“I’m not.” I frowned at myself for lying. “Well, maybe a little. I didn’t like the way Henri spoke to you.”
Guru Bob sighed and touched my shoulder to console me. “Henri is in pain. I did not take his harsh words to heart, and you must not, either.”
“I’ll try not to.”
He pressed his lips together in thought. Finally he said, “My grandfather was a complicated soul. I never met him, but I had hints of him in my own father, who was a good man but not a happy one.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t acknowledge my comment. “I wonder, did Anton take the treasured items strictly to help his friends and neighbors in the village? Was his purpose always altruistic? If so, why did he betray them in the end? Or did he? If he truly had no conscience, would he not have sold off the pieces? Or brazenly displayed them in his own home? He did neither. He hid them away in a cave. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“And the body in the cave.” It was almost as if Guru Bob had forgotten I was there. He was talking to himself, trying to work through many thoughts. “We must be asking ourselves, did Anton Benoit kill another man?”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not. I don’t believe that.”
His focus returned to me, and he smiled. “You have more confidence than I, gracious. Remember, I did not know my grandfather.”
“If he was yours, he was a good man.”
“Someday we might know the truth.”
I flailed my arms out. “Now I’m worried about you all over again.”
He reached out and held my shoulders, and in an instant I felt reassured. “You are an angel and a bright light in my life. Because you and Derek are here with us in Dharma, I know that all will be well.”
“We’ll make sure of that,” I promised. “We’ve got your back.”
He pressed his hands together in what I called his Namaste pose, as though he were praying. Then he bowed slightly. “Good-bye, dear.”
I lifted my hand in a wave. “Bye.”
He walked a few steps, then turned and grinned. “And thank you for having my back.”
I laughed softly and jogged back to the car.
*
An hour later, Gabriel showed up at our place with a six-pack of beer. I opened a bag of pretzel sticks, and we sat down at the kitchen table to commiserate.
“Well, that went well,” he said after popping open three bottles and handing them out.
“Oh, just peachy,” I said. “That guy Henri is going to burst a blood vessel one of these days.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Dude’s got some anger-management issues to work out.”
“In some ways, I can’t blame him,” Derek said. “But he can’t go around threatening Robson. He doesn’t realize who he’s dealing with.”
I chuckled. “I think he might’ve gotten a clue after seeing you guys flex your muscles a few times.”
“We do what we must,” Derek said with a shrug.
Gabriel just chuckled and grabbed a handful of pretzels.
I told them what Guru Bob had told me earlier when we were standing in front of his house.
“Sounds like he’s not sure if his grandfather killed Jean Pierre Renaud,” Gabriel said.
“That’s what it sounded like to me, too,” I said. “But I can’t imagine anyone related to Guru Bob actually killing someone, especially his best friend from childhood.”
“It’s hard to picture,” Gabriel agreed.
I frowned into my beer. “You know how Guru Bob can present something as though it’s a riddle to be solved? That’s what it sounded like when he talked about his grandfather.”
“Then we’ll just have to solve the riddle,” Derek murmured.
“Yes, but we also have to keep him safe in the meantime.”
“We will, darling.” He pointed his beer bottle at Gabriel. “From what I’ve seen, Gabriel’s got almost all of Dharma wired into his security systems.”
Gabriel winked at me.
“Okay, good.” I took a quick sip of my beer before getting up to pull a triangle of creamy Brie out of the refrigerator. I arranged it on a plate with some water crackers and set it on the table.
“Perfect,” Derek said.
“We needed more sustenance than pretzels,” I said.
“Thanks, babe,” Gabriel said, and reached for a cracker.
“I have a question,” I said as I sat down again. “What does blaireau mean? Henri called Guru Bob a blaireau.”
Gabriel grinned. “Literally, it’s French for badger.”
“A badger?” I shook my head, baffled. “What kind of an insult is that?”
“Have you ever seen a badger? Not a pretty animal.”
I chuckled. “You have a point.”
Derek said, “I believe Henri was calling Robson’s grandfather a blaireau, not Robson himself.”
“Oh.” I thought about it. “Yeah, maybe.”
“It’s like calling someone a dweeb or a moron,” Gabriel explained.
“In England, we prefer the term plonker,” Derek said. “Means the same thing. Dimwit, idiot.”
“I like plonker myself,” I said. I tried to recall all of Henri’s insults. “He also said something like coquin. What does that mean?”