The Brutal Telling

Something had happened.



“May I see you in private?” Isabelle Lacoste asked the Chief after she’d been introduced. The Gilberts took the cue. After watching them disappear Agent Lacoste turned to Gamache.



“The coroner called. The victim wasn’t killed in the bistro.”



ELEVEN



Myrna knocked softly on the bistro door, then opened it.



“You okay?” she asked softly into the dim light. It was the first time since she’d lived in Three Pines she’d seen the bistro dark during the day. Even at Christmas Olivier opened.



Olivier was sitting in an armchair, staring. He looked over at her and smiled.



“I’m fine.”



“Ruth’s FINE? Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical?”



“That’s about right.”



Myrna sat across from him and offered a mug of tea she’d brought from her bookshop. Strong, hot, with milk and sugar. Red Rose. Nothing fancy.



“Like to talk?”



She sat quietly, watching her friend. She knew his face, had seen the tiny changes over the years. The crow’s-feet appear at his eyes, the fine blond hair thin. What hadn’t changed, from what she could tell, was what was invisible, but even more obvious. His kind heart, his thoughtfulness. He was the first to bring soup to anyone ill. To visit in the hospital. To read out loud to someone too weak and tired and near the end to do it for themselves. Gabri, Myrna, Clara, they all organized villagers to help, and when they arrived they’d find Olivier already there.



And now it was their turn to help him.



“I don’t know if I want to open again.”



Myrna sipped her tea and nodded. “That’s understandable. You’ve been hurt. It must’ve been a terrible shock to see him here. I know it was for me, and it’s not my place.”



You have no idea, thought Olivier. He didn’t say anything, but stared out the window. He saw Chief Inspector Gamache and Agent Lacoste walking down rue du Moulin from the old Hadley house. He prayed they kept going. Didn’t come in here. With their keen eyes and sharp questions.



“I wonder if I should just sell. Move on.”



This surprised Myrna, but she didn’t show it. “Why?” she asked, softly.



He shook his head and dropped his eyes to his hands, resting in his lap.



“Everything’s changing. Everything’s changed. Why can’t it be like it always was? They took my fireplace pokers, you know. I think Gamache thinks I did it.”



“I’m sure he doesn’t. Olivier, look at me.” She spoke forcefully to him. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. We know the truth about you. And you need to know something about us. We love you. Do you think we come here every day for the food?”



He nodded and smiled slightly. “You mean it wasn’t for the croissants? The red wine? Not even the chocolate torte?”



“Well, yes, okay. Maybe the torte. Listen, we come here because of you. You’re the attraction. We love you, Olivier.”



Olivier raised his eyes to hers. He hadn’t realized, until that moment, that he’d always been afraid their affection was conditional. He was the owner of the bistro, the only one in town. They liked him for the atmosphere and welcome. The food and drink. That was the boundary of their feelings for him. They liked him for what he gave to them. Sold to them.



Without the bistro, he was nothing to them.



How’d Myrna know something he hadn’t even admitted to himself? As he looked at her she smiled. She was wearing her usual flamboyant caftan. For her birthday coming up Gabri had made her a winter caftan, out of flannel. Olivier imagined her in it in her store. A big, warm ball of flannel.



The world, which had been closing in on him for days, released a bit of its grip.



“We’re going to the Brume County Fair. Last day. What do you say? Can we interest you in cotton candy, cream soda, and a bison burger? I hear Wayne’s showing his litter of suckling pigs this afternoon. I know how you love a good piglet.”



Once, just once, at the annual county fair he’d hurried them over to the pig stalls to look at the babies. And now he was the piglet guy. Still, he quite liked being thought of as that. And it was true, he loved pigs. He had a lot in common with them, he suspected. But he shook his head.



“Not up to it, I’m afraid. But you go along. Bring me back a stuffed animal.”



“Would you like company here? I can stay.”



And he knew she meant it. But he needed to be alone.



“Thanks, but I really am Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical.”