Page 57 of The Grey Wolf
He thought for a moment before answering. “I think the Jeanne Caron we met years ago was a chrysalis. Practicing, training, learning. Just beginning to turn into the person she’s become.”
“If that was the larva, what is she now?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
“And Charles Langlois didn’t see it?”
“He was beginning to. And she probably realized that. On the tape from The Mission, it looks like Caron and Langlois weren’t so much talking as arguing. We can’t blame Langlois for being taken in by her. She’s a master manipulator. And I’m no better than him. Worse, in fact. Charles told me the Sûreté is compromised, and I have no idea who he means, and I work with them every day. Have for years.”
That was one of the most terrifying things about what was happening. The fact he could not see the threats that must be so close.Disguised as colleagues, allies, friends. The fact he could no longer trust people he’d trusted for years.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in what happened that I haven’t asked you about your day.”
“Let’s see. My Montréal home needed new locks because it was broken into, then my husband was almost killed, and finally I learned about a plot to murder the entire population. As though that wasn’t bad enough, Olivier almost poisoned us all.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” He sat forward. “Food poisoning? Are you all right?”
Could he really have been so distracted that he hadn’t seen that she was ill?
“No. A drink, if you can believe it. Disgusting. Some guest at the B&B gave him the recipe for a cocktail and a bottle of booze to make it with. Ruth pounded back two before she realized how awful they were. It’s a miracle she didn’t die.”
“Well, miracle is one way of looking at it. But you weren’t really sick, were you?”
“No, but close. It was vile. Even looked it. Green.” She made a face. “The name alone should’ve warned us.”
“Was it called Don’t Drink This?”
She laughed. “Or maybe Poison?”
“Did the bottle have a skull and crossbones?”
“Should have. The cocktail was called something like Famous Last Words. What?”
CHAPTER15
“Holy shit, Armand, you scared the life outta me.”
Olivier had opened his eyes to see a man’s face, in the dark, within inches of his own. He’d bolted upright so quickly they’d almost banged heads.
“What’re you doing here? What’s happened?”
“We need to talk.”
“Now?” Olivier put on his glasses. “It’s four thirty in the morning. I’m in bed, for Chrissake.” Seeing Armand’s face, he gave in, grudgingly. “Oh, okay.”
Beside him, Gabri was snoring, and smiling.
“He smiles in his sleep?” asked Armand as Olivier threw on a bathrobe and slippers.
“And sometimes he laughs. What I wouldn’t give to spend just five minutes in his head. I think it must smell of fresh baking in there.”
Despite himself Armand laughed, and tried to think what the inside of Reine-Marie’s head would smell like. Roses, probably. The garden on a warm summer morning. And perhaps just a hint of dusty documents.
He knew Jean-Guy’s must smell like bacon.
Clara’s would smell of oil paints and overripe banana. Myrna’s of books and strong tea. Olivier’s of money. Billy Williams of the musky forest. Ruth’s? Well, they all knew what that would smell like.
And his own? He hoped it would smell of lemon meringue pie with a soupçon of damp dog, but he had his doubts.
