Page 33 of The Grey Wolf
He followed her gaze and noticed a smear of whipped cream sticking to the back of his hand. He stared at it, then looked over at Charles lying in a heap, alone in the street. It must have come from his hand, as he’d held it.
The paramedics had left Charles where he’d landed, quite reasonably choosing to leave the dead and look after the living. As Gamache had made his choice, to save the girl and not the young man. As the SUV plowed by, Armand had felt it graze his leg. It had been that close.
But he was alive, and Charles was dead. Killed by the SUV driver, and Armand’s choice.
Using his handkerchief, stained with the little girl’s blood, Armand carefully wiped the whipped cream off his hand.
CHAPTER10
Reine-Marie sat in the study, staring at the blank screen. Knowing she should look. But putting it off.
Armand had called to tell her he’d gone to the rendezvous, and what had happened.
“There’s video. It’s going to be all over the internet and on the news.”
“Are you all right?” That was really all she cared about.
“Yes.” She heard the hubbub behind him, of shouting and sirens.
“Are you coming home?”
“Not just yet. But I’ll be home tonight. Not for dinner, but later.”
He was tempted to say,Don’t wait up.But he knew she would.
That had been an hour ago.
Clara sat in Myrna’s loft above the bookstore, a glass of beer partway to her lips.
On the sofa, facing the television, Myrna and Billy Williams also watched as the CBC anchor announced the lead story of the six o’clock news. And the video began.
Billy reached out to take Myrna’s hand. And Myrna reached for Clara.
Gabri stood in the laundry room off the kitchen of the B&B, shoving bedding and towels into the washing machine. Their guest had checked out, and this needed doing before he could sit down with acocktail. But not the one the elderly man had suggested. That had been vile.
The television was on in the living room, tuned to the French Radio-Canada television news. At the mention of Chief Inspector Gamache of the Sûreté du Québec, Gabri stopped what he was doing and poked his head around the corner.
Then, a towel still in his hand, he walked into the room and dropped onto the sofa. His eyes wide, his mouth partly open, he twisted the towel as the video played.
“Oh, fuck,” muttered Ruth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” agreed Rosa. A contrary fowl who rarely agreed with anything, this time there was no argument and no other word for it.
Before the story was even over, Ruth scooped up Rosa and headed for the door.
“Bonjour?”
Reine-Marie turned to see Clara in the doorway of the study. Then Gabri and Olivier appeared. Then Myrna. And finally, though out of sight, Reine-Marie heard, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“We let ourselves in,” said Olivier, as though it were unusual and needed to be said.
“Are you okay?” Clara asked.
“Have you seen it?” asked Myrna.
“Armand called and told me, but I haven’t yet.” Reine-Marie looked at the clock on the bookcase and was surprised to see it was ten past six. “It’s all over the news?”
“Oui,” said Gabri.
