Kingdom of the Blind (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #14) - Louise Penny Page 0,2

he watched, two deep furrows formed between Gamache’s brows.

He was not good at understanding the faces faces made. He saw the lines but couldn’t read them. He thought Gamache was angry, but it could have been simply concentration. Or surprise. He supposed it could even have been joy.

But he doubted that.

It was snowing more heavily now, but Gamache had not put on his gloves. They’d fallen to the ground when he’d gotten out of the car. It was how most Québécois lost mitts and gloves and even hats. They rested on laps in the car and were forgotten when it came time to get out. In spring the land was littered with dog shit, worms, and sodden mitts and gloves and tuques.

Armand Gamache stood in the falling snow, his bare hand to his ear. Gripping a phone and listening.

And when it was his turn to talk, Gamache bowed his head, his knuckles white as he tightened his hold on the phone, or from incipient frostbite. Then, taking a few steps away from his car, he turned his back to the wind and snow, and he spoke.

The man couldn’t hear what was being said, but then one phrase caught a gust and made its way across the snowy yard, past possessions once prized. And into the house. Once prized.

“You’ll regret this.”

And then some other movement caught his attention. Another car was pulling in to the yard.

The second of les invités.

CHAPTER 2

“Armand?”

The smile of recognition and slight relief froze on her face as she took in his expression.

His movement as he’d turned to face her had been almost violent. His body tense, prepared. As though bracing for a possible attack.

While she was adept at reading faces and understood body language, she could not quite get the expression on his face. Except for the most obvious.

Surprise.

But there was more there. Far more.

And then it was gone. His body relaxed, and as she watched, Armand spoke a single word into his phone, tapped on it, then put it into his pocket.

The last expression to leave that familiar face, before the veneer of civility covered it completely, was something that surprised her even more.

Guilt.

And then the smile appeared.

“For God’s sake, Myrna. What’re you doing here?”

* * *

Armand tried to modulate his smile, though it was difficult. His face was numb, almost frozen.

He didn’t want to look like a grinning fool, overdoing it. Giving himself away to this very astute woman. Who was also a neighbor.

A retired psychologist, Myrna Landers owned the bookstore in Three Pines and had become good friends with Reine-Marie and Armand.

He suspected she’d seen, and understood, his initial reaction. Though he also suspected she would not grasp the depth of it. Or ever guess who he’d been speaking with.

He had been so engrossed in his conversation. In choosing his words. In listening so closely to the words being spoken to him. And the tone. And modulating his own tone. That he’d allowed someone to sneak up on him.

Granted, it was a friend. But it could just as easily have not been a friend.

As a cadet, as a Sûreté agent. As an inspector. As head of homicide, then head of the whole force, he’d had to be alert. Trained himself to be alert, so that it became second nature. First nature.

It’s not that he walked through life expecting something bad to happen. His vigilance had simply become part of who he was, like his eye color. Like his scars.

Part DNA, part a consequence of his life.

Armand knew that the problem wasn’t that he’d let his guard down just now. Just the opposite. It had been up so high, so thick, that for a few crucial minutes nothing else penetrated. He’d missed hearing the car approach. He’d missed the soft tread of boots on snow.

Gamache, not a fearful man, felt a small lick of concern. This time the consequences were benign. But next?

The threat didn’t have to be monumental. If it were, it wouldn’t be missed. It was almost always something tiny.

A signal missed or misunderstood. A blind spot. A moment of distraction. A focus so sharp that everything around it blurred. A false assumption mistaken for fact.

And then—

“You okay?” Myrna Landers asked as Armand approached and kissed her on both cheeks.

“I’m fine.”

She could feel the cold on his face and the damp from the snow that had hit and melted. And she could feel the tension in the man, rumbling below the cheerful surface.

His smile created deep lines from the corners of his