The Brutal Telling

Rosa quacked on the village green. Today she wore a pale pink sweater set. And pearls?



“Voyons,” said Beauvoir, jerking his head toward the duck as they got out of the car. “Can you imagine listening to that all day long?”



“Wait till you have kids,” said Gamache, pausing outside the bistro to watch Rosa and Ruth.



“They quack?”



“No, but they sure make noise. And other things. Are you planning on kids?”



“Maybe one day. Enid isn’t keen.” He stood next to the Chief and they both stared at the peaceful village. Peaceful except for the quacking. “Any word from Daniel?”



“Madame Gamache spoke to them yesterday. All’s well. Baby should be along in a couple of weeks. We’ll be going to Paris as soon as it happens.”



Beauvoir nodded. “That’s two for Daniel. How about Annie? Any plans?”



“None. I think David would like a family but Annie’s not good with kids.”



“I saw her with Florence,” said Beauvoir, remembering when Daniel had visited with the Chief Inspector’s granddaughter. He’d watched Annie holding her niece, singing to her. “She adores Florence.”



“She claims not to want any. Frankly we don’t want to push her.”



“Best not to interfere.”



“It’s not that. We saw what a balls-up she made of every babysitting job she had as a kid. As soon as the child cried Annie called us and we’d have to go over. We made more money babysitting than she did. And Jean Guy.” Gamache leaned toward his Inspector and lowered his voice. “Without going into details, whatever happens never let Annie diaper me.”



“She asked the same thing of me,” Beauvoir said and saw Gamache smile. Then the smile dimmed.



“Shall we?” The Chief gestured to the door to the bistro.



The four men chose to sit away from the windows. In the cool and quiet interior. A small fire muttered in both open fireplaces, at either end of the room. Gamache remembered the first time he’d walked into the bistro years before and seen the mismatched furniture, the armchairs and wing chairs and Windsor chairs. The round and square and rectangular tables. The stone fireplaces and wooden beams. And the price tags hanging from everything.



Everything was for sale. And everyone? Gamache didn’t think so, but sometimes he wondered.



“Bon Dieu, are you saying you haven’t told your father about me?” Gabri asked.



“I did. I told him I was with a Gabriel.”



“Your father thinks it’s a Gabrielle you’re with,” said Beauvoir.



“Quoi?” said Gabri, glaring at Olivier. “He thinks I’m a woman? That means . . .” Gabri looked at his partner, incredulous. “He doesn’t know you’re gay?”



“I never told him.”



“Maybe not in so many words, but you sure told him,” said Gabri, then turned to Beauvoir. “Almost forty, not married, an antiques dealer. Good God, he told me when the other kids would dig for China he dug for Royal Doulton. How gay is that?” He turned back to Olivier. “You had an Easy Bake oven and you sewed your own Halloween costumes.”



“I haven’t told him and don’t plan to,” Olivier snapped. “It’s none of his business.”



“What a family,” sighed Gabri. “It’s actually a perfect fit. One doesn’t want to know and the other doesn’t want to tell.”



But Gamache knew it was more than simply not wanting to tell. It was about a little boy with secrets. Who became a big boy with secrets. Who became a man. He brought an envelope out of his satchel and placed seven photographs on the table in front of Olivier. Then he unwrapped the carvings and put them on the table too.



“What order do they go in?”



“I can’t remember which he gave me when,” said Olivier. Gamache stared at him then spoke softly.



“I didn’t ask you that. I asked what order they go in. You know, don’t you?”



“I don’t know what you mean.” Olivier looked confused.



Then Armand Gamache did something Beauvoir had rarely seen. He brought his large hand down so hard on the table the little wooden figures jumped. As did the men.



“Enough. I’ve had enough.”



And he looked it. His face was hard, carved and sharp and burnished by lies and secrets. “Do you have any idea what trouble you’re in?” His voice was low, strained, forced through a throat that threatened to close. “The lies must stop now. If you have any hope, any hope at all, you must tell us the truth. Now.”