Page 157 of The Grey Wolf
“We were afraid to leave,” said Miriam. She was wearing a clean, crisp polka-dotted apron over her round body and was standing by the white enamel stove, shoving a pound of sizzling bacon around a cast-iron pan.
The home was soon filled with the scent of bacon and eggs. And fresh-perked coffee.
The toast popped up, and before Armand could butter it, Miriam waved the spatula at him. “Sit.”
“Yves came here a month or so ago,” said Raymond, wiping the toast into the yolk and bacon drippings on his plate. “Haven’t seen him since. But he called a few days ago warning us that someone might be on their way here looking for him. They were dangerous, he said. Killers.”
“You thought it was us,” said Gamache.
“Yves told us they’d probably come as friends,” said Miriam. She was eating standing up, even though there was a seat at the table.
“That’s why you were going to shoot us,” said Valerie.
“But you didn’t,” said Armand.
“To be honest, I was just about to when Mother stopped me.”
“We only kill what we can eat,” she explained. “And you’re too big for the pot.”
Armand laughed. “Thank God for éclairs.” Then he grew serious. “And your brother didn’t tell you who these people were.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Valerie, but after decades on the coast, she knew the reason. These were people who solved their own problems. It would never occur to them to go to the police. If there was trouble, the police came to them for help.
“Tell us about his visit a few weeks ago,” said Armand.
“He showed up unannounced,” said Miriam. “First time we’d seen him in—what, Big Gars? Forty years?”
“At least, Mother. Barely recognized him.”
Armand smiled at her calling her husband Big Gars. Big Fella. He wondered how long it had been since she called him Raymond. And how long since he’d called his wife anything but Mother. Probably not since their first child was born.
“Why did he come here?” Gamache asked.
Now Big Gars and Mother looked uncomfortable. Armand decided to help them out.
“He came asking for money and to borrow your passport and probably driver’s license.”
Raymond nodded. If standing side by side, the brothers wouldn’t look that much alike. The Abbot was taller, slightly softer in body. Big Gars was wiry, more weather-worn. Weather-beaten. But in a passport or Québec driver’s license photo, Dom Philippe could pass for his brother.
And clearly did.
“We took all but fifty dollars out of our account and gave it to him,” said Miriam. “Along with our credit card.”
“How much cash was that?”
“Came to just under nine hundred dollars. Our card has a ten-thousand-dollar limit. He bought a round-trip ticket to Grenoble on it and rented a car.”
“He also borrowed a bunch of clothes.”
“Do you have any idea where he is now?”
“Non.His return flight was a few days later.” Big Gars rested his bright blue eyes on Gamache’s deep brown ones. “Is he okay?”
“I think so, but I need to find him. Is there anyone else he might go to for help? Another family member?” Just then, his phone buzzed. “Do you mind?”
They shook their heads.
