*
Gamache opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into Henri’s face. How long the dog had been sitting there, his chin on the side of the bed, his wet nose within inches of Gamache’s face, was impossible to say.
But as soon as Armand’s eyes fluttered open, Henri’s entire body began to wag.
The day had begun. He looked at the bedside clock.
Almost nine. He’d had six hours of sleep, and felt as though he’d had double that. Rested and refreshed, he was certain now he’d come close to making a disastrous decision the night before. They’d rest up today, and go back that night, no longer battling fatigue and confusion and each other.
As he dressed, Gamache could hear the scrape of shovels. He drew back the curtains and saw the whole village covered in white, and the air filled with it. Flakes drifted down and piled up on the three gigantic pines, on the forest, on the homes.
There was no wind at all, and the snow fell straight down. Gentle and relentless.
He could see Gabri and Clara, out clearing their paths. He first heard, then saw, Billy Williams’s plow coming down the hill into the village. Past the small church, past the schoolhouse. And around the village green.
Parents skated on the frozen pond with shovels, clearing away the snow, while children with hockey sticks and ants in their pants waited on the makeshift benches.
He went downstairs and found he was the first one up.
While Henri ate, Gamache put on a pot of coffee and laid a new fire in the living room hearth. Then they went for a walk.
“Come on over to the bistro for breakfast,” Gabri called. He wore a tuque with an immense pom-pom and was leaning on his snow shovel. “Olivier will make you blueberry crêpes with some of Monsieur Pagé’s maple syrup.”
“And bacon?” asked Gamache, knowing he was already lost.
“Bien s?r,” said Gabri. “Is there any other way to eat crêpes?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Gamache hurried home, wrote a note for the others, then he and Henri returned to the bistro. The Chief settled in by the fireplace and had just taken a sip of café au lait when Myrna joined him.
“Do you mind company?” she asked. But she was already in the armchair opposite him and had signaled for a coffee of her own.
“I was going to come over to your shop after breakfast,” explained the Chief Inspector. “I’m looking for gifts.”
“For Reine-Marie?”
“No, for everyone here. To say thank you.”
“There’s no need, you know,” said Myrna.
Gabri brought her coffee, then pulled up a chair and joined them.
“What’re we talking about?” he asked.
“Gifts,” said Myrna.
“For me?” he asked.
“Who else?” asked Myrna. “You’re all we ever think about.”
“We have that in common, ma chère,” said Gabri.
“What’re we talking about?” asked Olivier, as he placed two plates of blueberry crêpes and maple-smoked bacon in front of Myrna and Gamache.
“Me,” said Gabri. “Me, me, me.”
“Oh, good,” said Olivier, bringing over another chair. “It’s been thirty seconds since we visited that subject. So much must have happened.”
“Actually, there is something I want to ask you two,” said Gamache. Myrna passed him the jug of maple syrup.
“Oui?” asked Olivier.
“Did you open Constance’s gifts?” the Chief asked.
“No, we put them under the tree. Would you like us to open them?”
“No. I already know what she gave you.”
“What?” asked Gabri. “A car? A pony?”
“I won’t tell you, but I will say that I think it’s something you can use.”
“A muzzle?” asked Olivier.
“What’re we talking about?” asked Clara, dragging over a chair. Her cheeks were red and her nose was running and Gamache, Gabri, Myrna and Olivier all handed her a napkin, just in time.
“Gifts,” said Olivier. “From Constance.”
“We’re not talking about you?” Clara asked Gabri.
“I know. An abomination of nature. Though, to be fair, we have been talking about the gifts Constance gave me.”
“Us,” said Olivier.
“Yes, she gave me one too,” said Clara, and turned to Gamache. “You dropped it off the other day.”
“Did you open it?”