Cruelest Month

‘Dad, I don’t need it,’ Daniel whispered.

‘Please take it.’

Daniel slipped it into his own coat. ‘Thank you.’

Son hugged father, like Easter Island megaliths come together.

But Gamache hadn’t moved far enough away. Someone was watching.

Roslyn and Florence had joined another young family and Daniel wandered over while Gamache subsided onto the bench again, handing his wife her coffee and picking up his paper. Reine-Marie had disappeared into the front section of La Presse. It was unusual for her not to greet him, but he knew that both of them often got caught up in reading. Henri was asleep in the sunlight at his feet and sipping his coffee he watched the people stroll by.

It was an exquisite day.

After a few minutes Reine-Marie lowered the newspaper. Her face was troubled. Frightened almost.

‘What is it?’ Gamache reached over and put his large hand on her forearm, searching her eyes.

‘Did you read the paper?’

‘Just the book section so far, why?’

‘Is it possible to be scared to death?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Apparently someone has been. Frightened to death.’

‘Mais, c’est horrible.’

‘In Three Pines.’ Reine-Marie searched his face. ‘In the old Hadley house.’

Armand Gamache paled.

   TEN

‘Come in, Armand. Joyeuses Pâques.’ Superintendent Brébeuf shook hands and closed the door.

‘Et vous, mon ami.’ Gamache smiled. ‘Happy Easter.’

The surprise of Reine-Marie’s news had worn off. He’d read the story and just as he’d finished his cell phone had rung. It was his friend and superior at the Sûreté du Québec, Michel Brébeuf.

‘A case has come up,’ Brébeuf had said. ‘I know Daniel and his family are with you, I’m sorry. Can you spare some time?’

It was a courtesy, Gamache knew, for his boss to ask. He could have commanded. But then the two had grown up together, been best friends forever and gone into the Sûreté together. They’d even gone after the Superintendent’s job together. Brébeuf had prevailed, but it had not affected their friendship.

‘They’re returning to Paris tonight. Not to worry. We’ve had a good visit though never long enough. I’ll be in shortly.’

He’d said his goodbyes to his son, his daughter-in-law and his Florence.

‘I’ll call later,’ he said to Reine-Marie, kissing her. She waved and watched him walk purposefully to the car park, hidden by a stand of pines. She watched until he was out of sight. And still she watched.

‘Have you read the papers?’ Brébeuf asked, settling into the swivel chair behind his desk.

‘Not so much read as chased.’ He remembered trying to read, his own massive boot print on the paper. ‘It’s not the Three Pines case you’re talking about.’

‘So you have read the papers.’

‘Reine-Marie pointed it out. But it said it was a natural death. Ghoulish, but natural. Was she really scared to death?’

‘That’s what the doctors at the Cowansville hospital said. Heart attack. But—’

‘Go on.’

‘You’ll have to see for yourself but I hear she looked…’ Brébeuf paused, almost embarrassed to say it, ‘as though she’d seen something.’

‘The paper said she’d been at a séance at the old Hadley house.’

‘A séance,’ Brébeuf harrumphed. ‘Foolishness. I can see kids doing it, but adults? I just don’t understand why anyone would waste their time with that.’

Gamache wondered why the Superintendent had come in on his day off. He couldn’t remember Brébeuf discussing a case before it had even begun.

So why this one?

‘It wasn’t until this morning the doctor thought to have blood work done. This is what came back.’

Brébeuf handed over a sheet of paper. Gamache put on his half-moon glasses. He’d read hundreds of these and knew exactly what to look for. The toxicology report.

After a minute he lowered the paper, looking at Brébeuf over his glasses.

‘Ephedra.’

‘C’est ça.’

‘But does it have to be murder?’ Gamache asked, almost to himself. ‘Don’t people take ephedra on their own?’

‘It’s a banned substance,’ said Brébeuf.

‘True, true,’ said Gamache, distracted. He was scanning the report again. After a moment he spoke. ‘This is interesting. Listen to this.’ He read from the report. ‘The subject is five foot seven and weighs 134.7 pounds. You wouldn’t think she’d need a diet pill.’ He took off his glasses and folded them up.

‘Most people don’t,’ said Brébeuf. ‘All in their minds.’

‘I wonder what she weighed a few months ago,’ said Gamache. ‘Maybe this is how she got down to 135 pounds.’ Gamache tapped his glasses on the report. ‘With the help of ephedra.’

‘Maybe,’ agreed Brébeuf. ‘It’s your job to find out.’

‘Murder or misadventure?’ Gamache went back to the paper in his hand, wondering what else it might yield. But the Chief Inspector knew that paper rarely held the answers to his questions. Was it murder? Who was the killer? Why had the killer hated or feared this woman so much he had to take her life? Why? Why? Always the why before the who.