anything that’s native to the land. And rivers. And there’s so much out there. I like to forage.”
He’d said it with a deliberate leer, as a voyeur might have said, “I like to watch.”
Myrna had laughed, blushed slightly, and charged him a dollar for both cookbooks.
Now Anton, stooping over their table at the bistro, stared out the window.
“What is that?” he asked in a whisper.
“Weren’t you at the party last night?” Gabri asked.
“Yes, but I was in the kitchen all night. I didn’t come out.”
Myrna looked from the thing on the village green to this young man. A party just through the swinging doors, and he’d been stuck doing dishes. It sounded like something out of a Victorian melodrama.
He seemed to know what she was thinking and turned to smile at her.
“I could’ve come out, but I’m not big on parties. Being in the kitchen suits me.”
Myrna nodded. She understood. We all have, she knew, a place where we’re not only most comfortable, but most competent. Hers was her bookstore. Olivier’s was the bistro. Clara’s was her studio.
Sarah’s, the bakery. And Anton’s was the kitchen.
But sometimes that comfort was an illusion. Masquerading as protecting, while actually imprisoning.
“What’s he saying?” Anton asked, taking a seat and gesturing toward Gamache and the robed figure.
* * *
“Is there something I can help you with?” Armand asked. “Someone you’d like to speak to?”
There was no answer. No movement. Though he could see steam coming from where the mouth would be.
Evidence of life.
It was steady. Like the long, easy plume of a train moving forward.
“My name is Gamache. Armand Gamache.” He let that rest there for a moment. “I’m the head of the Sûreté du Québec.”
Was there a slight shift in the eyes? Had the man glanced at him, then away?
“It’s cold,” said Armand, rubbing his frigid hands together. “Let’s go inside. Have a coffee and maybe some bacon and eggs. I live just over there.”
He gestured toward his home. He wondered if he should have identified his home, but realized this person probably already knew where he lived. He’d just come from there, after all. It was hardly a secret.
He waited for the robed figure to respond to his breakfast invitation, wondering briefly what Reine-Marie might think when he brought home his new friend.
When there was no response, Armand reached out to take hold of his arm. And coax him along.
* * *
All conversation had stopped in the bistro, the morning service grinding to a halt.
Everyone, patrons and servers alike, was staring out at the two men on the village green.
“He’s going to drag the guy away,” said Olivier, joining them.
Anton made to get up, but Olivier waved him back down. There was no rush anymore.
They watched as Armand lowered his hand, without touching the man.
* * *
Armand Gamache stood perfectly still himself now. And while the robed figure stared at the bistro, the bookstore, the boulangerie, and Monsieur Béliveau’s general store, Gamache stared at him.
“Be careful,” Armand finally whispered.
And then he turned, and returned home.
* * *
The robed figure was still there in the afternoon.
Armand and Reine-Marie passed him on their way to Clara’s home, on the other side of the village green.
An invisible moat had formed around the man. The village had slowly ventured out and gone about its business. Though a wide circle was circumscribed around him, beyond which no one went.
No children played on the grass and people walked faster than usual, averting their eyes as they passed by.
Henri, on his leash, gave a low growl and moved to the far side of Armand. His hackles up. His huge ears were forward, then he laid them back on his large and, it must be admitted, slightly vacuous head.
Henri kept everything important in his heart. He mostly kept cookies in his head.
But the shepherd was smart enough to keep his distance from the robed figure.
Gracie, who’d been found in a garbage can months earlier, along with her brother Leo, was also on a leash.
She stared, as though mesmerized by the figure, and refused to move. Reine-Marie had to pick her up.
“Should we say something?” Reine-Marie asked.
“Let’s leave him be,” said Armand. “It’s possible he wants attention. Maybe he’ll go away when we don’t give it to him.”
But she suspected that wasn’t the reason Armand wanted to ignore it. Reine-Marie thought Armand didn’t want her to get that close to it. And truthfully, neither did she.
As the morning had progressed, she’d found herself drawn to the window. Hoping it would be gone.