TWENTY–SIX
“Give Reine-Marie my love,” said émile.
He and Armand stood by the door. Gamache’s Volvo was packed with his suitcase and assorted treats from émile for Reine-Marie. Pastries from Paillard, paté and cheese from J.A. Moisan, chocolate made by the monks, from the shop along rue St-Jean.
Gamache hoped most of it made it back to Montreal. Between him and Henri, he had his doubts.
“I will. I’ll probably be back in a few weeks to testify, but Inspector Langlois has all the evidence he needs.”
“And the confession helps,” said émile with a smile.
“True,” agreed Gamache. He looked around the home. He and Reine-Marie had been coming for many years, since émile had retired and he and his wife moved back to Quebec City. Then, after Alice died, they came more often, to keep émile company.
“I’m thinking of selling,” said émile, watching Armand look around.
Gamache turned to him and paused. “It’s a lot of house.”
“The stairs are getting steeper,” agreed émile.
“You’re welcome to come live with us, you know.”
“I do know, merci, but I think I’ll stay here.”
Gamache smiled, not surprised. “You know, I suspect Elizabeth MacWhirter is finding the same thing. Difficult living in a large home alone.”
“Is that right?” said émile, looking at Gamache with open suspicion.
Armand smiled and opened the door. “Don’t come out, it’s cold.”
“I’m not that frail,” snapped émile. “Besides, I want to say good-bye to Henri.”
At the sound of his name the shepherd looked at émile, ears forward, alert. In case there was a biscuit involved. There was.
The sidewalk was newly plowed. The blizzard had stopped before dawn and the sun rose on a white, unblemished landscape. The city glowed and light sparkled off every surface making it look as though Québec was made of crystal.
Before opening the car door Gamache scooped up some snow, pressed it into his fist and showed Henri the snowball. The dog danced, then stopped, intent, staring.
Gamache tossed it into the air and Henri leapt, straining for the ball, believing this time he’d catch it, and it would remain perfect and whole in his mouth.
The snowball descended, and Henri caught it. And bit down. By the time he landed on all fours he had only a mouthful of snow. Again.
But Henri would keep trying, Gamache knew. He’d never give up hope.
“So,” said émile, “who do you think the woman in Champlain’s coffin was?”
“I’d say an inmate of Douglas’s asylum. Almost certainly a natural death.”
“So he put her into Champlain’s coffin, but what did he do with Champlain?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Of course I don’t. I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”
“I’ll give you a hint. It’s in Chiniquy’s journals, you read it to me the other night. I’ll call you when I get home, if you haven’t figured it out I’ll tell you.”
“Wretched man.” émile paused, then reached out and laid his hand briefly on Gamache’s as it held the car door.
“Merci,” said Gamache. “For all you’ve done for me.”
“And you for me. So you think Madame MacWhirter might need a little help?”
“I think so.” Gamache opened the car door and Henri jumped in. “But then, I also think the night might be a strawberry.”
émile laughed. “Between us? So do I.”
At home three hours later, Gamache and Reine-Marie sat in their comfortable living room, a fire crackling away in the grate.
“émile called,” said Reine-Marie. “He asked me to give you a message.”
“Oh?”
“He said ‘Three mummies.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
Gamache smiled and nodded. Three mummies were taken to Pittsburgh but Douglas had only brought two back from Egypt.
“I’ve been thinking about that video, Armand.”
He took off his half-moon glasses. “Would you like to see it?”
“Would you like me to?”
He hesitated. “I’d rather not, but if you need to I’d watch it with you.”
She smiled. “Merci, but I don’t want to see it.”
He kissed her softly then they went back to reading. Reine-Marie glanced over her book at Armand.
She knew all she needed to know.