The Brutal Telling (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #5)

The Brutal Telling (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #5) Page 53

About three centuries and many lifetimes later they left, staggering into the quiet, cool night.

“Toodle-oo,” waved Ruth. But Gamache was heartened to hear, just as the door closed: “Fuckers.”

FOURTEEN

They arrived back at the B and B to find Beauvoir waiting up for them. Sort of. He was fast asleep in his chair. Beside him was a plate with crumbs and a glass of chocolate milk. The fireplace glowed with dying embers.

“Should we wake him?” asked Olivier. “He looks so peaceful.”

Beauvoir’s face was turned to the side and there was a slight glisten of drool. His breathing was heavy and regular. On his chest lay the small stuffed lion Gabri had won for Olivier at the fair, his hand resting on it.

“Like a little baby cop,” said Gabri.

“That reminds me. Ruth asked me to give him this.” Olivier handed Gamache a slip of paper. The Chief took it and when he declined their offer of help watched as the two men trudged wearily up the stairs. It was nine o’clock.

“Jean Guy,” Gamache whispered. “Wake up.”

He knelt and touched the younger man’s shoulder. Beauvoir started awake with a snort, the lion slipping off his chest onto the floor.

“What is it?”

“Time for bed.”

He watched Beauvoir sit up. “How was it?”

“No one died.”

“That’s a bit of an achievement in Three Pines.”

“Olivier said Ruth wanted you to have this.” Gamache handed him the slip of paper. Beauvoir rubbed his eyes, unfolded the paper and read it. Then, shaking his head, he handed it to the Chief.

Maybe there’s something in all of this

I missed.

“What does it mean? Is it a threat?”

Gamache frowned. “Haven’t a clue. Why would she be writing to you?”

“Jealous? Maybe she’s just nuts.” But they both knew the “maybe” was being generous. “Speaking of nut, your daughter called.”

“Annie?” Gamache was suddenly worried, instinctively reaching for his cell phone, which he knew didn’t work in the village in the valley.

“Everything’s fine. She wanted to talk to you about some upset at work. Nothing major. She just wanted to quit.”

“Damn, that was probably what she wanted to talk about yesterday when we got called down here.”

“Well don’t worry about it. I handled it.”

“I don’t think telling her to fuck off can be considered ‘handling it.’ ”

Beauvoir laughed and bending down he picked up the stuffed lion. “There’s certainly good reason she’s known as ‘the lion’ in your family. Vicious.”

“She’s known as the lion because she’s loving and passionate.”

“And a man-eater?”

“All the qualities you hate in her you admire in men,” said Gamache. “She’s smart, she stands up for what she believes in. She speaks her mind and won’t back down to bullies. Why do you goad her? Every time you come for a meal and she’s there it ends in an argument. I for one am growing tired of it.”

“All right, I’ll try harder. But she’s very annoying.”

“So are you. You have a lot in common. What was the problem at work?” Gamache took the seat next to Jean Guy.

“Oh, a case she’d wanted was assigned to another lawyer, someone more junior. I talked to her for a while. I’m almost certain she won’t kill everyone at work after all.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And she’s decided not to quit. I told her she’d regret any hasty decision.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” asked Gamache with a smile. This from the king of impulse.

“Well, someone had to give her good advice,” laughed Beauvoir. “Her parents are quite mad, you know.”

“I’d heard. Thank you.”

It was good advice. And he could tell Beauvoir knew it. He seemed pleased. Gamache looked at his watch. Nine thirty. He reached for Gabri’s phone.

As Gamache spoke to his daughter Beauvoir absently stroked the lion in his hand.

Maybe there’s something in all of this

I missed.

That was the fear in a murder investigation. Missing something. Chief Inspector Gamache had assembled a brilliant department. Almost two hundred of them in all, hand picked, investigating crime all over the province.

But this team, Beauvoir knew, was the best.

He was the bloodhound. The one way out in front, leading.