Chapter Nine
Paul Goulet turned out to be a nice young man. He had a ready smile and warm eyes.
“How can I help you, Chief Inspector?”
They stood on the wide porch of the Bed and Breakfast. Paul was in his bicycling outfit of very tight pants and a very tight top. Armand Gamache was glad those clothes didn’t exist when he was twenty years old. And he vowed never to wear them now. Not that his wife Reine-Marie would allow it. The two of them often went for slow, quiet bike rides around the mountain in Montreal, sometimes taking a picnic.
But when Gamache saw what Goulet was wearing, he suddenly knew why bicyclists went so fast these days. He would, too, if he were wearing basically nothing.
“It’s a pretty village, isn’t it,” said Paul. “What’s it called again?”
“Three Pines.”
“Because of them?” He pointed to the three tall pine trees at the far end of the village green.
“Yes. It’s an old code. Three pine trees planted together means safety. It was used as a signal centuries ago. It marked a sanctuary.”
Paul Goulet was silent, and Gamache turned to look at him. If the chief inspector had not been standing so close, he would never have noticed the two warm lines that appeared on the young man’s cheeks.
Gamache waited until the tears stopped.
“Why does that idea move you so much?” the chief asked.
“Who doesn’t long for safety?”
“The man who already has it. Are you looking for safety?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think so, until you told me that story.”
“Why are you here?” Gamache asked quietly.
“I took a week off to bike around. No plans, just a map of the bike paths. I arrived last night and found this place.”
He seemed almost in awe at the pretty, gentle village.
“You’re with the police, you say?” he looked at Gamache. “Has something happened?”
“There’s been a death.” Gamache watched Paul for a reaction. He seemed polite, interested. But nothing more.
“I’m sorry. Someone from here?”
“No, a visitor. Like you. A man named James Hill.”
Still Paul Goulet looked blank. Chief Inspector Gamache knew how difficult that was. A person’s face almost always had some expression on it.
A blank face was a wall. Put there on purpose, to hide something.
“Where are you from?” Gamache asked.
“Ottawa. I go to school there.”
“What are you taking?”
“A general degree. Haven’t decided on a career yet.”
Paul Goulet smiled. It was an easy grin. Gamache hoped this young man was not involved in the death, but he was far from sure.
Strong young arms and legs had lifted Hill’s body into the tree, tied a rope around his neck, and thrown him off.
Paul’s tight suit made it clear that he had strong arms and legs.
“The dead man was going under another name,” Gamache said. “Arthur Ellis.”
“Why would he do that?”
“We don’t know. But someone murdered him.”
“You mean there’s a killer in this village?”
“There’s a killer in every village. In every home. In every heart,” said Gamache, watching Paul closely. “All anyone needs is the right reason.”
The young man stared back but didn’t say anything. Finally he got up.
“If I can help, I will,” he said. “But I can’t see how. Can I go for my bike ride?”
Gamache nodded. “But don’t go far.”
Paul climbed onto his bike and with a shove was off down the dirt road.
After that, Chief Inspector Gamache found the woman who was also staying at the Bed and Breakfast. Her name was Sue Gravel. She was thirty-eight and worked as a secretary in a law firm in Montreal. She’d arrived a few days earlier and was planning to leave the next day.
No, she knew no one in Three Pines. It struck her as a boring place. Nothing to do.
“Then why did you come here?” Gamache asked.
“To relax.”
Gamache smiled. Only an amazing person could really relax. Sue Gravel did not strike the chief inspector as an amazing person.
She complained all the way through the interview. The weather was cold and damp. No shopping. No high-speed internet. And her cell phone didn’t work.
How could you relax here? she demanded.
Gamache did not suggest that she go for a walk or buy a book and sit by the fire in the bistro. He did not suggest that she sit quietly and get to know herself so she could be all the company she needed.
Had this woman killed James Hill? Murder would at least have been something to do. But while he liked the idea of arresting her, Gamache resisted.
He spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing the waiters at the bistro, the clerk at the general store, the young helper at the pastry shop. Then he climbed the slope to the Inn and Spa.
James Hill had chosen to spend his last days on earth here. Had his killer, too?