A Rule Against Murder

What did Charles Morrow see? And why would the sculptor put that there? And how had the Morrows really felt? Gamache suspected that last question was the most difficult of all.



Light flashed for an instant into their bedroom. Instinctively he started counting. One one thousand, two one thousand.



Another rumble and another crash.



“Angels bowling,” said Reine-Marie. “Mother told me.”



“Better than my answer. I actually thought it might be a storm.”



“Ignorant man. What kind of storm? Deciduous or coniferous?”



“Aren’t those trees?”



“I believe you’re thinking of the cumulous tree.”



“I have an idea,” he said, getting off the damp bed.



Minutes later, in their light summer dressing gowns, they’d snuck downstairs, through the living room and onto the screen porch. Sitting in the wicker rocking chairs they watched as the storm moved toward them down the lake. Reine-Marie picked plump purple cherries from a fruit bowl and Gamache ate a juicy peach. They were ready for whatever was coming. Or so they thought.



The silence was suddenly shattered as the wind picked up, keening through the trees and sending the leaves into wild, simpering applause for what was coming. Gamache could hear the lake too. Waves crashed against the dock and the shore, whitecaps breaking as the storm marched toward them. Gamache and Reine-Marie watched as the lightning bolted and approached, spearing its way down the bay.



It was a big one. The wind hit the porch, bowing the screens inward as though grabbing for them.



The lake and mountains flashed visible for an instant. Beside him Gamache could feel Reine-Marie tense as another huge fork of lighting shot into the forest across the lake.



“One one thousand, two—”



A huge explosion of thunder drowned their counting. The storm was less than two miles off, and heading straight for them. Gamache wondered if the Manoir had a lightning rod. It must, he thought, otherwise it would have been struck and burned years ago. Another lightning bolt lanced into the forest across the bay and they heard a huge rending crack, as an old-growth tree was destroyed.



“Perhaps we should go inside,” said Reine-Marie, but just as they rose a massive gust of wind hit the screen porch and with it a wash of rain. They stumbled inside, drenched and a little shaken.



“God, you scared me,” a small, quivering voice said.



“Madame Dubois, désolée,” said Reine-Marie. Any more conversation was drowned out by another blast of lightning and thunder. But in that flash the Gamaches saw figures running across the Great Room, like specters, as though the storm had pushed the Manoir into the netherworld.



Then small spots of light began appearing in the room. Torrential rain pounded against the windows and doors could be heard banging furiously in the wind.



The spots of light began converging on them and they saw in an instant that Pierre, Elliot, Colleen the gardener and a few others had found flashlights. Within moments they’d swarmed away, closing storm shutters and locking doors and windows. There was no space for counting now between lightning and thunder. The storm was caught between the mountains, unable to escape. It hurled itself against the Manoir, over and over. Gamache and Reine-Marie helped and before long they were sealed into the log lodge.



“Do you have a lightning rod?” Gamache asked Madame Dubois.



“We do,” she said, but in the wavering light she looked uncertain.



Peter and Clara joined them and after a few minutes Thomas and Sandra appeared. The rest of the guests and staff were either sleeping through it, or too frightened to move.



For an hour or more the massive logs shuddered, the windows rattled, the copper roof pounded. But it held.



The storm moved on, to terrorize other creatures deeper in the forest. And the Gamaches returned to bed, throwing open their windows for the cool breeze the storm had left as an apology.



In the morning the power was restored, though the sun wasn’t. It was overcast and drizzly. The Gamaches rose late to the seductive aromas of Canadian back bacon, coffee, and mud. The smell of the Quebec countryside after a heavy rain. They joined the others in the dining room, nodding hellos.



After ordering café au lait and waffles with wild blueberries and maple syrup, and visiting the buffet, they settled in for a lazy, rainy day. But just as their waffles arrived they heard a faraway sound, something so unexpected it took Gamache a moment to recognize it.



It was a scream.



Rising rapidly he strode across the dining room, while the others were still looking at each other. Pierre caught up with him and Reine-Marie followed, her eyes on her husband.