expected anger, rage.
There was, certainly, some of that, but there was something else. Something even more powerful.
Concern. Far greater than Gamache’s anger was his caring.
Good God, thought the Commander. He’s going to try to talk sense into a junkie.
But the Commander was wrong.
“We will take a blood test,” said Gamache.
“You don’t have my permission,” said Amelia. “And unless you’re willing to tie me down, you won’t get anything out of me. And I’ll sue your ass.”
Gamache nodded. “I see.” He turned to the Commander. “I suggest Cadet Choquet wait outside, supervised, while we talk.”
* * *
Myrna set down her ham sandwich on croissant as the phone rang.
From deep in the armchair in her bookstore, she looked over at it. Hauling herself up with a grunt, she went to the counter.
“Oui, allô.”
“I spoke to the oldest son. Anthony Baumgartner. He’s arranged for his brother and sister to be at his place today at three o’clock.”
“Who is this?” asked Myrna pleasantly, though she knew perfectly well who it was.
“It’s Lucien Mercier. The notary.”
Out the bay window of her shop, Myrna Landers saw puffs of snow being lifted, then falling onto the massive banks that now circled the village green. They were so high, Myrna could no longer see who was doing the shoveling. Just the bright red shovel and the cloud of snow.
It felt as though she was ringed in by a newly formed mountain range.
“Three o’clock,” repeated Myrna, writing it down. She glanced at the clock. It was now one thirty. “Give me the address.” She wrote it too. “I’ll let Armand know to meet us there.”
Myrna replaced the phone and turned to look out the window again, watching the small eruptions all around the village green.
Then she put in a quick call to Armand, giving him the time and place of the meeting with the Baroness’s family. After wolfing down the last of her sandwich, she headed back outside.
“My turn,” said Myrna, taking the shovel from Benedict, who was both sweating and freezing.
“My God,” said Clara, leaning on her shovel and surveying the amount still left to be cleared. “Why do we live here?”
The day sparkled and their noses dripped and their feet froze, and their inner layer of clothing clung to their bodies in perspiration while their outer layer froze brittle. As they dug the village out.
Beside her, Myrna heard Clara muttering. Each word contained in a puff, accompanied by a shovelful of snow.
“Barbados.”
“St. Lucia,” said Myrna.
“Jamaica,” came the response.
“Antigua,” both women said, leaning into their job.
When they’d run out of Caribbean islands, they went on to food.
Mille-feuilles.
Lobster. Lemon posset.
These things they loved.
* * *
Armand hung up just as the Commander returned to his office.
“She’s sitting on the bench in the anteroom. My assistant is watching her.”
“Does your assistant have a Taser?”
The Commander gave one brief laugh and pulled a chair up to face Gamache.
“So what’re we going to do with her?”
“What would you suggest?” asked Gamache. “This is your academy. She’s one of your cadets.”
The Commander paused for a moment, watching the Chief Superintendent.
“Is she, Armand? She seems yours.”
Gamache smiled. “Do you think it was a mistake, letting her in?”
“A stoned former prostitute junkie who’s dealing opioids in the academy? Are you kidding? She’s a delight.”
Armand gave one, not altogether amused, chuckle.
“And yet not everyone sees it that way,” he said before his face grew serious again.
“You know, the truth is,” said the Commander, “until this happened, Cadet Choquet was a standout. Unconventional. Annoying as hell. But brilliant. And not given to deceit. I thought.”
The Commander looked at the door and imagined the once-promising young woman sitting on the other side.
Once again the fate of reckless youth was being decided by old men behind closed doors. Though neither man was old, they were probably, he thought, older than she would ever be.
Cadet Choquet hadn’t been just reckless. Chief Superintendent Gamache was right. Her actions had been ruinous. But ruins could, with great effort, be restored. Or they could collapse entirely, hurting everyone trying to help.
“What’re you thinking?” the Commander asked.
For Gamache was thinking something. Considering something.
“What would happen,” Gamache asked, “if we cut her loose?”
“Expel her, you mean.”
It was certainly one of the few options open to them.
He went through the possibilities. They could give Cadet Choquet a warning and forget this ever happened. Sweep it under an already fairly lumpy academy carpet.
Kids made mistakes and should not be handicapped the rest of their lives for them. Though this seemed considerably more than a “mistake.”
Or they could kick