The Cruelest Month

That had been five years ago, and so much had happened since. They’d married, had Florence. Daniel had come home one day hopping with the news that a management company had offered him a job in Paris. Just a two-year contract, but what did she think?



She didn’t have to think. Two years in Paris? They were one year into it now and loving it. But they missed their family and knew how excruciating it had been for both sets of grandparents to kiss tiny Florence goodbye at the airport. To miss her first steps and words, to miss the first teeth and her ever-changing face and moods. Roslyn had expected her own mother to be the hardest hit, but she thought perhaps Papa Armand was the worst. Her heart broke as she’d walked down the glass corridor to the plane and seen his palms pressed against the waiting room window.



But he’d said nothing. He’d been happy for them, and he’d let them know it. And he’d let them go.



‘We miss you all.’ Reine-Marie held her hand and smiled.



And now there was another child on the way. They’d told both sets of parents at supper on Good Friday and there’d been a roar of excitement. Her father had brought out champagne and Armand had rushed off to the store to get her some non-alcoholic apple cider and they’d toasted their great good fortune.



While they waited for their order Armand put his hand on his son’s arm and guided him a little way into the pavilion, away from any onlookers. He reached into his Barbour jacket and handed Daniel an envelope.



‘Dad, I don’t need it,’ Daniel whispered.



‘Please take it.’



Daniel slipped it into his own coat. ‘Thank you.’



Son hugged father, like Easter Island megaliths come together.



But Gamache hadn’t moved far enough away. Someone was watching.



Roslyn and Florence had joined another young family and Daniel wandered over while Gamache subsided onto the bench again, handing his wife her coffee and picking up his paper. Reine-Marie had disappeared into the front section of La Presse. It was unusual for her not to greet him, but he knew that both of them often got caught up in reading. Henri was asleep in the sunlight at his feet and sipping his coffee he watched the people stroll by.



It was an exquisite day.



After a few minutes Reine-Marie lowered the newspaper. Her face was troubled. Frightened almost.



‘What is it?’ Gamache reached over and put his large hand on her forearm, searching her eyes.



‘Did you read the paper?’



‘Just the book section so far, why?’



‘Is it possible to be scared to death?’



‘What do you mean?’



‘Apparently someone has been. Frightened to death.’



‘Mais, c’est horrible.’



‘In Three Pines.’ Reine-Marie searched his face. ‘In the old Hadley house.’



Armand Gamache paled.



TEN



‘Come in, Armand. Joyeuses Pâques.’ Superintendent Brébeuf shook hands and closed the door.



‘Et vous, mon ami.’ Gamache smiled. ‘Happy Easter.’



The surprise of Reine-Marie’s news had worn off. He’d read the story and just as he’d finished his cell phone had rung. It was his friend and superior at the Sûreté du Québec, Michel Brébeuf.



‘A case has come up,’ Brébeuf had said. ‘I know Daniel and his family are with you, I’m sorry. Can you spare some time?’



It was a courtesy, Gamache knew, for his boss to ask. He could have commanded. But then the two had grown up together, been best friends forever and gone into the Sûreté together. They’d even gone after the Superintendent’s job together. Brébeuf had prevailed, but it had not affected their friendship.



‘They’re returning to Paris tonight. Not to worry. We’ve had a good visit though never long enough. I’ll be in shortly.’



He’d said his goodbyes to his son, his daughter-in-law and his Florence.



‘I’ll call later,’ he said to Reine-Marie, kissing her. She waved and watched him walk purposefully to the car park, hidden by a stand of pines. She watched until he was out of sight. And still she watched.



‘Have you read the papers?’ Brébeuf asked, settling into the swivel chair behind his desk.



‘Not so much read as chased.’ He remembered trying to read, his own massive boot print on the paper. ‘It’s not the Three Pines case you’re talking about.’



‘So you have read the papers.’



‘Reine-Marie pointed it out. But it said it was a natural death. Ghoulish, but natural. Was she really scared to death?’