“I wouldn’t have, but the caretaker pointed it out. Said the roofs would need replacing soon and if they expected him to do it, they could go fuck themselves. When I looked, I saw another room, right here.” She placed her finger on the plans, which showed just air. “At least, I think it’s there, though I agree, why would anyone hide a room?”
They decided to meet back at the bistro the next morning and head up to the church.
Word spread quickly, if not accurately, through the village.
Myrna Landers was leaving. Myrna Landers had left.
The library was being turned into a bookstore. That was from Ruth, who wanted them all to sign a petition against it.
“So,” said Reine-Marie later that day as they sat in Clara’s back garden enjoying a predinner drink. “I hear you’re pregnant.”
“Twins,” said Myrna, with a laugh. “Actually, I started that rumor myself, to show how ridiculous the other ones are.”
“Should warn Gabri,” said Clara. “He’s already planning the shower.”
“Then you and Billy aren’t leaving?” There was no hiding the hope in Reine-Marie’s voice.
“Well, not right away. But we are looking for a bigger place, if you hear of one.”
“For the babies,” said Clara, and Armand laughed. Though like everyone else, he found the idea of Myrna leaving Three Pines, even if she kept the bookshop, upsetting.
Robert and Sylvie Mongeau arrived just as they were moving inside. It was getting chilly.
“We only stopped by for a quick drink,” said Sylvie.
She was looking tired as they walked through the kitchen, which smelled of garlic and basil from the linguine primavera. They settled in the living room.
“Is the rumor true?” Robert asked.
“Which one?” Myrna asked.
“That you and Billy are moving to Australia to start a kangaroo rescue,” said Sylvie.
“Because you’re running an illegal bookstore and tattoo parlor out of the back of the library and got caught,” said Robert. “Ruth told us.”
“Well, that is true,” said Myrna, laughing. “But there might be another option besides the kangaroo plan, brilliant as that is. Fiona says there’s an attic room we might be able to break into. That might solve the problem.”
“Fiona says that?” asked Armand. “How would she know?”
“Your caretaker told her,” Myrna said to Robert.
“Claude? But how in the world would he know?” asked the minister.
Myrna explained.
“What does Olivier say?” asked Reine-Marie.
“He knows nothing about it,” said Clara. “We saw the plans of the building, and they don’t show the space, but we’re going up to the church tomorrow to see.”
“Huh,” said Sylvie. “Now why would someone hide a room?”
It seemed the question of the moment.
Billy placed the letter on the preformed plastic table in Ruth’s kitchen and moved his chair a few inches away from Rosa, who was in her bed beside the stove, snoring or snorting.
He tried to remember if ducks got rabies.
Ruth opened the envelope, withdrew the letter, and read it again. He’d brought it to her a few weeks earlier, since Ruth collected stories about the history of Three Pines.
The letter was so vague, she’d shown little interest then. She showed much more now.
“What do you think?” she said, laying her hand on top of it.
“I think he might be talking about the room above the bookstore, the one Fiona said is there.”
“But the room isn’t on Olivier’s plans?” When Billy shook his head, Ruth stared down at the yellowed paper. “I don’t believe it. He doesn’t even say which place in Three Pines he was working on. Could be any of our homes, and with all the renovations in the past hundred years, if it ever did exist, it must’ve been uncovered by now. Besides, why would someone brick up a room?”
“I don’t know, but he obviously didn’t like doing it.” That was an understatement. There was a sense of dread in the letter. It reeked of it. “I knew he was a stonemason, most of my family were back then, but obviously at some point he turned to bricks.”
Better, thought Ruth, than turning to stone. But for once she left something unsaid.
“The letter is dated 1862. That’s more than a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“It’s also the same as the date on the brick Harriet gave Myrna.”
“Come on,” said Sam. “They’ll never know.”
“I’ve heard that before,” said Fiona. “Monsieur Gamache specifically told me you’re not allowed in their house.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. What’s wrong with the guy? What did I ever do to him?”
Fiona had no answer to that.
“Well, fuck him,” said Sam. “Come on. A quick look around.”
She looked at his lopsided grin. The puppy dog eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered how, after all he’d done, she could still love him. But she did.
How she could forgive him. But she had. As he’d forgiven her. At least, she thought so.
He was all the family she had. And while Reine-Marie and Armand had become a sort of family substitute, it wasn’t the same thing. She and Sam were not just connected, they were bound in ways that went beyond blood.
“Look, let’s just get some food and hang out here.” She glanced around the B&B.
He shifted in his seat. “I’m bored.”
Fiona said nothing. She knew what could happen when Sam got bored.
“Look,” he said. “You owe him nothing. He arrested us. We were just kids and he arrested us. He fucked up our lives.”
“We fucked them up. He just found out. And he never arrested you.”
Sam stared at her, that penetrating gaze she knew so well.
He knew what she was really like.
And she knew what he was really like.
“Okay,” she said. “Come on.”
CHAPTER 14
“Come on,” said Fiona. “Enough, Sam. They’ll be home soon. We have to get out.”
But Sam was wandering around the Gamaches’ living room as though he owned it, picking up objects and putting them back slightly askew. Moving furniture just a few inches this way or that, Fiona following behind, putting everything back the way it was.
The dogs, used to Fiona, hadn’t protested when she’d let herself and Sam in.
He was filming as he went along, opening drawers and cupboards. Examining books and mementos and family photographs. Picking one up, he recognized Jean-Guy Beauvoir. Older now, with two children. But unmistakable. He’d seen him at the graduation, of course, the first time they’d met in years.
Sam took a photo of that photo, then replaced it. But not quite as he’d found it.
He scanned the books on the shelves, then went into the study and sat at the computer. Tapping the keyboard, he woke it up. It was locked, of course, but he stared at the screen saver photo of the four grandchildren.
“Sam, enough.” Fiona stood at the threshold to the study.
But it was not enough.
He went upstairs while she returned to the kitchen, where she had a good view of Clara’s home. All was quiet. But if they returned and discovered what she’d done, the whole thing could be blown. She could probably explain and Madame Gamache might believe it, but she was far from sure Monsieur Gamache would.
A few minutes later she found Sam lying on Armand and Reine-Marie’s bed.
“Oh, shit. Get off. They’ll know someone’s been here.”
But he continued to lie there. “Which side is his, do you think? I think this one. He’s reading something called What Might Have Been. It’s alternative history. Looks interesting.”
He put the book down, then picked it up again and moved the bookmark. Then he went into the bathroom and sprayed some cologne onto himself.