it’s not just the title, is it,” said Benedict. “It’s the money too. Millions. I wonder if there’s harm in believing in a fortune that doesn’t exist.”
“‘You have a lot to learn,’ young man,” said Ruth, quoting the movie. “‘And I hope you never learn it.’”
CHAPTER 14
“So what’re you going to do?” asked Annie as their car crept carefully down the hill into Three Pines. “Are you going to tell him?”
“Which part?” asked Jean-Guy. “The investigation or—”
He could feel the rear of the vehicle begin to slide sideways on the snow and ice, and he stopped talking to concentrate. His eyes sharp on the road, his focus complete. His hands gentle on the steering wheel.
He glanced swiftly into the rearview mirror and saw Honoré buckled into his car seat, looking out the window.
“I think it’s up to us to decide first, don’t you?” he finally said as the car made it safely down the hill, and they drove around the village green.
Walls of snow mounted on either side so that nothing beyond was visible except the glow of hidden homes.
Jean-Guy had never seen anything like it. It was both beautiful and alarming. Comforting and ominous. As though nature were trying to decide whether to protect or consume the little village.
He pulled the car up to the opening chiseled into the banks, a snow tunnel leading to the Gamache home. But instead of getting out, Annie sat there, her face lit by the headlights bouncing back from the snow.
“It’ll be all right,” she said, and, leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek.
It was an act of such simplicity it would have been easy for Jean-Guy to overlook the glory of it.
To be kissed. For no reason.
For a man of reason, it was staggering.
* * *
“How did the meeting go yesterday?” asked Gamache as he and Jean-Guy settled into the study.
They’d had their dinner. Shepherd’s pie and chocolate cake. Honoré was asleep in his room.
The Gamaches’ unexpected guest, the young man with the weird hair, Benedict, had gone off to the bistro for a few drinks. He’d spent much of the time, after being introduced to Annie and Jean-Guy, playing with Honoré. Once Honoré was put to bed for the night and they’d had dinner, Benedict asked if they’d mind if he went out for a beer.
“Nice kid,” said Jean-Guy.
“Yes,” said Armand.
“What do you know about him?” Jean-Guy’s voice was casual, but Armand knew him too well to be fooled.
“You mean, is he likely to kill us in our sleep?”
“Just wondering,” said Jean-Guy.
It wasn’t as though this Benedict had been found hitchhiking, wearing a ski mask and carrying a machete. But really, what did Armand know about him?
“I did a quick check,” said his father-in-law. “He is who he says he is. A builder. Lives in Montréal, apparently with a girlfriend.”
“Apparently?”
“Well, that is a little odd,” admitted Armand as they took their seats. “When the power and phones were out, Benedict didn’t seem at all stressed about not being able to contact his girlfriend to tell her where he was and that he was safe. Or in making sure she was okay. If it was me, cut off from Reine-Marie in a storm, I’d move heaven and earth to make sure she was safe.”
Jean-Guy nodded. The same for him and Annie. It wasn’t even a choice, it was instinctive.
“Maybe they’re not in love,” he said. “You think it’s something else?”
“I think she might be a convenient fabrication,” said Armand with a smile. “I think he’s a handsome kid who needs a way to get out of uncomfortable situations.”
“So he created a fictional girlfriend?” He looked at his father-in-law closely. “Don’t tell me you once had one?”
Armand laughed. “When I was young, I had quite a few. Getting a real one was the problem.”
“I can see why you’d have trouble, but why would this kid make up a girlfriend? I doubt he has any problem getting girls.”
“And that might be why. This way he can fend off unwanted advances.”
“The fictional lover. Clever.”
He wished he’d thought of that, back in the day. Invitations to social events he didn’t want to attend, declined. Blamed on the girlfriend.
Damn. If it was true, that Benedict was smarter than he looked. Though that would not be difficult.
“Well, if she doesn’t exist, how do you explain that haircut?” Jean-Guy asked. “She did it, didn’t she?”
“It is hard to explain. You didn’t see the sweater he was wearing yesterday. She’d made it out of steel wool.”
“Then she must exist.