All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,148
largest, heaviest paintings. Why use it for the tiniest? And then there was what it’s hung by.”
Reine-Marie turned the painting around. “It’s a nylon string, not a wire. And the little eye hooks are plastic.”
“Exactly. I thought it was because the painting was obviously inexpensive. But then I began to think the reason was far different. Stephen hung this painting from the most valuable thing he now owned.”
“And it was within feet of them, inches, all the time?” said Fontaine. “What would’ve happened if they’d found it?”
Armand and Reine-Marie returned to the hospital where, twelve hours later, Stephen regained consciousness.
The first thing he saw was Armand and Reine-Marie and, behind them on the wall, the peaceful little painting.
“You found it,” he rasped.
CHAPTER 45
It was dusk when they got into cars at the Montréal airport and headed south across the St. Lawrence River toward, but not quite to, the Vermont border.
Once off the autoroute, the small procession took smaller and smaller roads until finally turning onto a dirt road.
There were no signs pointing the way. The GPS showed that they’d left the known routes and were now wandering in a sort of wilderness. But they knew they weren’t lost.
Just the opposite.
At the crest of the hill, Armand stopped the car, and by mutual and unspoken consent, he and Reine-Marie got out. And helped Stephen out.
The three of them stood in the cold October evening. A light snow was falling, and they could just make out the forests and the rolling hills stretching to the horizon. While below them in the valley, as though in the palm of some great hand, was a small village.
Buttery light shone from the fieldstone, brick, and clapboard homes that surrounded the green, turned white with freshly fallen snow. The crisp night air held a hint of maple smoke, from the chimneys.
And in the very center of the village, three great pines swayed in the breeze.
Reine-Marie touched Armand’s arm and pointed.
Someone had put the lights on in their home so that their wide front verandah was illuminated.
Getting back in the car, they drove slowly around the village green, passing Monsieur Beliveau’s general store, the boulangerie, the bistro.
They could see Olivier and Gabri chatting with patrons. At the sight of their headlights Gabri turned and, nudging Olivier, they waved.
Myrna’s bookstore was dark, but there were lights in her loft above.
Roslyn and Daniel pulled up behind his parents, and Jean-Guy and Annie behind them. Together they unloaded the vehicles of luggage and children.
One by one, villagers came over to lend a hand.
Clara Morrow opened her front door, and across the green came bounding Henri. His huge satellite ears forward, his tail wagging furiously, the shepherd raced across the snow-covered grass and plowed straight into Armand, almost knocking him off his feet.
Fred came next, trotting as fast as his old legs would take him, and Gracie, frantic to reach them, brought up the rear.
Stephen, with Reine-Marie on one side and Ruth on the other steadying him, said, “A chipmunk just ran into your house.”
“That’s not a chipmunk, you senile old man,” said Ruth. “That’s a badger. My God, you look awful. Are you sure you didn’t die?”
Annie and Jean-Guy got Honoré and Idola settled while Roslyn and Daniel had the girls bathed, then changed into their flannel pajamas.
By the time the children came back down, the fire was lit, and the home was filled with the aroma of the cottage pies Gabri and Olivier had brought over.
The old pine table in the kitchen held a huge bouquet of fall flowers and foliage from Myrna. As well as her signature butter tarts.
Drinks were poured as Clara, Ruth, Myrna, Gabri, and Olivier brought everyone up to speed on the events in the village since the Gamaches had been gone.
Honoré fell asleep against Ruth, with Rosa nestled on his lap, while the girls sat with Myrna and Clara.
Gabri held Idola, gently rocking her in his arms.
“I want one,” he said quietly to Olivier.
“You are one,” said Olivier.
Claude Dussault put down their suitcases as Monique drew back the curtains and threw open a window.
Their small stone home in Saint-Paul-de-Vence hadn’t been lived in for months.
Dussault had been busy in Paris with the investigations into GHS. And answering questions into his own behavior.
Finally it was decided that he should, for the good of the Préfecture, step aside. Step down. Step back. Way back.