Kingdom of the Blind (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #14) - Louise Penny Page 0,4

off in the house and with it the heat, leaving the air cold and stale. Like a walk-in freezer.

The notary had kept his coat on, and Armand could see it was smudged with dirt. Though Armand’s was too. It was near impossible to get into and out of a vehicle in a Québec winter without getting smeared by dirt and salt.

But Maître Mercier’s coat wasn’t just dirty, it was stained. And worn.

There was an air of neglect about him. The man, like his clothing, appeared threadbare. But there was also a dignity there, bordering on haughtiness.

“Myrna Landers,” said Myrna, stepping forward and offering her hand.

Maître Mercier took it but dropped it quickly. More a touch than a handshake.

Gamache noticed that Myrna’s attitude had changed slightly. No longer fearful, she looked at their host with what appeared to be pity.

There were some creatures who naturally evoked that reaction. Not given armor, or a poison bite, or the ability to fly or even run, what they had was equally powerful.

The ability to look so helpless, so pathetic, that they could not possibly be a threat. Some even adopted them. Protected them. Nurtured them. Took them in.

And almost always regretted it.

It was far too early to tell if Maître Mercier was just such a creature, but he did have that immediate effect, even on someone as experienced and astute as Myrna Landers.

Even on himself, Gamache realized. He could feel his defenses lowering in the presence of this sad little man.

Though they did not drop completely.

Gamache took off his tuque and, smoothing his graying hair, he looked around.

The outside door opened directly into the kitchen, as they often did in farmhouses. It looked unchanged since the sixties. Maybe even fifties. The cabinets were made of plywood painted a cheery blue the color of cornflowers, the counters of chipped yellow laminate and the floors of scuffed linoleum.

Anything of value had been taken. The appliances were gone, the walls were stripped clean except for a mint-green clock above the sink, that had long since stopped.

For a moment he imagined the room as it might once have been. Shiny, not new but clean and cared for. People moving about, preparing a Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. Children chasing one another around like wild colts, with parents trying to tame them. Then giving up.

He noticed lines on the doorjamb. Marking heights. Before time had stopped.

Yes, he thought, this room, this home, was happy once. Cheerful once.

He looked again at their host. The notary who did and did not exist. Had this been his home? Had he been happy, cheerful, once? If so, there was no sign of it. It had all been stripped away.

Maître Mercier motioned to the kitchen table, inviting them to sit. Which they did.

“Before we begin, I’d like you to sign this.”

Mercier pushed a piece of paper toward Gamache.

Armand leaned back in his chair, away from the paper. “Before we begin,” he said, “I’d like to know who you are and why we’re here.”

“So would I,” said Myrna.

“In due course,” said Mercier.

It was such a strange thing to say, both as a formal and dated turn of phrase and in its complete dismissal of their request. A not-unreasonable request either, from people who didn’t have to be there.

Mercier looked and sounded like a character from Dickens. And not the hero. Gamache wondered if Myrna felt the same way.

The notary placed a pen on the paper and nodded to Gamache, who did not pick it up.

“Listen,” said Myrna, laying a large hand on Mercier’s and feeling him spasm. “Dear.” Her voice was calm, warm, clear. “You tell us now or I’m leaving. And I’m assuming you don’t want that.”

Gamache pushed the paper back across the table toward the notary.

Myrna patted Mercier’s hand, and Mercier stared back at her.

“Now,” she said. “How did you rise from the dead?”

Mercier looked at her like she was the crazy one, then his eyes shifted, and both Gamache and Myrna turned to follow his gaze out the window.

Another vehicle had pulled up. A pickup truck. And out hopped a young man, his mitts falling into the snow. But he swiftly stooped and picked them up.

Armand caught Myrna’s eye.

The newest arrival wore a long red-and-white-striped hat. So long that it tapered to a pom-pommed tail that trailed down his back and dragged in the snow as he stepped away from his truck.

Noticing this, the young man lifted the end of the tuque and wrapped it once around his neck like a scarf before