“How could Antoinette have been involved with the gun?” Myrna asked.
“I don’t know and Gabri couldn’t tell me,” said Clara. “It’s strange that no one remembers it being built. You’d think some of the older residents might remember. Ruth, for instance.”
“Ruth? You expect Ruth to remember anything?”
“She is a bit of a loose cannon herself,” Clara admitted.
“Maybe she was left behind by the builders,” said Myrna. “A failed first attempt.”
Clara gave a short laugh, then sighed. “I wish we knew more. It’s so easy to start imagining the worst.”
“It doesn’t take much imagination,” said Myrna, her eyes drifting past Clara and out the window.
“What do you see?” Clara asked, turning to look.
She saw the village green, the three tall pine trees, the homes. She saw storm clouds and shafts of light and a gaggle of hungry birds and an elderly man sitting on the bench feeding them.
“I see answers,” said Myrna.
* * *
“I’ll get it,” called Reine-Marie. She was in the study doing some research when she heard a tentative knock on the door.
It was so tentative she thought she must’ve misheard. But then she heard it again. A more confident rap. When she opened the door, Brian Fitzpatrick was standing there.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Is it too early?”
“No, of course not. Come in. You must be cold.”
The clouds that had moved in overnight threatening rain had brought with them a cold front with winds and a chill that burrowed under the skin and into the bones.
“When Gabri came to pick me up last night, I tossed a few things into a suitcase, but I wasn’t thinking straight,” said Brian, hugging himself. “I have three pairs of shoes, but only one pair of socks. And no sweater or jacket.”
“Well, we have plenty of clothes we can lend you.” She kissed him on both cold cheeks.
“May I see your husband?”
“Of course.”
She led him into the kitchen where the woodstove was lit and a pot of coffee was perking. “Armand.”
Armand looked up from his notepad, and Henri looked up from the stuffed moose he was chewing. Both got up immediately.
“Brian,” said Armand, shaking the man’s hand. “Sit down. I was just writing down some thoughts and then I was going to go over to the B and B to see you.”
He ushered Brian to a comfortable chair by the fire while Reine-Marie poured a coffee.
“Did you have breakfast?” she asked. “I can make some bacon and eggs.”
“Merci. Gabri made me some toast. I’m not actually all that hungry.”
“I’m so sorry about Antoinette,” said Reine-Marie, bringing over the coffee and some orange juice. “How are you?”
She couldn’t not ask, but the answer was obvious in his hollowed-out look. He just shook his head and lifted one hand, then dropped it to the arm of the chair.
It was also obvious that Brian wanted to speak to Armand alone.
Reine-Marie went upstairs and brought down sweaters and socks and warm flannel pajamas of Armand’s for Brian. She put them on the table by the door along with a warm jacket, then called to Henri and, clipping the leash onto the shepherd, they went for a walk.
“You heard us last night,” said Armand after Reine-Marie had left.
Brian nodded. “I couldn’t sleep. I heard you knock on the CSIS woman’s door and followed you downstairs. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Antoinette’s uncle was one of the architects of that gun we found in the woods,” said Gamache. No use hiding it since Brian had heard it all the night before anyway.
“Uncle Guillaume?” asked Brian. “But he was an engineer. He built overpasses.”
“Antoinette talked about him then?”
“Not much, and to be honest, I didn’t really ask. She seemed to like him, and he obviously liked her. You think she was killed because of him?”
“It’s possible. We think he might have kept the designs for that gun and someone went there to find them, maybe thinking she wasn’t home.”
“They’re worth a lot of money. I heard you say that last night.”
Gamache nodded. “That’s right. Do you have any idea at all whether those papers were in the house?”
Brian shook his head. “I feel useless. I think I should be able to hand them over to you, but all of this is news to me. I have no idea what’s happening. Did Antoinette know what her uncle really did?”
