Olivier shot a look around but no one could hear them. Still he lowered his voice.
“The bistro and B and B are doing very well, for now anyway, but it’s the antiques end that’s been the surprise.”
“How so?”
“Lots of interest in Quebec pine, and lots of great finds.”
Gamache nodded. “We spoke to the Poiriers this afternoon.”
Olivier’s face hardened. “Look, what they say just isn’t true. I didn’t screw their mother. She wanted to sell. Was desperate to sell.”
“I know. We spoke to her too. And the Mundins. The furniture must have been in very bad shape.”
Olivier relaxed a little.
“It was. Years sitting in damp, freezing barns and the attic. Had to chase the mice out. Some were warped almost beyond repair. Enough to make you weep.”
“Madame Poirier says you came by her home later with a new bed. That was kind.”
Olivier dropped his eyes. “Yeah, well, I wanted to thank her.”
Conscience, thought Gamache. This man had a huge and terrible conscience riding herd on a huge and terrible greed.
“You said the bistro and B and B were doing well, for now. What did you mean?”
Olivier looked out the window for a moment, then back at Gamache.
“Hi ho, dinner everyone,” sang Ruth.
“What should we do?” Clara whispered to Myrna. “Can we run for it?”
“Too late. Either Ruth or the duck would get us for sure. The only thing to do is hunker down and pray for daylight. If the worst happens, play dead.”
Gamache and Olivier rose, the last in for dinner.
“I suppose you know what they’re doing up at the old Hadley house?” When Gamache didn’t answer Olivier continued. “They’ve almost completely gutted the place and are turning it into an inn and spa. Ten massage rooms, meditation and yoga classes. They’ll do a day spa and corporate retreats. People’ll be crawling all over the place, and us. It’ll ruin Three Pines.”
“Three Pines?”
“All right,” snapped Olivier. “The bistro and the B and B.”
They joined the others in the kitchen and sat at Ruth’s white plastic garden table.
“Incoming,” warned Gabri as Ruth put a bowl in front of each of them.
Gamache looked at the contents of his bowl. He could make out canned peaches, bacon, cheese and Gummi Bears.
“They’re all the things I love,” said Ruth, smiling. Rosa was sitting next to her on a nest of towels, her beak thrust under the sleeve of her dress.
“Scotch?” Ruth asked.
“Please.” Six glasses were thrust forward and Ruth poured each a Scotch, into their dinners.
About three centuries and many lifetimes later they left, staggering into the quiet, cool night.
“Toodle-oo,” waved Ruth. But Gamache was heartened to hear, just as the door closed: “Fuckers.”
FOURTEEN
They arrived back at the B and B to find Beauvoir waiting up for them. Sort of. He was fast asleep in his chair. Beside him was a plate with crumbs and a glass of chocolate milk. The fireplace glowed with dying embers.
“Should we wake him?” asked Olivier. “He looks so peaceful.”
Beauvoir’s face was turned to the side and there was a slight glisten of drool. His breathing was heavy and regular. On his chest lay the small stuffed lion Gabri had won for Olivier at the fair, his hand resting on it.
“Like a little baby cop,” said Gabri.
“That reminds me. Ruth asked me to give him this.” Olivier handed Gamache a slip of paper. The Chief took it and when he declined their offer of help watched as the two men trudged wearily up the stairs. It was nine o’clock.
“Jean Guy,” Gamache whispered. “Wake up.”
He knelt and touched the younger man’s shoulder. Beauvoir started awake with a snort, the lion slipping off his chest onto the floor.
“What is it?”
“Time for bed.”
He watched Beauvoir sit up. “How was it?”
“No one died.”
“That’s a bit of an achievement in Three Pines.”
“Olivier said Ruth wanted you to have this.” Gamache handed him the slip of paper. Beauvoir rubbed his eyes, unfolded the paper and read it. Then, shaking his head, he handed it to the Chief.
“What does it mean? Is it a threat?”
Gamache frowned. “Haven’t a clue. Why would she be writing to you?”
“Jealous? Maybe she’s just nuts.” But they both knew the “maybe” was being generous. “Speaking of nut, your daughter called.”
“Annie?” Gamache was suddenly worried, instinctively reaching for his cell phone, which he knew didn’t work in the village in the valley.
“Everything’s fine. She wanted to talk to you about some upset at work. Nothing major. She just wanted to quit.”
“Damn, that was probably what she wanted to talk about yesterday when we got called down here.”
“Well don’t worry about it. I handled it.”
“I don’t think telling her to fuck off can be considered ‘handling it.’ ”
Beauvoir laughed and bending down he picked up the stuffed lion. “There’s certainly good reason she’s known as ‘the lion’ in your family. Vicious.”
“She’s known as the lion because she’s loving and passionate.”
“And a man-eater?”
“All the qualities you hate in her you admire in men,” said Gamache. “She’s smart, she stands up for what she believes in. She speaks her mind and won’t back down to bullies. Why do you goad her? Every time you come for a meal and she’s there it ends in an argument. I for one am growing tired of it.”
“All right, I’ll try harder. But she’s very annoying.”
“So are you. You have a lot in common. What was the problem at work?” Gamache took the seat next to Jean Guy.
“Oh, a case she’d wanted was assigned to another lawyer, someone more junior. I talked to her for a while. I’m almost certain she won’t kill everyone at work after all.”
“That’s my girl.”
“And she’s decided not to quit. I told her she’d regret any hasty decision.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” asked Gamache with a smile. This from the king of impulse.
“Well, someone had to give her good advice,” laughed Beauvoir. “Her parents are quite mad, you know.”
“I’d heard. Thank you.”
It was good advice. And he could tell Beauvoir knew it. He seemed pleased. Gamache looked at his watch. Nine thirty. He reached for Gabri’s phone.
As Gamache spoke to his daughter Beauvoir absently stroked the lion in his hand.
That was the fear in a murder investigation. Missing something. Chief Inspector Gamache had assembled a brilliant department. Almost two hundred of them in all, hand picked, investigating crime all over the province.
But this team, Beauvoir knew, was the best.
He was the bloodhound. The one way out in front, leading.
Agent Lacoste was the hunter. Determined, methodical.
And the Chief Inspector? Armand Gamache was their explorer. The one who went where others refused to go, or couldn’t go. Or were too afraid to go. Into the wilderness. Gamache found the chasms, the caves, and the beasts that hid in them.
Beauvoir had long thought Gamache did it because he was afraid of nothing. But he’d come to realize the Chief Inspector had many fears. That was his strength. He recognized it in others. Fear more than anything was the thrust behind the knife, the fist. The blow to the head.
And young Agent Morin? What did he bring to the team? Beauvoir had to admit he’d quite warmed to the young man. But that hadn’t blinded him to his inexperience. So far Beauvoir the bloodhound could smell fear quite clearly in this case.