cBecause I suspect you\u2019re manipulating me into another investigation. Well, listen really carefully. I refuse to visit any tattoo parlour. Absolutely refuse. Are you receiving my message?\u201d \u201cMichelle\u2019s got a sister. Care to meet her?\u201d<\/p>\n

X t \u2022 \u2022 \u2022 \u201cWe\u2019re talking major cute here, Oban. I bet she\u2019d like that jade-green jacket you\u2019re wearing.\u201d Dietmar sighed. \u201cOkay, Austen, I\u2019ll go to the tattoo parlour. I can\u2019t guarantee I\u2019ll go inside.\u201d Tom looked at his map. \u201cWe\u2019re almost there.\u201d He swallowed. \u201cNothing can go wrong. Trust me.\u201d \u201cWhat a hollow promise.\u201d They began walking cautiously down a dark alley. Nei\u00ac ther boy said a word. The alley ended at a courtyard, where white twisters of snow blew down from the roofs of surrounding buildings.<\/p>\n

An outdoor staircase led up to a door with a sign that read Le Tatouage. Slowly Tom and Dietmar climbed the icy stairs, their breath steaming in the cold air. Tom opened the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, making him squint and cough; displayed on the walls were such popular tattoo designs as snakes and skulls.<\/p>\n

Behind a shabby counter stood a man with a bony nose, and long hair fringing a balding head. He wore a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, dirty jeans and a leather vest. \u201cOuais! Qu\u2019est-ce que vous voulez, les gaminsT\u2019 44 Uh. . . Tom went closer to the counter. His mouth was dry. \u201cJe le regrette mais … we don\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n

. . .\u201d He thumbed his dictionary. \u201cQuand. . \u201cAusten.\u201d Dietmar was standing in the doorway. \u201cI don\u2019t like this idea. He looks like a middle-aged Nazi.\u201d The man glanced at him. \u201cI speak English.\u201d Dietmar disappeared down the stairs. As he did, Tom looked at a big appointment calendar lying on the counter.<\/p>\n

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Other books by Eric Wilson The Tom and Liz Austen Mysteries 1. Murder on The Canadian 2. Vancouver Nightmare 3. The Ghost of Lunenburg Manor 4. Disneyland Hostage 5. The Kootenay Kidnapper 6. Vampires of Ottawa 7. Spirit in the Rainforest 8. The Green Gables Detectives 9. Code Red at the Supermall Also available by Eric Wilson Summer of Discovery The Unmasking of \u2019Ksan The author describes many real places and events in this book, but the story and the characters come entirely from his imagination.<\/p>\n

First published in 1989 by Harper & Collins Publishers Ltd. Suite 2900, Hazelton Lanes 55 Avenue Road Toronto, Ontario M5R 3L2 Copyright \u00a9 1989 by Eric Hamilton Wilson All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publisher.<\/p>\n

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Wilson, Eric Cold midnight in vieux Quebec ISBN 0-00-223495-5 I. Title. PS8595.I58C64 1989 jC813′.54 C89-094844-5 PZ7.W55Co 1989 Printed and bound in Canada This book is dedicated to my uncles, Bruce Wilson and Cayley Wilson, who lost their lives in the Second World War Etienne’s Tom Austen leaned into a cold wind.<\/p>\n

He was in Baie St-Paul, a small town in rural Quebec. It was night-time, and snow gusted down a street that seemed hundreds of years old. Wooden houses with big porches stood along the winding road, their yards full of trees with bare branches. But one thing didn\u2019t fit. A small, white car had just passed Tom, its wheels crunching along the icy street. The car windows were smokey-black, hiding its occu\u00ac pants inside, and there was an aerial for a cellular phone. The car slowed as it passed Tom.<\/p>\n

He could sense eyes staring at him, then the car moved away. At the same time, Tom saw a woman in a red ski jacket and jeans 2 coming out of the night, walking toward a telephone booth. Again, the car slowed down while passing her, then crossed a small bridge and stopped at a gas station that was closed for the night. The headlights went off and the car became something that was watching.<\/p>\n

The woman didn\u2019t seem to notice. She dropped her cigarette in the snow, took out a slip of paper, then punched at the phone buttons. As Tom passed the booth, heading into the confectionary beside it, he could hear her speaking. \u201cListen. . . .\u201d Her voice was determined. \u201cI gave you 12 hours to agree to an interview. You haven\u2019t come through. No interview, so now I break the story.<\/p>\n

Your name is about to be mud.\u201d Tom glanced at the woman as he entered the store. She was about 45, with a narrow face and small eyes behind thick horn-rimmed glasses.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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