NINE
Armand stepped outside into the cold, crisp night. The snow had long since stopped and the sky had cleared. It was just past midnight, and as he stood there, taking deep breaths of the clean air, the lights on the trees went out.
The Chief Inspector and Henri were the lone creatures in a dark world. He looked up, and slowly the stars appeared. Orion’s Belt. The Big Dipper. The North Star. And millions and millions of other lights. All very, very clear now, and only now. The light only visible in the dark.
Gamache found himself uncertain what to do and where to go. He could return to Montréal, though he was tired and would rather not, but he hadn’t made any arrangements to stay at the B and B, preferring to go straight to Myrna. And now it was past midnight and all the lights were out at the B and B. He could only just make out the outline of the former coach inn against the forest beyond.
But as he watched, a light, softened by curtains, appeared at an upstairs window. And then, a few moments later, another downstairs. Then he saw a light through the window in the front door, just before it opened. A large man stood silhouetted on the threshold.
“Come here, boy, come here,” the voice called, and Henri tugged at the leash.
Gamache dropped it and the shepherd took off along the path, up the stairs and into Gabri’s arms.
When Gamache arrived, Gabri struggled to his feet.
“Good boy.” He embraced the Chief Inspector. “Get inside. I’m freezing my ass off. Not that it couldn’t use it.”
“How’d you know we were here?”
“Myrna called. She thought you might need a room.” He regarded his unexpected guest. “You do want to stay, don’t you?”
“Very much,” said the Chief, and had rarely meant anything more.
Gabri closed the door behind them.
*
Jean-Guy Beauvoir sat in his car and stared at the closed door. He was slumped down. Not so far as to disappear completely, but far enough to make it look like he was trying to be discreet. It was calculated and, somewhere below the haze, he knew it was also pathetic.
But he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted Annie to look out her window. To recognize his car. To see him there. To open the door.
He wanted …
He wanted …
He wanted to feel her in his arms again. To smell her scent. He wanted her to whisper, “It’ll be all right.”
Most of all, he wanted to believe it.
*
“Myrna told us that Constance was missing,” said Gabri, reaching for a hanger for Gamache’s coat. He took the parka from the Chief and paused. “Are you here about her?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Gabri hesitated just an instant before asking, “She’s dead?”
The Chief nodded.
Gabri hugged the parka and stared at Gamache. While he longed to ask more questions, he didn’t. He could see the Chief’s exhaustion. Instead he finished hanging up the coat and walked to the stairs.
Gamache followed the immense, swaying dressing gown up the stairs.
Gabri led them along the passage and stopped at a familiar door. He flicked a switch to reveal the room Gamache always stayed in. Unlike Gabri, this room, indeed the entire bed and breakfast, was a model of restraint. Oriental throw rugs were scattered on the wide-plank floor. The dark wood bed was large and inviting and made up with crisp white linens, a thick white duvet, and down pillows.
It was uncluttered and comforting. Simple and welcoming.
“Have you had dinner?”
“No, but I’ll be fine until morning.” The clock on the bedside table said 12:30.
Gabri crossed to the window, opened it a sliver to let the fresh, cold air in, and pulled the curtains closed.
“What time would you like to get up?”
“Six thirty too early?”
Gabri blanched. “Not at all. We’re always up at that hour.” At the door he paused. “You do mean six thirty P.M., right?”
Gamache placed his satchel on the floor by the bed.
“Merci, patron,” he said with a smile, holding Gabri’s eyes for a moment.
Before changing, Gamache looked at Henri, who was standing by the door.
The Chief stood in the middle of the room, looking from the warm, soft bed to Henri and back again.
“Oh, Henri, you’d better want to do more than just play,” he sighed, and fished in Henri’s satchel for the tennis ball and a bag.
They went quietly down the stairs. Gamache put his parka, gloves, and hat back on, unlocked the door and the two headed into the night. He didn’t put Henri on the leash. There was very little danger he’d run away, since Henri was among the least adventurous dogs Gamache knew.
The village was completely dark now, the homes just hinted at in front of the forest. They walked over to the village green. Gamache watched with satisfaction and a silent prayer of thanks as Henri did his business. The Chief picked it up with the bag, then turned to give Henri his treat.
But there was no dog. Every walk, over hundreds of walks, Henri had stood beside Gamache, looking up expectantly. One treat deserved another. A quid pro quo.
But now, inconceivably, Henri wasn’t there. He’d disappeared.
Gamache cursed himself for a fool and looked at the empty leash in his hand. Had Henri gotten a whiff of deer or coyote, and taken off into the woods?
“Henri,” the Chief called. “Come here, boy.”
He whistled and then noticed the paw prints in the snow. They headed back across the road, but not toward the bed and breakfast.
Gamache bent over and followed them at a jog. Across the road, over a snow bank. Onto a front lawn. Down an unshoveled walkway. For the second time that day, the Chief felt snow tumble down his boots and melt into his socks. Another soaker. But he didn’t care. All he wanted was to find Henri.
Gamache stopped. There was a dark figure, with immense ears, looking up expectantly at a door. His tail wagging. Waiting to be let in.
The Chief felt his heart simmer down and he took a deep, calming breath.
“Henri,” he whispered vehemently. “Viens ici.”
The shepherd looked in his direction.