A Rule Against Murder (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #4)

A Rule Against Murder (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #4) Page 104

Or was it simpler than that, as it often was? Did he want money? Was he tired of waiting tables for a pittance? And when he got money from Julia, did he kill her?

At the door to the library Gamache paused and looked back at the sheet of foolscap hanging up and the large red letters at the top.

WHO BENEFITS?

Who didn’t benefit from Julia’s death, he was beginning to wonder.

TWENTY-SIX

Reine-Marie laid down her fork and leaned back in the comfortable chair. Pierre whisked away the plate, which had the smallest dusting of strawberry shortcake crumbs left, and asked if there was anything else.

“Perhaps a cup of tea,” she said and when he’d left she reached out and squeezed her husband’s hand. It was a rare treat to see him in the middle of one of his cases. When she’d arrived she’d said hello to Inspector Beauvoir and Agent Lacoste, both of whom were eating and working in the library. Then they’d wandered into the dining room, made up with crisp white linen and fresh flowers and gleaming silver and crystal.

A waiter placed an espresso in front of Gamache and a teapot in front of Reine-Marie.

“Did you know the Manoir makes its own honey?” Armand asked, noticing the amber liquid in a pot beside her teacup.

“Really? How extraordinary.”

Reine-Marie didn’t normally take honey but decided to try some with her Thunderbolt Darjeeling, dipping her little finger into the honey before stirring it in.

“C’est beau. It has a familiar taste. Here, try.”

He dipped as well.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure it out. He knew, of course, what she was tasting but wanted to see if she’d get it.

“Give up?” he asked. When she nodded he told her.

“Honeysuckle?” She smiled. “How wonderful. Will you show me the glade sometime?”

“With pleasure. They even polish the furniture with the beeswax.”

As they talked Gamache noticed the Morrows were at their table, though Peter and Clara weren’t in their regular seats. They were relegated to the far end, with Bean.

“Hello,” said Reine-Marie, as they left the dining room for a stroll, “how are you both?”

But she could see. Peter was wan and strained, his clothes dishevelled and his hair awry. Clara was immaculate, buttoned-down and impeccable. Reine-Marie didn’t know which was more disconcerting.

“You know.” Clara shrugged. “How’s Three Pines?” She sounded wistful, as though asking after a mythical kingdom. “All ready for Canada Day?”

“Yes, it’s tomorrow.”

“Really?” Peter looked up. They’d lost all sense of time.

“I’m going over tomorrow,” said Gamache. “Would you like to come? You’ll be in my custody.”

He thought Peter would burst into tears, he looked so relieved and grateful.

“That’s right, it’s your anniversary,” said Clara. “And I hear there’s a major new talent being unveiled at the clogging competition.”

Gamache turned to his wife. “So Gabri wasn’t kidding?”

“Sadly not.”

They made the arrangements and the Gamaches turned to go into the garden.

“Wait, Armand.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Do you think we could pop in and compliment the chef? I’m dying to meet her. Would she mind?”

Gamache thought about it. “Perhaps we should ask Pierre. I don’t think it’d be a problem, but you never know. Wouldn’t want to have to dodge cleavers.”

“Sounds like our clog dancing training. Ruth’s the coach,” she explained.

Gamache tried to catch Pierre’s eye but the maître d’ was busy explaining, or apologizing, to the Morrows.

“Come on, we’ll just look in.” He took her hand and they pushed through the revolving door.

The place was chaos, though after a moment, shoved to the wall and clinging to it as waiters whizzed by balancing trays of glasses and dishes, Gamache could see the ballet. It wasn’t chaos at all, but more like a river in full flood. There was a near frantic movement to it, but there was also a natural flow.

“Is that her?” Reine-Marie asked, nodding across the crowded room. She didn’t dare point.

“That’s her.”

Chef Véronique wore a white chef’s hat and a full apron, and wielded a huge knife. Her back was to them. Then she turned and saw them. She paused.

“She doesn’t look pleased to see us,” whispered Reine-Marie, smiling and trying to signal to the clearly annoyed chef that it was her husband’s fault.