Still Life (A Three Pines Mystery)

The room was not only sublimely ridiculous, it was also a relief. After a minute or two to compose themselves they all went upstairs. In the bedroom Clara picked up the well-worn book beside Jane's bed, C. S. Lewis's, Surprised by Joy. It smelled of Floris.

'I don't understand,' said Peter as they walked back down the stairs and sat in front of the fireplace. Clara couldn't help herself. Reaching out she touched the brilliant yellow Happy Face wallpaper. It was velvet. An involuntary guffaw burped out and she hoped she wouldn't erupt into laughter again. It really was too ridiculous.

'Why wouldn't Jane let us see this room?' asked Peter. 'I mean, it's not that bad.' They all stared at him in disbelief. 'Well, you know what I mean.'

'I know exactly what you mean,' agreed Gamache. 'That's my question too. If she wasn't ashamed of it, then she'd let people in. If she was, then why not just get rid of it? No, I think we're being distracted by all this, perhaps even intentionally.' He paused. Maybe that was the reason for the horrid wallpaper. It was a ruse, a red herring, put there deliberately to distract them from the one thing Jane didn't want them to see. Finally, he felt, he might have the answer to why she put up this gruesome paper.

'There's something else in this room. A piece of furniture, perhaps, the pottery, a book. It's here.'

The four of them split up and started searching the room again. Clara made for the Port Neuf, which Olivier had taught her about. The old clay mugs and bowls made in Quebec were one of the first industries back in the 1700s. Primitive images of cows and horses and pigs and flowers were sponged on to the rough earthenware. They were valuable collector's items and Olivier would certainly shriek. But there was no need to keep them hidden. Gamache had a small desk upside-down and was searching for hidden drawers, while Peter examined a large pine box closely. Clara opened the drawers of the armoir, which were stuffed with lace doilies and picture placemats. She took them out. They were reproductions of old paintings of Quebec village scenes and landscapes from the mid-1800s. She'd seen them before, on Jane's kitchen table during her dinners, but also elsewhere. They were very common. But maybe they weren't reproductions after all? Is it possible these were the originals? Or that they'd been altered to include some hidden code?

She found nothing.

'Over here, I think I have something.' Peter stood back from the pine box he'd been examining. It stood on sturdy little wooden legs and came to hip height. Wrought iron handles were attached to either side, and two small, square drawers pulled out from the front. From what Peter could see, not a single nail had been used on the honey pine piece, all the joints were dovetail. It was exquisite and very maddening. The main body of the box was accessible by lifting the top, only it wouldn't lift. Somehow, and for some reason, it had been locked. Peter yanked on the top again, but it wouldn't lift. Beauvoir shoved him aside and tried it himself, much to Peter's annoyance, as though there was more than one way to open a lid.

'Maybe there's a door on the front, like a trick or a puzzle,' suggested Clara, and they all searched. Nothing. Now they stood back and stared, Clara willing it to speak to her, like so many boxes seemed to recently.

'Olivier would know,' said Peter. 'If there's a trick to it, he'll know it.'

Gamache thought for a moment and nodded. They really had no choice. Beauvoir was dispatched and within ten minutes he returned with the antiques dealer.

'Where's the patient? Holy Mary, Mother of God.' He raised his eyebrows and stared at the walls, his lean, handsome face looking attractively boyish and quizzical. 'Who did this?'

'Ralph Lauren. Who do you think?' said Peter.

'Certainly no one gay. Is that the chest?' He walked over to where the others were standing. 'Beautiful. A tea chest, modeled on one the British used back in the 1600s, but this is Quebecois. Very simple yet far from primitive. You want to get in?'

'If you don't mind,' said Gamache and Clara marveled at his patience. She was about to slap Olivier. The antiques dealer walked around the box, knocked on it in a few places, holding his ear to the polished wood, then came to rest directly in front of it. Putting out his hands he grabbed the top and yanked. Gamache rolled his eyes.

'It's locked,' said Olivier.

'Well, we know that,' said Beauvoir. 'How do we unlock it?'

'You don't have a key?'

'If we had a key we wouldn't need you.'

'Good point. Look, the only way I know is to take the hinges off the back. That could take a while since they're old and corroded. I don't want to break them.'

'Please start,' said Gamache. 'The rest of us will continue our search.'

Twenty minutes later Olivier announced he had the last hinge off. 'It's fortunate for you I'm a genius.'