Page 150 of The Grey Wolf
“I brought a jacket for you, but I see you dressed sensibly.”
“Unlike the first time I came here. How long ago was that?”
They walked to her Sûreté pickup truck.
“I looked it up. One hundred and twenty-three years. And five months.”
He laughed. “And nothing has changed.”
It was almost the literal truth. Though he knew the first time he’d been to Blanc-Sablon was more like thirty years ago, the village itself looked exactly the same. Perhaps a new home here, an old one torn down, or fallen down, over there. But as for the rest, it seemed much like Three Pines, as though time had blown right by this place.
He tossed his bag into her vehicle and climbed in.
Valerie Michaud got behind the wheel and glanced at the Chief Inspector. Armand. Her eyes drifted up his familiar face, following the lines past the thoughtful brown eyes, to the scar at his temple.
This was the first time they’d met since it happened, though she’d been at the funeral for his slain agents. Had walked in the cortège. Had seen him stumble on the steps into the cathedral, but not fall.
They’d first met when both were junior agents. He’d arrived on the coast to assist his inspector in a homicide investigation. This had been her first posting. She’d risen through the ranks, achieving the position of station commander. She’d married and had children here, and while often offered promotion to other postings that would have been considered more prestigious, she’d chosen to stay there.
This was home.
Commander Michaud started the truck. “Where to? You haven’t told me why you’re here. I’m presuming it’s not a vacation.”
“Non.I need to find a Dom Philippe—”
“Areligieux?”
“A monk, an abbot, yes.”
“Wait a minute, is he the head of that order that did the recording of the chants?”
“Oui.Do you know him?”
“No, but I know his family. He’s a Rousseau, right?”
“Yves Rousseau, before he took his vows and changed his name to Philippe. Can you take me to the family home?”
“No problem.” She put the vehicle in gear and they headed off.
“Who else is in the family?”
“His sister, Eunice, died years ago, but he still has a brother here. Raymond. We call him Big Gars.”
Big fella. It was very “coast” to have a phrase half in English, half in French.
“He’s large?”
She laughed. “No, that’s coast humor. He’s actually quite small, slender, but he has a big personality.” A few people waved as she drove by, and she waved back.
“Any nieces and nephews?”
“Niece. She’s moved away. Most do. You think your fellow is here?”
“I hope so.”
“I guess he could be. I haven’t heard, but then I might not, especially if he didn’t want anyone to know. At this point he’d just be another stranger. Is he hiding?”
“I think so.”
