Page 49 of The Grey Wolf
“Is he here?” Gamache looked around, his view slightly obscured by her cloud of hair, to see if he could spot the Exec, or any employee. Anyone at all who could rescue them. But it was past dinnertime, and there was no one else around.
“I can take you to the office.”
Her voice was slightly slurred, and when she turned around, she walked with a shuffle. Wet brain, Gamache thought, as they followed her. Or perhaps a stroke.
“Ruth’s sister?” whispered Jean-Guy.
“I don’t have a fucking sister.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” muttered Jean-Guy.
“Can’t imagine that’s difficult, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, stepping forward to walk beside her.
“Claudine.”
“You knew Charles Langlois?”
“We all did. Nice kid. He lived here for a while. We used to eat together. On spaghetti nights.”
“I believe once he left he came back as a volunteer,” volunteered Gamache.
“Is that so?” Somehow Gamache had the impression she was mocking him.
They passed a few people, all residents it seemed. Men and women off the streets who came to The Mission for a hot meal and a bed. A shower. Clean clothes. Someplace safe. Then left in the morning. But always returned. Or almost always. Some never quite made it back.
Claudine was clearly a regular. As she passed, everyone nodded at her and glared at the other three, so clearly cops.
“There,” she said, indicating the office. “You can wait. The Exec will join you soon. Just making sure there’re no knife fights over the last sausage.”
She shuffled away.
“My money’s on her starting that knife fight,” said Beauvoir.
“And getting the last sausage,” said Lacoste.
The cramped office seemed more like a storeroom. Clothing, dishes,cardboard boxes were piled high. The whole place smelled of mashed potatoes. Jean-Guy had expected something far worse.
Armand had been to The Mission a few times, and he and Reine-Marie made regular donations. Ever since Daniel… But he hadn’t been back since the pandemic.
Claudine reappeared. “All good. No blood in the vegetables.”
Which was not, Beauvoir thought, the same as no blood anywhere.
“Did you get the last sausage?” he asked.
“What’s that to you, numbnuts?”
Lacoste couldn’t quite stifle a snort and looked at the elderly woman as though in love.
Claudine took the seat behind the desk. “How can I help?”
Gamache winced and could have kicked himself. “You’re the Exec?”
“I am. Sit.”
There was only one chair, and she clearly meant the Chief Inspector. After his inexcusable gaffe, he did not feel like disobeying her.
