Page 20 of The Grey Wolf
Gamache was growing weary of this. It had been a long, stressful day. He wanted answers and he wanted to go home. To Reine-Marie.
He imagined her in the kitchen in Three Pines, preparing dinner. A mug of strong tea on the counter. The dogs, and Gracie, underfoot.
He saw Myrna in her bookshop sorting new arrivals, and Clara in her studio, a brush stuck behind her ear, staring at her latest work, part of a series she was callingJust before something happens…
The works ached of anxiety and excitement. Of potential and promise and peril. Of hope, but also dread. Anything might happen…
Gabri would be changing the beds at their B&B. With that thought came the memory of the stranger he’d passed the day before. The elderly man who’d looked vaguely familiar.
Then Armand’s mind moved on, to Olivier in the bistro, who’d be putting mixed nuts in bowls for customers. With the nights closing in, he might lay a fire in the huge stone hearths at either end of the room. Lit more for cheer than warmth.
Yes, Armand wanted to get up and go home.
Instead, he leaned forward, keeping his voice steady. “You said you needed to speak to me. So speak, and make it the truth, otherwise I’m leaving.”
Reine-Marie’s phone rang. She grabbed it, thinking it was Armand, but it was another familiar voice.
“I’m experimenting with a new cocktail. Want to come over?” asked Olivier.
“Absolutely,” said Reine-Marie.
The other guinea pigs were gathered in the bistro on the large sofa and in armchairs around the laid, but unlit, fire. It was a warm afternoon, but when the sun went down, so would the temperature.
“You never told us who that call yesterday morning was from,” said Ruth.
Reine-Marie cut off a tranche of Bleu Bénédictin, made by the monks in the nearby abbey of Saint-Benoît-du-Lac, and placed it on a slice of baguette from Sarah’s Boulangerie. Then she took one of the experimental cocktails and sniffed. It was green and smelled of turf.
It also tasted like turf. She winced and put it down again. “What’s it called?”
“The Last Word,” said Olivier.
Everyone else took a sip and made the same face.
“Is the last word ‘yech’?” asked Myrna.
“Fucking hell.” Ruth moved her tongue around in her mouth, trying to get rid of the taste. “That’s awful. Are you trying to poison us?” Still, she downed the drink and reached for Clara’s, who did not defend it.
“Gin,” shouted Clara. “Stat!”
“Don’t think our near-death experience just now has made us forget the question,” said Ruth, though the others looked perplexed, having forgotten the question. “Who was on the phone yesterday morning?”
The call was private and none of their business. But Reine-Marie had trusted these people with her life. She could trust them with this. Or at least a carefully curated version.
“It was from some woman Armand used to know—”
“Ahhh,” said Ruth, nodding. “I was ‘some woman’ once…”
The others grimaced. Even Rosa. But then, ducks often did.
“Not like that,” Reine-Marie hurriedly said before Rosa could speak. “At all.”
They leaned forward, knowing they were about to get the good stuff. Something was about to happen.
CHAPTER7
“Will you arrest me?”
“Do you want to be arrested?” asked Gamache. “Because it seems like you do. But arrested for what? You entered my home uninvited, but you broke nothing and only took an old coat, which you returned. A charge might stick, but you’d get a suspended sentence. I have better things to do, more important things to do, than play games with you.”
