Page 151 of The Grey Wolf
“Well, he’s found a good place for it. Can you tell me why you want him?”
“Afraid not. But I can say he isn’t suspected of any crime. If anything, he might be a valuable witness.”
As they bounced along the washboard dirt road, Gamache stared out the open window and once again marveled at the homes along the rocky shore. They were pastel-colored and beautifully kept up, though some were showing wear from the constant salt water splashed on them.
There wasn’t a tree in sight, and never had been. Where there wasn’t rock, there was scrub, all pushed in the same direction by the constant wind. As they passed the protected harbor, he saw fishing boats returning with their catch.
“You missed lobster season by ten days,patron,” she said, noticing his almost faraway expression as he stared out to the gulf. “But if you have time, my husband and daughter have just landed with a fresh catch of scallops. We’re planning a bonfire at the cove tonight.”
Armand’s hunger came surging back. If only…
“I’m afraid I’m booked on the next flight out. I seem to remember that many people here go to Florida in the winter.”
“True. Especially the older ones. A generation ago that would have been unthinkable, but—”
“Is Raymond Rousseau one of the ones who goes to the States?”
She was surprised by the abrupt interruption. “Yes. We know because they inform us so we don’t worry when we haven’t seen them for a week or so.”
Gamache had to squint against the sun glaring off the water. No huge refrigeration ships here. Just the small fishing vessels a parent passed on to a son or daughter. When he’d first arrived, decades ago, the harbor was thick with boats. Now he could count them on both hands.
He committed the sight to memory in case even those were gone next time he visited.
“Something’s just occurred to me, Armand. About the Rousseaus.”
“Oui?”
“I realize I haven’t seen Raymond and Miriam in a while.”
“How long?”
She thought. “Four days maybe. Less than a week.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Slightly. They’d normally be at Sunday night bingo and spaghetti supper at the fishermen’s hall, but they weren’t.”
“They didn’t tell you they were going away?”
“Non.”
Chief Inspector Gamache no longer had a faraway look. Now he was completely focused on the road ahead.
Commander Michaud pressed a little harder on the gas.
CHAPTER33
Claudine McGregor stared at the photo Beauvoir had handed her and shook her head.
“Nope.”
The Executive Director of The Mission gave it back and walked away.
So much for that theory, thought Jean-Guy. He put the photo of Paolo Parisi back in his pocket and watched the elderly woman with the wild hair and sagging sweats shuffle down the hall to the cafeteria.
“Wait up.”
She did not.
