Chapter Three
Chief Inspector Gamache stood outside the Inn and Spa. It used to be a large private home, but it had been turned into a small hotel. The wide porch felt welcoming, and he could smell the smoke from a wood fire inside. The cold had chilled him, and he longed for warmth.
Pushing open the large wooden door, Gamache walked over to the front desk. A woman in her early forties looked up and smiled.
It was Dominique Gilbert, one of the owners of the Inn and Spa.
“Hello, Chief Inspector.” She shook hands with the large man. “Come for a massage? Or perhaps a pedicure?”
“Sadly, no.” He returned her smile. He liked Mrs. Gilbert. He’d met her on earlier cases in this part of Quebec. “I’m afraid my visit is much more serious in nature.”
He watched as her smile faded and a look of worry crossed her face.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s been a murder.”
“Oh, no. Who?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m here. He might be one of your guests.”
“Really? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. I have a picture of him.” The chief inspector studied Dominique Gilbert. She was a sensible woman. A former Montrealer who had moved to the country to open the Inn and Spa. It was a great success, but anything Dominique Gilbert did would likely succeed.
Dominique nodded, knowing what it meant to look at the picture. She steeled herself. “Of course. Angela?”
A woman in her mid-thirties appeared. “Yes, Mrs. Gilbert?”
“Could you look after the front desk?”
Dominique led the chief inspector into her office and closed the door. She squared her shoulders and looked directly at Gamache.
“I’m ready.”
Armand Gamache thought she probably wasn’t ready. No one could be prepared for what he was about to show her.
As she looked at the picture, her face became pained, as though he’d hit her.
“Are you all right?”
It was, he knew, a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. She’d just seen the face of a man strangled to death.
“I’m sorry,” she kept saying, as if she had something to be sorry for.
Finally, colour returned to her face.
“What happened to him?”
Gamache chose to ignore her question. “Do you know him?”
“It’s hard to say, but I think he might be Mr. Ellis. One of our guests.”
“What can you tell me about Mr. Ellis?”
Chief Inspector Gamache led her to a comfortable chair. She sat and he pulled another chair over.
“Not much, I’m afraid, but Angela might be able to help. I think she checked him in.”
He went to the door and quietly asked Angela to join them. There were no guests around, so she was able to leave the front desk.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked as she entered.
“Angela, this is Chief Inspector Gamache, of the Quebec Provincial Police. I’m afraid a man has been murdered, and he might have been one of our guests.”
Angela’s blue eyes widened. Red spread across her pale skin, moving up her neck to her cheeks.
A blusher, Gamache guessed. Some people were. They turned red when anyone so much as looked at them. Or was there another reason? Did this young woman know something?
“Angela,” the chief inspector began, and Angela blushed to almost purple. “What can you tell me about Mr. Ellis?”
“Oh, no. It’s not him, is it?”
“Please just answer the question.” The chief made his demand gently.
“Well, he arrived two days ago. He was by himself. He’d booked a standard room, but since business is slow, I gave him a better one.” Angela looked at Dominique for approval, and Dominique smiled at her. It occurred to Gamache that they were about the same age. But Angela seemed so young, and Dominique seemed, what? Not old. Mature.
“Is Mr. Ellis the dead man?” Angela asked.
“We think so,” said Gamache. “Can you describe him?”
When she did, Gamache had little doubt that the man in the tree had been Mr. Ellis.
“You liked him?”
She nodded. “He seemed lonely. He always smiled, but his smile never reached his eyes, you know?”
Gamache did know. He’d met many people who could easily put a fake smile on their lips, but they could never put a fake sparkle into their eyes.
“Did he have any spa treatments?”
“None,” said Angela.
“Was this his first visit?”
She nodded.
“Then why was he here?” Gamache asked.
“Not everyone comes for the spa, Chief Inspector,” said Dominique, now fully recovered from her shock at seeing the dead man’s picture. “Some are looking for peace and quiet.”
Gamache thought of the dead man, swinging from the tree. He might have been looking for peace and quiet, but something else had found him. Something horrible.