Brutal Telling

“Well, keep trying,” said Gamache. “Superintendent Brunel is trying to track down the rest of the carvings.”

“Do you think that’s why he was killed?” asked Morin. “For the carvings?”

“Perhaps,” said Gamache. “There’s not much some people wouldn’t do for things that valuable.”

“But when we found the cabin it hadn’t been searched,” said Beauvoir. “If you find the guy, find the cabin, go there and kill him, wouldn’t you tear the place apart to find the carvings? And it’s not like the murderer had to worry about disturbing the neighbors.”

“Maybe he meant to but heard Olivier returning and had to leave,” said Gamache.

Beauvoir nodded. He’d forgotten about Olivier coming back. That made sense.

“That reminds me,” he said, sitting down. “The lab report came in on the whittling tools and the wood. They say the tools were used to do the sculptures but not to carve Woo. The grooves didn’t match, but apparently the technique didn’t either. Definitely different people.”

It was a relief to have something definite about this case.

“But red cedar was used for all of them?” Gamache wanted to hear the confirmation.

Beauvoir nodded. “And they’re able to be more specific than that, at least with the Woo carving. They can tell by looking at water content, insects, growth rings, all sorts of things, where the wood actually came from.”

Gamache leaned forward and wrote three words on a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table and Beauvoir read and snorted. “You talked to the lab?”

“I talked to Superintendent Brunel.”

He told them then about Woo, and Emily Carr. About the Haida totem poles, carved from red cedar.

Beauvoir looked down at the Chief’s note.

Queen Charlotte Islands, he’d written.

And that’s what the lab had said. The wood that became Woo had started life as a sapling hundreds of years earlier, on the Queen Charlotte Islands.

Gabri walked, almost marched, up rue du Moulin. He’d made up his mind and wanted to get there before he changed it, as he had every five minutes all afternoon.

He’d barely exchanged five words with Olivier since the Chief Inspector’s interrogation had revealed just how much his partner had kept from him. Finally he arrived and looked at the gleaming exterior of what had been the old Hadley house. Now a carved wooden sign hung out front, swinging slightly in the breeze.

Auberge et Spa.

The lettering was tasteful, clear, elegant. It was the sort of sign he’d been meaning to have Old Mundin make for the B and B, but hadn’t gotten around to. Above the lettering three pine trees were carved in a row. Iconic, memorable, classic.

He’d thought of doing that for the B and B as well. And at least his place was actually in Three Pines. This place hovered above it. Not really part of the village.

Still, it was too late now. And he wasn’t here to find fault. Just the opposite.

He stepped onto the porch and realized Olivier had stood there as well, with the body. He tried to shove the image away. Of his gentle, kind and quiet Olivier. Doing something so hideous.

Gabri rang the bell and waited, noting the shining brass of the handle, the bevelled glass and fresh red paint on the door. Cheerful and welcoming.

“Bonjour?” Dominique Gilbert opened the door, her face the image of polite suspicion.

“Madame Gilbert? We met in the village when you first arrived. I’m Gabriel Dubeau.”

He put out his large hand and she took it. “I know who you are. You run that marvelous B and B.”

Gabri knew when he was being softened up, having specialized in that himself. Still, it was nice to be on the receiving end of a compliment, and Gabri never refused one.

“That’s right,” he smiled. “But it’s nothing compared to what you’ve done here. It’s stunning.”

“Would you like to come in?” Dominique stood aside and Gabri found himself in the large foyer. The last time he’d been there it’d been a wreck and so had he. But it was clear the old Hadley house no longer existed. The tragedy, the sigh on the hill, had become a smile. A warm, elegant, gracious auberge. A place he himself would book into, for pampering. For an escape.

He thought about his slightly worn B and B. What moments ago had seemed comfortable, charming, welcoming, now seemed just tired. Like a grande dame past her prime. Who would want to visit Auntie’s place when you could come to the cool kids’ inn and spa?

Olivier had been right. This was the end.

And looking at Dominique, warm, confident, he knew she couldn’t fail. She seemed born to success, to succeed.

“We’re just in the living room having drinks. Would you like to join us?”

He was about to decline. He’d come to say one thing to the Gilberts and leave, quickly. This wasn’t a social call. But she’d already turned, assuming his consent, and was walking through a large archway.

But for all the easy elegance, of the place and the woman, something didn’t fit.

He examined his hostess as she walked away. Light silk blouse, Aquascutum slacks, loose scarf. And a certain fragrance. What was it?