Eugene Mallon lived like a sun king in the South of France, sharing a tile-roofed farmhouse with his strawberry-blond Swedish wife. He read books, put idle thoughts to paper and played in a bridge club every Friday. She baked bread, tended garden and strolled into the nearby village of Champagne-Mouton on market day, tall and delicate, a sight so fair the mayor's tired old heart would stir. The Gold Creek met the Silver Creek near the Mallons' acreage, and all around, the gentlest breeze would set fields of sunflowers ablaze with waves of golden light.
It was paradise, until June 13....