“I’m afraid I did,” Clara admitted, and took a piece of Myrna’s bacon.
“That’s why I keep your presents under my tree until Christmas morning,” said Myrna, moving her plate away.
“What did Constance give you?” asked Gabri.
“This.”
Clara unwound the scarf from her neck and gave it to Myrna, who took it, admiring the bright and cheerful lime green.
“What’re these? Hockey sticks?” Myrna pointed to a pattern at either end of the scarf.
“Paintbrushes,” said Clara. “Took me a while to figure it out.”
Myrna passed it back to Clara.
“Oh, let’s get ours,” said Gabri. He rushed off, and by the time he returned Myrna and Gamache had finished their breakfasts and were on their second cafés au lait. Gabri handed one of the packages to Olivier and kept the other for himself. They were identical, both wrapped in bright red paper with candy canes all over it.
Gabri ripped the wrapping off his. “Mitts,” he exclaimed, as though they were a pony and a car rolled into one magnificent present.
He tried them on. “They even fit. It’s so hard to find ones for hands this large. And you know what they say about big hands…”
No one pursued that.
Olivier tried on his mitts. They also fit.
There was a bright yellow crescent moon pattern on each mitt.
“What do you think the pattern means?” Clara asked.
They all thought.
“Did she know about your habit of mooning?” Myrna turned to Gabri.
“Who doesn’t?” said Gabri. “But a half moon?”
“It’s not even a half moon,” said Clara. “It’s a crescent moon.”
Gabri laughed. “A croissant moon? My two favorite things. Croissants and mooning.”
“Sadly, this is true,” Olivier confirmed. “And he has such a full moon.”
“Paintbrushes for Clara and croissants for the guys,” said Myrna. “Perfect.”
Gamache watched them admiring the gifts. Then the thought that had eluded him last night drifted into his consciousness, like a snowflake, and landed.
He turned to Myrna. “She didn’t give you a present.”
“Well, just coming down was more than enough,” said Myrna.
Gamache shook his head. “We found these gifts in her suitcase, but nothing for you. Why not? It doesn’t make sense that Constance would make gifts for everyone else, but not bring anything for you.”
“I didn’t expect one.”
“Even so,” said Gamache. “If she brought them for the others, she’d bring one for you, no?”
Myrna saw his logic. She nodded.
“Maybe that photograph she packed was for Myrna,” Clara suggested. “The one with the four sisters.”
“Possibly, but why not wrap it, like your gifts? Returning for Christmas wasn’t part of the original plan, was it?” he asked, and Myrna shook her head. “She initially came for a few days?”
Myrna nodded.
“So, as far as she knew, when she first came down, she wasn’t coming back,” said Gamache, and they looked at him strangely. The point had already been made, why pound it home?
“Right,” said Myrna.
Gamache stood up. “Can you come with me?”
He meant Myrna, but they all followed him through the door connecting the bistro to the bookstore. Ruth was already there, putting books into her oversized purse, whose bottom had long since taken on the shape of a Scotch bottle. Rosa stood beside Ruth, and looked at them as they arrived.
Henri stopped dead and lay down. Then he rolled over.
“Get up, you wretched thing,” said Gamache, but Henri only looked at him upside down and swished his tail.
“God,” Gabri stage-whispered. “Imagine their children. Big ears and big feet.”
“What do you want?” Ruth demanded.
“It’s my store,” said Myrna.
“It’s not a store, it’s a library.” She snapped her bag shut.
“Idiot,” they both muttered.
Gamache walked over to the large Christmas tree.
“Can you look at them, please?” He pointed to the presents under the tree.
“But I know what’s there. I wrapped them myself. They’re for everyone here, and Constance.”
And Constance, thought Gamache. Still that, even in death.
“Just look anyway, please.”
Myrna got on her knees and sifted through the wrapped gifts.
“Now there’s a full moon,” said Gabri with admiration.
Myrna sat back on her heels. In her hand was a gift wrapped in bright red paper, with candy canes.
“Can you read the card?” Gamache asked.
Myrna struggled to her feet and opened the small flap. “For Myrna,” she read. “The key to my home. Love, Constance.”
“What does that mean?” Gabri asked, looking from face to face and settling on Gamache’s.
But the Chief only had eyes for the package.
“Open it, please,” he said.