Chapter Six
Chief Inspector Gamache warmed himself by the fire in the bistro. Around him, other customers drank hot chocolate and coffee and ate pastries. Fires roared in the fireplaces at both ends of the cozy room. Gamache took a sip of coffee and ate a pastry. The November cold had gotten into his bones even on the short walk, and he was only now warming up. He spared a moment to think of Inspector Beauvoir and the rest of the team, now on their hands and knees searching for clues at the Inn and Spa. Then he took a bite of the cream-filled pastry and turned his attention to the large man across from him.
Gabri was one of the owners of both this bistro and the Bed and Breakfast across the village green. He was big, some might even say fat, though they would only say so if he couldn’t hear them. Gabri was a happy man, content with his quiet life in the quiet village.
Around Gamache and Gabri, people were laughing and talking. Light danced off the shiny wood floors, and Gamache sank deeper into the large, comfortable armchair. Gabri sat on a faded sofa across from him and sipped tea.
“It’s great to see you again, Chief Inspector,” said Gabri. “Just visiting?”
“I wish. I’m afraid there’s been a death.” Gabri turned pale. “Here in Three Pines?” “In the forest. A man was found hanged.” Gabri sighed and shook his head. “Who was he? Someone we know?”
“He was a guest at the Inn and Spa. His name was Ellis.”
“First or last name?”
“Last. His first name was Arthur.”
Gabri thought, then shook his head again.
Gamache brought out the photograph. He hated showing it. Making people look at the dead man’s face seemed like an assault. But he had no choice.
Gabri looked quickly at the picture. “I know him.” He turned back to Gamache. “Didn’t catch his name, though. He came in here yesterday. Myrna!”
A large black woman in a long, loose orange dress ambled over. She smiled when she saw the chief inspector. But her smile faded when she saw their serious faces.
The chief inspector rose and bowed slightly.
“Hello,” she said. “Here on business?”
Gabri patted the seat next to him on the sofa, and she sat.
“Has someone died?” She looked from Gamache to her friend Gabri.
“A man was found hanging in the woods. That guy who came in yesterday. He had lunch here, then visited your store,” said Gabri.
Myrna owned a bookstore next to the bistro. Her shop was a gathering place for villagers. They’d find a book, sit by her wood stove, enjoy a cup of strong tea, and read. She didn’t care if they actually bought the book. She just liked the company. And so did her customers.
“The tall man? Quiet?” Myrna asked, and Gabri nodded.
“Was he looking for a special book?” Chief Inspector Gamache asked.
“As far as I know, he wasn’t looking for a book at all. He wanted to know about the village and the area.”
“Just making conversation?” Gamache asked.
“I thought so.”
“But now?”
“Now that I think about it, he seemed interested in whether this was a good place for young men to put down roots. His question seemed odd, since he wasn’t a young man,” said Myrna.
“Funny,” Gabri jumped in. “He asked me the same question. Wanted to know if there were many young men around. Aside from me, though, I couldn’t think of any.”
Both Gamache and Myrna looked at Gabri. He was many things, but young wasn’t one of them.
“It must be nice to live in your head, my dear.” Myrna smiled.
“It is, you know,” agreed Gabri. “In my head I’m young and slim and very rich.”
“You are, for sure,” said Chief Inspector Gamache. He knew that Gabri and Myrna were very rich indeed, rich in the things that matter. In friendships and laughter, in kindness and company.
People rich in money might belong at the Inn and Spa, but those rich in other ways belonged in the tiny village of Three Pines. Here, kindness was the real currency.
“But there are a lot of young men around,” said Gamache, accepting a refill of coffee from the waiter, who was a young man.
“True, but I think he was asking about people moving here, not born here,” said Gabri.
“I thought the same thing,” said Myrna. “I asked if he had anyone in mind, his son, maybe.”
“What did he say?”
“It was strange. He seemed to be about to say something, but then he shook his head and left.”
Gamache turned to Gabri. “Do you have anyone staying at the Bed and Breakfast?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. A woman arrived a couple of days ago, and then last night a fellow showed up.”
“With reservations?”
“Well, the woman called ahead but the man just arrived. Took a room for a couple of days.”
“Did you tell Mr. Ellis about him?” Gamache asked.
“Well, no. He hadn’t shown up yet.”
“Poor man,” said Myrna at last. “Killing himself.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” said Gabri, looking out the window at the dreary, cold day. “Depressing weather, and worse to come.”
“The odd thing is, most suicides don’t happen in the fall or even in the winter,” said Myrna. “They happen in April, just as the weather is getting better.”
“Really?” Gabri turned to her, surprised. Gamache was not surprised. He knew that what she said was true.
“People rarely take their lives when things are at their worst,” said Myrna. “The sad fact is that they kill themselves when things are beginning to look better.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” said Gabri, who could not imagine killing anyone as wonderful as himself.
“When people are really depressed, they don’t have the energy to kill themselves,” said Myrna, who had once been a therapist in Montreal. “But as soon as they start feeling a little better, their energy comes back. They’re still depressed, but now they can act.”
“How sad he must have been,” said Gabri.
“It’s not sadness that drives most people to take their lives,” said Myrna. “It’s emptiness. Loneliness.”
Chief Inspector Gamache leaned forward. “But Mr. Ellis didn’t kill himself. He was murdered.”
Two very surprised people looked back at him.
“Someone hanged him from a tree?” Myrna asked.
“I’m afraid so. They tried to make his death look like suicide. Even wrote a note. But it was murder.”
“How horrible,” said Gabri.
“His name was Ellis?” Myrna asked.
“Mean anything to you?” Gamache asked. “Is there an Ellis family nearby?”
Both Myrna and Gabri shook their heads. Myrna got up.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” She walked away.
“Arthur Ellis,” said Gabri, almost to himself. “He sounds so normal. Seemed so normal.”
Gamache had to agree. But he also knew normal people were killed all the time. It was the murderer who wasn’t normal.
Unseen by either man, Myrna paused in the doorway of her bookstore.
She stared back at the two men, puzzled.