Page 3 of The Grey Wolf
The caller was already in his head, he sure didn’t want them burrowing into his heart.
At that moment the ringing stopped, and he replaced the phone on the table.
The peace of their Sunday lay in shards around them. Even the quiet wasn’t calming. It seemed merely a prelude to what they both knew was coming.
A few minutes later, it arrived, and when it did, Armand’s patience broke. Grabbing the phone, he gave the screen a vicious swipe and stood up.
He listened for a few moments before saying, “Go to hell.”
Then, as Reine-Marie stared in shock, he hung up. She’d never heard him speak to anyone like that. She was sure in his professional life it was sometimes necessary, but here? In their backyard?
“Tell me,” she said when he turned back to her, his knuckles white where he gripped the phone.
And he did.
Reine-Marie listened, then let out a long exhale. Now she understood why he’d refused to answer the calls.
“What did she want?”
“To meet.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“I can’t believe she’d contact you,” said Reine-Marie. “After what happened last time.”
They waited for another call, but none came. The next hour was spent apparently at ease, but their shoulders had inched up, and Reine- Marie had had to read the same book review several times before finally giving up.
“Let’s go to the bistro,” she said, hauling herself out of the chair. “We need a distraction.”
“You might need a distraction,” he said, getting up too. “I need a pain au chocolat.”
She laughed and saw him smile. But the creases that appeared were from worry, not amusement.
CHAPTER2
“What was that about?” asked Ruth, joining them on the back patio of the bistro, in the shade of the tall maples.
“What do you mean?” asked Myrna.
“The phone calls.” The old poet jabbed a crooked finger at the Gamaches. “The racket went on all morning. I almost called the cops.”
“You do know that Armand is the police,” said Clara, brushing a hand through her wild hair and looking surprised when a licorice allsort fell out.
No one else was surprised.
She ate it.
“Don’t tell me you believe that bullshit?” said Ruth. “Like Clouseau here could possibly be a senior officer with the Sûreté. Next you’ll be saying the library is a bookstore, and these two are married.” She pointed to Olivier and Gabri. “Like that’s even possible.”
“Hag,” muttered Gabri, putting a pain au chocolat in front of Armand and dragging a chair over to join them.
“Fag,” muttered Ruth, sliding the plate over and sticking a bony finger into the middle of the pastry, as though it were a country and her finger a flag.
Armand sighed, then smiled when Olivier placed a second pastry in front of him. “Merci, patron.”
Then noticed Ruth was staring at him, expecting an answer.
