A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(112)

“I was thinking that might be another motive,” said Jean-Guy. “To kill Vivienne.”

“How?” asked Isabelle.

“If Tracey knew he was about to be a success?” said Jean-Guy. “He sure wouldn’t want to share it with Vivienne.”

“But isn’t ‘success’ relative? Even successful ceramicists couldn’t make much money, could they?” asked Isabelle.

“They can make hundreds of thousands, even millions, if they become collectible,” said Jean-Guy, as though he knew that from experience.

“Does she think Tracey’s likely to be that successful?” asked Armand.

“Not sure. She said it’s possible. Takes a lot of luck, of course.”

“I wonder,” said Isabelle, then lapsed into silence.

“Wonder what?”

“If a scandal could be considered luck.”

“A scandal like being a murder suspect. Shit.” Beauvoir broke away and jogged up to Dominica Oddly. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“If an up-and-coming artist is accused of murder, then let go on a technicality, what would that do to his career?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. Staring at him. “You’re not seriously thinking—”

“The question. Please answer it.”

They’d stopped, and now Armand and Isabelle joined them.

Dominica Oddly thought about it, but not for long. “He wouldn’t be the first artist to benefit from something like that. The cult of celebrity can be pretty perverse. Just look at—”

“Tracey,” Jean-Guy reminded her, before the lecture began. “Would getting away with murder help him?”

She nodded. “Probably. But how would he know he’d get away with it?”

“Maybe it didn’t matter,” said Isabelle.

“Would matter to him,” said Oddly. “His art might start selling for tens of thousands, or more, but what good would it do him if he’s executed?”

“We don’t actually kill prisoners in Canada,” said Lacoste.

“Are you sure?” asked Oddly.

“What’re you thinking?” Gamache asked Lacoste.

“Who would benefit,” she whispered to Gamache and Beauvoir, “if Vivienne was murdered and her suddenly famous artist husband was convicted?”

“Pauline Vachon,” said Beauvoir. “You think she’s that clever?”

“You met her, what do you think?”



* * *



Myrna and Billy helped Clara clean up, though most of it had already been done by the others.

“You okay?” Myrna asked her friend.

“Just fine.”

“Pour yourself a vat of wine, cut a huge slice of chocolate cake, sit by the fire, and know you’re loved. You and your art. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll walk you home,” said Billy as they put on their coats to leave.

“That’s all right. It’s not far.”

“I know. I’d like to.” He put on his gloves and hat and was glad Myrna couldn’t see his face.

“Billy—” Myrna began as they walked along the road.

“Don’t say it. Please.”

If only he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine their lives together. What might have been. The quiet nights. Reading. Cooking. Having friends over. Meals in the bistro. Together.

Growing old. Together.

He left her at her door, then got in his truck and drove home. Alone.



* * *



Clara took Myrna’s advice, as she almost always did.

It helps, she thought, as she cut herself a huge wedge of cake and carried it into the living room, to have a wise friend. Who can bake.

As she sat in front of the fireplace with Leo, Clara tried to clear her mind. But found it cluttered with Dominica Oddly. And that review.

Leo placed his magnificent head on her lap, and they both stared into the roiling fire.



* * *



“I’ve been thinking about Tracey and his pottery,” said Isabelle.

“Yes?” said Beauvoir.

They’d walked over to Gabri and Olivier’s bed-and-breakfast, where Isabelle had “her” room. With its familiar four-poster bed and eiderdown comforter, the fireplace laid and ready to be lit. The armchair in front of it. With a carafe of tawny port, a glass, and a small box of her favorite chocolates.

While Dominica Oddly had gone upstairs to work, Isabelle had deposited her bag in her room and returned to the living room of the B&B to join the others.

And work.

“Isn’t that just a little bit of a stretch?” asked Isabelle. “To think Tracey killed his wife so that his art would be noticed? Besides, he’s not smart enough to think that far ahead. I doubt he even knows what he’s having for lunch most days.”

“Tracey couldn’t plan it,” Jean-Guy agreed as he poked the fire, then grabbed a chocolate chip cookie off the tray on the sideboard and joined the others. “But like we said, Pauline Vachon might.”

Isabelle nodded. “I can see her planning it. But really, would she kill Vivienne on the off chance it would give Tracey’s career a boost? Seems a pretty drastic marketing tool. I don’t believe it.”