It is 1952. In a Paris sidewalk cafe, a flamboyant woman with red hair and a tattoo, wearing a black leather jacket, pulls out a gun and shoots the waiter. Is it possible she isn’t guilty? The story is told in weekly alternating chapters by two long-married old people in bed on Sunday mornings. Each one of them tries to stump the other over how the next chapter goes, and there is a good deal of bickering. But a solution emerges at the end, nevertheless.