THIRTEEN
‘Yes, we were at the community breakfast this morning,’ said Lyon.
‘All three of you?’
‘Yes.’ Lyon hesitated.
Gamache waited. They were in the dining room now.
‘We arrived in separate cars, CC and I. She was visiting a colleague.’
‘Before breakfast?’
‘It’s a very stressful time for her. A very important time. Big things happening.’
‘What did your wife do?’
‘You don’t know?’ Lyon seemed genuinely surprised.
Gamache raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
Lyon got up and ran out of the room returning a moment later with a book. ‘This is CC.’
Gamache took it and stared at the cover. It was all white with arched black eyebrows, two piercing blue eyes, nostrils, and a red slash of lips hovering in the middle. It was artful and bizarre. The effect was repellent. The photographer, Gamache thought, must have despised her.
The book was called Be Calm.
Gamache tried to recall why that sounded familiar. It would come to him, he knew. Below the title was a black symbol.
‘What’s this?’ Gamache asked.
‘Oh, yes. That didn’t turn out so well. It’s supposed to be the logo for CC’s company. An eagle.’
Gamache looked at the black blotch. Now that Lyon had told him he could see the eagle. Hooked beak, head in profile, mouth open in a scream. He hadn’t taken any marketing courses but he supposed most companies chose logos that spoke of strength or creativity or trust, some positive quality. This one evoked rage. It looked like one pissed-off bird.
‘You can keep that. We have more.’
‘Thank you. But I still don’t know what your wife did.’
‘She was Be Calm.’ Richard Lyon didn’t seem to be able to grasp that not everyone rotated in CC de Poitiers’s orbit. ‘The design firm? Li Bien? Soft palettes?’
‘She designed dentures?’ Gamache made a guess.
‘Dentures? No. Houses, rooms, furniture, clothes. Everything. Life. CC created it all.’ He opened his arms wide like an Old Testament prophet. ‘She was brilliant. That book is all about her life and her philosophy.’
‘Which was?’
‘Well, it’s like an egg. Or really more like paint on a wall. Though not on the wall, of course, but Li Bien. Beneath the wall. Painting inside. Kinda.’
Lemieux’s pen hovered over his notebook. Should he write this down?
Dear God, thought Lyon. Shut up. Please, shut up. You’re a fat, ugly, stupid, stupid loser.
‘When did she leave this morning?’ Gamache decided to try another tack.
‘She was gone when I got up. I snore I’m afraid so we have separate bedrooms. But I could smell coffee so she must have just left.’
‘And what time was that?’
‘About seven thirty. When I got to the Legion about an hour later CC was already there.’
‘With the colleague?’
Did he hesitate again?
‘Yes. A man named Saul something. He’s rented a place down here for the Christmas holidays.’
‘And what does he do for your wife?’ Gamache hoped Lemieux had managed to keep a straight face.
‘He’s a photographer. He takes pictures. He took that picture. Good, isn’t it?’ Lyon pointed to the book in Gamache’s hand.
‘Was he taking pictures of the breakfast?’
Lyon nodded, his eyes round and puffy and somehow imploring. But imploring him to do what, Gamache wondered.
To not pursue this line of questioning, he suddenly knew.
‘Was the photographer there during the curling match?’ he pursued.
Lyon nodded unhappily.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’
‘That’s just rumor. Vile, baseless lies.’
‘It means he might have taken a picture of the person who killed your wife.’
‘Oh,’ was Lyon’s startled reply. But try as he might Gamache couldn’t figure out whether Lyon was surprised-happy or surprised-terrified.