“Well, that was fortunate,” said Gamache.
“Oui,” said Gélinas. “I asked that the three of us meet as soon as possible. Though I didn’t expect it to be here.” He looked around. “Pretty.”
It was polite, but it was also clear Monsieur Gélinas would not be moving down to Three Pines anytime soon.
“Désolé,” said Gamache. “I had to come back here briefly, but I’ll be returning to the academy as soon as possible. Sorry you had to come all this way.”
“Well, to be honest, it’s even better for me,” said Gélinas, walking beside Gamache as they made their way up the path to his home. “Nice to get away from the city, and the truth is, these situations are always awkward. Inserting myself into someone else’s investigation. I did it once before. Not my favorite thing, but needs to be done. I always find it’s easier to have the initial talk away from the scene of the crime. More private. Fewer distractions and interruptions. Chief Inspector Lacoste and I had a chance to talk on the drive down.”
“And now you’d like to talk to me?”
“Yes. Privately, if possible.”
Gamache gestured for the RCMP officer to go ahead of him up the porch steps. “Have you been to the crime scene?”
“I have, and I scanned the preliminary report on the way down.”
“Then you probably know more than I do.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Commander.”
It was said with warmth, and yet Gamache thought he detected a subtext. Perhaps even a warning.
Don’t believe everything you think, he reminded himself. But still …
A face suddenly appeared at the door. With bright eyes and ears that started in the frame of the mullion and looked like they ended close to the ceiling.
Gamache laughed. Seeing Henri standing on his hind legs, eager face at the window, tongue lolling, body swaying as the tail wagged the dog, always made him happy. Then he heard the familiar voice and the familiar words, always the same.
“Oh, Henri. Back up. Off the door. You know he can’t get in with you leaning on it. Good boy. Sit.”
Armand mouthed along to the words, Good boy. Sit. Unperturbed by witnesses.
But then other, unfamiliar, words followed.
“Now, Gracie. Here, it’s okay. It’s okay. Please don’t. Oh.”
Gracie? thought Gamache.
He opened the door to find Henri sitting, tail wagging furiously, his mouth open in a smile, his satellite ears pricked forward. About to explode with happiness. And behind him, Reine-Marie, smiling.
Apologetically.
“You might want to…” she waved toward the puddle on the wide plank floor.
“Oh,” said Armand, looking down at it. But that was not the most disconcerting thing in the room.
Something was squirming in Reine-Marie’s arms.
“Come in.” He turned to their guests. “But you might want to…” He too gestured and saw both Lacoste and Gélinas first grimace, then smile politely, as though the puddle was a welcome mat.
They stepped carefully across it, into the room.
“Here.” Reine-Marie thrust whatever was in her arms at her husband, then left to get something to clean up the moisture.
“Ohhhh,” said Lacoste, approaching Gamache. “Now who’s this?”
“I have no idea,” he said. He could feel it trembling violently. “But its name seems to be Gracie.”
“It’s so small,” said Gélinas, also approaching. “May I?”
He reached out and, when Gamache nodded, stroked its head. “And soft.”
Reine-Marie had returned with a sponge and soapy water. And a disinfectant spray.
“May I help, madame?” asked Gélinas.
“Non, mais merci. Sadly this isn’t the first time in my life I’ve done this. Not even, to be honest, the first time today.”
“Is there something we should talk about?” Armand asked.
Gracie had stopped struggling in his arms, and slowly he could feel her relax. Her trembling eased as he stroked her. From nose to tail. She was about the size of his hand, so they were not long strokes.
“I’ll explain mine, if you explain yours.” Reine-Marie gestured with the sponge toward their guests.
Both Gélinas and Lacoste laughed.
“Isabelle I know, of course,” said Reine-Marie, peeling off the kitchen gloves and leaning in to kiss her. “Welcome, ma belle.”
“This is Paul Gélinas,” said Armand, as the two shook hands.
“Un plaisir,” said Gélinas. “I’m sorry to barge in like this.”
“RCMP,” said Reine-Marie. “The Mounties are always welcome.” She turned to Armand. “What have you done now?”
“Deputy Commissioner Gélinas is here to help us investigate the murder of Professor Leduc,” said Isabelle.
“I see.”
Armand had already called to tell Reine-Marie about it, so it was no surprise. She did not, they noticed, offer the usual words of grief and shock and sadness. No need to add hypocrisy to an already complex situation.
“Your turn.” Armand looked down at Gracie, now asleep in his arms.
“Remember when I told you this morning that Clara had gotten her rescue puppy?”
“And this is it?” asked Armand with relief.
“Well, no.”
“What have you done now?” he asked her. “And what is it?”
It did not, in all truth, look like a puppy.
“It looks like a groundhog,” said Isabelle Lacoste.
“I think it might be one of those teapot pigs,” said Gélinas.
“Oh, God, don’t tell me,” said Armand.
“Some detectives,” said Reine-Marie with a smile, taking Gracie from him. “She doesn’t have trotters. She isn’t a pig.”
“Well, Ruth doesn’t have cloven hooves,” said her husband, “but we all know…”
“She’s not a teapot pig,” Reine-Marie assured him.
“Then what is she? Not a puppy.”
“Ummm,” said Reine-Marie. “We think so.”
“You think?”
“She hasn’t been to the vet yet. The litter was found in a garbage can by Billy Williams, out Cowansville way. He called around and—”
“At least it’s not a skunk,” said Isabelle. “Is it?”
“A ferret?” asked Gélinas.
Reine-Marie put Gracie in the cage by the fireplace, soft towels and small chew toys keeping her company.
The four adults and Henri bent over her, like surgeons examining a complicated case.
She was so tiny it was difficult to tell what she was. She had rounded ears and a long thin tail, and paws with sharp nails. She was bald except for patches of black hair, not yet long enough for a combover. Her eyes opened and she looked back at them.
“She’s a puppy,” Gamache declared and straightened up.
“Don’t you need to say it three times for it to be true, patron?” asked Lacoste.
“You don’t believe it?” he asked.
“I reserve judgment.”
“Smart,” said Deputy Commissioner Gélinas. “I myself will stand by ferret. Désolé, madame.”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I admire you for standing behind your conclusion, however misguided.”
There was no mistaking the subtext, or the warning.
Gélinas nodded. He understood. Mess with her family, you messed with her. And she had a ferret at her disposal.
“We should talk,” said Gamache, after pulling the towel up around Gracie to keep her warm, and resting his hand on her.
“Oui,” said Lacoste. “And I need to get back to the academy. You’re returning?”
She held his eyes and saw a very slight nod.
The cadets were here, in the village. Somewhere. Out of sight. Even from the Deputy Commissioner. And he wanted to keep it that way, for now.
“Yes, later this afternoon,” said Gamache. “I’ll drive Monsieur Gélinas back after filling him in.”
Isabelle Lacoste left and Madame Gamache offered them a late lunch. “You probably haven’t eaten much today.”
“True,” said Gélinas. “But I don’t want to put you out. I noticed a bistro in the village…”
“Probably best to have a more private discussion,” said Armand, leading him into the kitchen where he sliced fresh bread from Sarah’s boulangerie and Gélinas helped him grill sandwiches of Brome Lake duck, Brie and fig confit.
“Your wife is very caring, monsieur,” said Gélinas, as they worked side by side. “And not just of the ferret—”
“—puppy.”
“You’re a lucky man. I miss this.”