Page 147 of The Grey Wolf
He took out the faded photograph he’d borrowed from Dom Philippe’s best friend and stared at the smiling, almost laughing young woman and girl. But his eyes rested on the young man, Yves before Philippe. A man-child who so loved his home he even had a favorite rock.
The prop plane hurtled toward the fishing village, the farthest point in Québec and the limit of Armand Gamache’s power.
So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along.
CHAPTER32
Isabelle Lacoste, Claude Dussault, and Sister Irene walked toward the dented and scarred oak door. The breeze made ashhhhh-ing sound as it moved over the open meadow. As though telling them to be quiet.Shhhhh.
Lacoste felt foolish. She’d been so single-minded in getting there that she hadn’t really formulated a plan on how to get in.
Brother Robert had effectively locked himself inside a safety-deposit box, and Sister Irene was the only key they had. But how could a Dominican nun get them into the fortress home of cloistered Carthusian monks?
A less effective key would be difficult to imagine.
“How did you three become friends? Was it singing?”
Isabelle’s hand absently brushed the tops of the yellow and blue and bright pink wildflowers. Butterflies took flight, took fright, as they passed.
“No. Sébastien and I were drawn together because of our names.”
Lacoste noticed that Claude Dussault suddenly smiled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sébastien and Irene,” he said. Isabelle didn’t understand and didn’t care.
“And Robert?” asked Isabelle casually. “How did he fit in?” That’s what she really wanted to know. Something, anything, about the man barricaded behind the tall wall.
“Through Sébastien. They were best friends.”
“I know about the karaoke. All three of you did it, but only Sébastien was punished. What did he do to deserve that?”
Sister Irene kept walking, her eyes fixed ahead. Lacoste felt like they were hobbits approaching Mordor. Though this was not that. The monastery was not evil. It was simply a huge impediment.
More butterflies took off, flailing about in the slight breeze.
When she got no answer, Isabelle tried another tack. “Brother Robert wrote to Sébastien in Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups, to get him to go to Rome. To tell him about what he’d discovered—”
Isabelle stopped. She could tell she’d said something wrong.
“Non,” she said, staring at the nun. “Robert didn’t write him. You did. Robert sent for you, and you sent for Sébastien. And Sébastien sent for Dom Philippe, who met you all here. Why?”
Silence.
“Because Robert had run away and was already inside Grande Chartreuse. He refused to see either of you.” Lacoste answered her own question since the nun would not. “But he might agree to talk with Dom Philippe. Why?”
Silence.
Isabelle grabbed the nun’s arm so they were looking at each other.
“Did Brother Robert speak to Dom Philippe? Did he tell the Abbot what he knows? Did the Abbot tell you?”
Silence.
“For God’s sake, Irene. I’m begging you. I’ll get on my knees if that would help. We need to know. We need to stop whatever’s about to happen.”
“But I don’t know what it is.”
