He sat in the cold, dark car and stared at the one lit window. Hoping for a glimpse of Annie. Even just a shadow.
Was a time he could conjure up her scent. A lemon grove on a warm summer day. Fresh and citrony. But now all he smelt was his own fear.
*
Annie Gamache sat in the dark, staring out the window. She knew this was unhealthy. It wasn’t something she’d ever admit to her friends. They’d be appalled and look at her as though she was pathetic. And she probably was.
She’d kicked Jean-Guy out of their home when he refused to go back to rehab. They’d fought and fought, until there was nothing left to say. And then they fought some more. Jean-Guy insisted there was nothing wrong. That her father had made up the whole drug thing, as payback for him joining Superintendent Francoeur.
Finally, he’d left. But he hadn’t actually gone. He was still inside her, and she couldn’t get him out. And so she sat in her car and stared at the dark window of his tiny apartment. Hoping to see a light.
If she closed her eyes she could feel his arms around her, smell his scent. When she’d kicked him out she’d bought a bottle of his cologne and put a dab on the pillow next to hers.
She closed her eyes and felt him inside her skin. Where he was vibrant and smart and irreverent and loving. She saw his smile, heard his laugh. Felt his hands. Felt his body.
Now he was gone. But he hadn’t left. And she sometimes wondered if that was him, beating on her heart. And she wondered what would happen if he stopped.
Every night she came here. Parked. And stared at the window. Hoping to see some sign of life.
*
“It’s hardly the first time you’ve had a ball in the face,” said Ruth to Gabri. “Stop complaining.”
Ruth was in Clara’s living room when they arrived. Not really waiting for them. In fact, she’d looked pissed off when everyone came in.
“I was hoping for a quiet night,” she muttered, swirling the ice cubes around in her glass so forcefully they created a Scotch vortex. Gamache wondered if one day the old poet would be sucked right into it. Then he realized she already had.
Henri ran to Rosa, who was seated on the footstool beside Ruth. Gamache grabbed his collar as he took off, but needn’t have worried. Rosa hissed at the shepherd then turned away. If she could have raised one of her feathers to him, she would have.
“I didn’t think ducks hissed,” said Myrna.
“Are we sure it’s a duck?” Gabri whispered.
Thérèse and Jér?me wandered over, fascinated.
“Is that Ruth Zardo?” Jér?me asked.
“What’s left of her,” said Gabri. “She lost her mind years ago, and never did have a heart. Her bile ducts are keeping her alive. That,” said Gabri, pointing, “is Rosa.”
“I can see why Henri’s lost his heart,” said Thérèse, looking at the smitten shepherd. “Who doesn’t like a good duck?”
Silence met that remark by the elegant older woman. She smiled and raised her brow just a little, and Clara started to laugh.
The casserole was in the oven and they could smell the rosemary chicken. People poured their own drinks and broke into groups.
Thérèse, Jér?me and Gamache took Gilles aside.
“Did I understand correctly? You used to be a lumberjack?” Thérèse asked.
Gilles became guarded. “Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Doesn’t matter,” said the burly man. “Personal reasons.”
Thérèse continued to stare at him, with a look that had dragged uncomfortable truths from hardened S?reté officers. But Gilles held firm.
She turned to Gamache, who remained mute. While he knew those reasons, he wouldn’t break Gilles’s confidence. The two large men held eyes for a moment and Gilles nodded a slight thanks.
“Let me ask you this, then,” said Superintendent Brunel, taking another tack. “What’s the tallest tree up there?”
“Up where?”
“On the ridge above the village,” said Jér?me.
Gilles considered the question. “Probably a white pine. They can get to ninety feet or more. About eight stories high.”
“Can they be climbed?” Thérèse asked.
Gilles stared at her as though she’d suggested something disgusting. “Why these questions?”
“Just curious.”
“Don’t treat me like a fool, madame. You’re more than just curious.” He looked from the Brunels to Gamache.
“We’d never ask you to cut down a tree, or even hurt one,” said the Chief. “We just want to know if the tallest trees up there can be climbed.”
“Not by me they can’t,” Gilles snapped.
Thérèse and Jér?me turned away from the former forester and looked at Gamache, perplexed by Gilles’s reaction. The Chief Inspector touched Gilles’s arm and drew him aside.
“I’m sorry, I should have spoken with you privately about this. We need to bring a satellite signal down into Three Pines—”
He held up his hand to ward off Gilles’s protests, yet again, that it couldn’t be done.