A Fatal Grace (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #2)

A Fatal Grace (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #2) Page 125

‘We heard her sing on Christmas Eve,’ said Olivier. ‘It was sublime.’

They all nodded.

‘She’s also a straight A student. Quite brilliant, especially in sciences. In fact, for the past few years she’d been in charge of lighting for the school plays.’

‘Losers always are,’ said Ruth. ‘I was too.’

‘This year her class studied, among other things, vitamins and minerals. The B complex. Niacin. She got ninety-four per cent on the Christmas exam. Crie was well equipped to know how to kill her mother.’

‘I wonder whether the notion of an electric chair appealed to her,’ said Myrna.

‘Might have. We may never know. She’s in a near catatonic state.’

‘So you knew it wasn’t the Three Graces, but how did you figure out it was Crie?’ asked Peter.

‘CC’s boots. Only two people knew about them. Richard and Crie. I wanted to believe Richard had done it. He made the perfect suspect, after all.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Myrna sounded slightly offended and the others looked at her with curiosity. ‘He dropped by the shop today with this.’ She reached into her tote and pulled out what looked like a simple light glove. ‘It’s fantastic. Here, hand me that.’ She waved to an open hardcover on the hassock. She slipped the glove on and held the book. ‘Look. It’s easy to hold. He’s done something with the glove, reinforced it somehow. When you’re wearing it, suddenly hardcovers feel even lighter than paperbacks.’

‘Here, let me try,’ said Clara. Sure enough the book sat snugly in her gloved hand, without strain. ‘It’s great.’

‘He heard we didn’t like hardcovers so he’s been working on this.’ Myrna handed it to Reine-Marie, who thought perhaps Richard Lyon had finally created something useful, and maybe even lucrative.

‘He has a crush on you,’ Gabri sang. Myrna didn’t correct him.

‘But you kept insisting Lyon hadn’t left your side the whole time.’ Gamache turned to Myrna.

‘That’s right.’

‘And I believed you. So if not Richard Lyon it had to have been his daughter.’

‘Crie took a hell of a chance,’ said Peter.

‘I agree,’ said Gamache. ‘But she had an advantage. She didn’t care. She had nowhere to go and nothing to lose. She had no plan outside of killing her mother.’

‘Five o’clock. Time to go.’ Ruth stood up and turned to Reine-Marie. ‘You’re the first reason I’ve seen to believe your husband isn’t a complete moron.’

‘Merci, madame.’ Reine-Marie inclined her head in a gesture reminiscent of Émilie. ‘Et bonne année.’

‘I doubt it.’ Ruth limped out of the room.

Richard Lyon sat in his workroom in the basement, tinkering with his Hardcover Hand, as he’d come to call it. Beside him on the workbench sat a Christmas card, received that morning in the mail. It was from Saul Petrov, apologizing for the affair with CC. He’d gone on to say that he’d had a roll of film of CC in compromising positions that he’d chosen to burn that morning. He’d kept the film with thoughts of blackmailing her one day, if she struck it rich, and had even considered holding on to it to do the same to Lyon. But he’d recently discovered a conscience he’d thought had gone for ever, and now he wanted to tell Lyon that he was sorry. Petrov ended the letter by saying he hoped one day they might be, if not friends, at least friendly, since they would almost certainly be neighbors.

It surprised Lyon how much the letter meant, and he thought perhaps he and Petrov might have been friends.

Gamache and Reine-Marie ran into Agent Robert Lemieux as they walked to their car outside the bistro.

‘I plan to see Superintendent Brébeuf,’ said Gamache, shaking the young man’s hand and introducing Reine-Marie, ‘and ask him to assign you to homicide.’

Lemieux’s face opened in astonishment. ‘Oh, my God, sir. Thank you, thank you. I won’t let you down.’

‘I know you won’t.’

Lemieux helped him clear off his car while Reine-Marie used the washroom in the bistro.

‘Poor Madame Zardo.’ Lemieux pointed his snow scraper at Ruth, sitting on her bench on the village green.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, she’s a drunk. One of the villagers said that’s her beer walk.’

‘Do you know what a beer walk is?’

Lemieux started to say yes then wondered. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Jumped to a conclusion. Instead he shook his head.