Kingdom of the Blind (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #14) - Louise Penny Page 0,5
tossing it over his shoulder in a move so rakish that Myrna found herself smiling.
Whoever this was, he was as vibrant as their dead host was desiccated.
Dr. Seuss meets Charles Dickens.
The Cat in the Hat was about to enter Bleak House.
There was a knock on the door, then he walked in. Looking around, his eyes fell on Gamache, who’d gotten to his feet.
“Allô, bonjour,” said the cheerful young man. “Monsieur Mercier?”
He put out his hand. Gamache took it.
“Non. Armand Gamache.”
They shook hands. The newcomer’s hand was callused, strong. His grip was firm and friendly. A confident handshake without being forced.
“Benedict Pouliot. Salut. Hope I’m not late. Traffic over the bridge was awful.”
“This is Maître Mercier,” said Armand, stepping aside to reveal the notary.
“Hello, sir,” said the young man, shaking the notary’s hand.
“And I’m Myrna Landers,” said Myrna, shaking his hand and smiling, Armand thought, just a little too broadly.
Though it was hard not to smile at the handsome young man. Not that he was laughable. But he was affable and almost completely without affectation. His eyes were thoughtful and bright.
Benedict took off his hat and smoothed his blond hair, which was cut in a fashion Myrna had never seen before and hoped never to see again. It was buzz-cut short on the top then, at his ears, it became long. Very long.
“So,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation and perhaps because it was so cold. “Where do we begin?”
They all looked at Mercier, who continued to stare at Benedict.
“It’s the haircut, isn’t it?” said the young man. “My girlfriend did it. She’s taking a stylist course, and the final exam is to create a new cut. What do you think?”
He ran his hands through it as the others remained silent.
“Looks great,” said Myrna, confirming for Armand that love, or infatuation, was indeed blind.
“Did she also make your hat?” Armand asked, pointing to what was now a large red-and-white lump of wet wool at the end of the table.
“Yes. Final marks in her design class. Do you like it?”
Armand gave what he hoped might be a noncommittal grunt.
“You sent the letter, didn’t you, sir?” Benedict said to Mercier. “Now, do you want to show me around first, or should we look at plans? Is this your house?” he asked Armand and Myrna. “To be honest, I’m not sure it can be saved. It’s in pretty rough shape.”
Gamache and Myrna looked at each other and realized what he was saying.
“We’re not together,” said Myrna, laughing. “Like you, we were invited here by Maître Mercier.”
She brought out her letter, as did Armand, and they placed them on the table.
Benedict bent over, then straightened up. “I’m confused. I thought I was here to bid on a job.”
He put his own letter on the table. It was, except for his name and address, identical to the other two.
“What do you do?” Myrna asked, and Benedict handed her one of his cards.
It was bloodred and diamond shaped, with something unreadable embossed.
“Your girlfriend?” asked Myrna.
“Yes. Her business class.”
“Final marks?”
“Oui.”
Myrna handed it to Gamache, who had to put on his reading glasses and tip the card toward the window to have any hope of reading the bumps.
“‘Benedict Pouliot. Builder,’” he read out loud, then turned it over. “There’s no phone number or email.”
“No. Marks were deducted. So am I here to bid on a job?”
“No,” said Mercier. “Sit.”
Benedict sat.
More like a puppy than a cat, really, thought Gamache as he took the seat next to Benedict.
“Then why am I here?” Benedict asked.
“We want to know too,” said Myrna, ripping her eyes off Benedict and directing them back to the notary.
CHAPTER 3
“State your name, please.”
“You know my name, Marie,” said Jean-Guy. “We’ve worked together for years.”
“Please, sir,” she said, her voice pleasant but firm.
Jean-Guy stared at her, then at the two other officers assembled in the boardroom.
“Jean-Guy Beauvoir.”
“Rank?”
He gave her a filthy look now, but she just held his stare.
“Acting head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec.”
“Merci.”
The inspector gazed at the laptop in front of her, then back at him.
“This isn’t about you, you’ll be happy to hear.” She smiled, but he did not. “Your suspension was lifted several months ago. But we still have serious questions about the decisions and actions of Monsieur Gamache.”
“Chief Superintendent Gamache,” said Beauvoir. “And how can you still have questions? You’ve asked, and he’s answered, every possible question. You must’ve cleared him by now? It’s been almost six months. Come on. Enough.”