‘She said, “You won’t get laid here.”’
Gamache absorbed the unlikely words.
‘Are you sure? It seems a strange thing for a psychic to worry about. It’s not—’
‘True? Of course not. In fact – well, never mind.’
Gamache walked out the door into the splendid day with Olivier’s last whispered warning in his ears.
‘She’s a witch, you know.’
The three S?reté officers walked along the road that circled the village green.
‘I’m confused,’ Agent Lemieux said, running a little to keep up with Gamache’s strides. ‘Was it murder?’
‘I’m confused too, young man,’ said Gamache, stopping to look at him. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t call you out.’
Lemieux was taken aback by the question. He’d expected the Chief Inspector to be delighted, thanking him even. Instead Gamache was looking at him with patience and slight puzzlement.
‘He’s visiting his parents not far from here, for Easter,’ said Beauvoir. ‘A friend on the local S?reté told him about the case.’
‘I came on my own. I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?’
‘No, nothing wrong. I just want to keep the investigation as discreet as possible, until we know whether it’s murder.’ Gamache smiled. His people needed to be self-starters, though perhaps not quite as eager as this one. But he’d grow out of it soon enough, and Gamache wasn’t sure if that would be a good day.
‘So we don’t know for sure?’ asked Lemieux, hurrying to catch up as Gamache resumed walking toward the large brick house on the corner.
‘I don’t want anyone to know yet, but she had ephedra in her blood,’ explained Gamache. ‘Heard of it?’
Lemieux shook his head.
‘I’m surprised. You like sports, n’est-ce pas?’
The young agent nodded. It was one of the things that had bonded him to Beauvoir. Their love of the Montreal Canadiens hockey team. The Habs.
‘Ever heard of Terry Harris?’
‘The running back?’
‘Or Seamus Regan?’
‘The outfielder? Played for the Lions? They both died. I remember reading about it in All? Sport.’
‘They took ephedra. It’s used in diet pills.’
‘That’s it. Harris collapsed during practice and Regan was actually playing. I was watching on TV. It was a hot day and everyone thought it was heat stroke. But it wasn’t?’
‘They were told by their coaches to lose weight fast, so they were taking diet pills.’
‘That was a couple of years ago,’ said Beauvoir. ‘Ephedra’s banned now, isn’t it?’
‘As far as I know, but I might be wrong. Can you check it out?’ Gamache asked Lemieux.
‘Absolutely.’
Gamache smiled as he walked to the attractive B. & B. He liked Lemieux’s enthusiasm. It was one of the reasons he’d asked the young man to join the team. Lemieux had been with the Cowansville detachment when Gamache was last down investigating a murder and had impressed him.
The victim in that case had lived in the old Hadley house.
They stepped onto the sweeping veranda of the B. & B. The three-story brick building had once been a stop on the stage coach route between Williamsburg and St-Rémy and sat on what was now called the Old Stage Road. Olivier had once told him that Gabri had made him buy it so he could tell friends he was ‘on the stage’.
Stepping inside he was met with wood floors, rich Indian rugs, and genteel faded fabrics. It felt like an old country house and invited relaxation.
But he wasn’t there to relax. He was there to find out what had killed Madeleine Favreau. Was it a simple heart attack brought on by excitement or fear? Had she taken the ephedra herself? Or was something more sinister at work, hidden behind the pleasant facade of Three Pines?
Olivier said Jeanne Chauvet was in the small bedroom on the main floor.
‘Stay here,’ Gamache ordered Lemieux while he and Beauvoir walked down the short corridor.
‘Think she might overpower us?’ Beauvoir whispered with a smile.
‘I think she might,’ said Gamache, seriously, and knocked on the door.