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

A Rule Against Murder (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #4) Page 86

He looked at Gamache who shook his head. Pelletier nodded.

“That leaves us with God.”

As they got in the car Beauvoir whispered to Gamache, “You make the arrest.”

Pelletier walked back to the barn and Beauvoir put the car in gear.

“Wait, wait.”

They looked in their rearview mirror. The sculptor was running after them waving a piece of paper.

“I found this.” He shoved it through the window at Gamache. “It was pinned to my board. I’d forgotten I’d put it there.”

Gamache and Beauvoir stared at the yellow, crinkled piece of paper. On it was a simple pencil drawing of a bird, without feet.

It was signed Peter Morrow.

TWENTY-TWO

“Glad I found you.” Marianna stumbled to catch up with her brother. “I wanted to talk. It wasn’t me, you know, who told Mother what you said to that cop. It was Sandra.”

Peter looked at her. She’d always been a crybaby, the tattletale.

“Fucking Sandra,” said Marianna, falling into step beside him. “Always going behind people’s backs. And Thomas, what a piece of work he’s turned into. Snot. What’re we going to do?” she stopped and whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, someone killed Julia. It wasn’t me, and I don’t think it was you. That leaves one of them. If they’d kill Julia, they’ll kill us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being.” She sounded petulant. “I’m tired of all this crap. Tired of these reunions. Each is worse than the last, and this is the worst yet.”

“Let’s hope.”

“I’m not coming back,” she said, yanking a flower from its bush. “No power on earth’ll get me back to one of these. I’m tired of it all. All this pretending, yes Mother, no Mother, can I get you anything Mother? Who cares what the old bitch thinks anyway? She’s probably disinherited us long ago. That Finney got her to do it, Thomas thinks. So why’re we even bothering?”

“Because she’s our mother?”

Marianna gave him a look and continued to shred the flower.

“I’d have thought,” said Peter, “having a child of your own would make you more sympathetic to your own mother.”

“It has. It’s shown me just how horrible our home life was.”

“Well, she was better than Father.”

“You think?” asked Marianna. “At least he listened to us.”

“Right. And did fuck all. He knew what we wanted and ignored us. Remember that year we all asked for new skis for Christmas? He gave us mittens. He could’ve bought the ski hill and he gave us mittens. Why would he do that?”

Marianna nodded. She remembered. “But at least Dad smelled the milk before he gave it to us. Mom never did.” He smelled the milk and felt the bathwater, he blew on their hot food. They all thought it was disgusting. But a strange new thought started to form in a part of her brain that hadn’t had a new thought in decades.

“Did you know, when I left home I found a note in my suitcase from him?” she said, another old memory staggering back.

Peter looked at her, amazed, and afraid. Afraid he was about to lose the one tiny scrap that was his alone. The cipher, the puzzle. The special code from his father.

Never use the first stall in a public washroom.

“Is Bean a boy or a girl?” he asked, knowing that would take Marianna off course.

She hesitated then went after the bait. “Why should I tell you? Besides, you’ll tell Mother.”

Her mother had stopped harping at Marianna about it years ago. Now there was silence, as though she no longer cared if she had a grandson or a granddaughter. But Marianna knew her mother, and she knew not knowing was killing her. If only it would hurry up.

“Of course I won’t tell Mother. Come on, tell me.” Marianna sure as hell knew enough not to tell Peter. Spot.

Peter watched Marianna think. Frankly, he didn’t care whether Bean was animal, vegetable or mineral. He just wanted his sister to shut up, to not steal the only thing his father had given him alone.

But Peter knew it was too late. Knew that Father must have written the same note to all his children, and once again Peter felt a fool. For thirty years he’d lugged that sentence around, thinking he was special. Secretly selected by their father because he loved and trusted Peter the most. Never use the first stall in a public washroom. All the magic had gone from it now. It sounded just stupid. Well, he could finally let it go.