A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(56)

Ruth. Not Ruth. Please, please, not Ruth. Please, Ruth.

“—with Clara Morrow.”

Amelia looked at Ruth. Did the old poet seem surprised? Maybe even a little disappointed?

Ruth scowled at her and gave her the finger.

Perhaps not.

“Cadet Nathaniel Smythe will be staying with Ruth Zardo.”

“Oh, shit,” they both said at once.

“Now, Cadet Laurin.” Olivier turned to Jacques. “Can you use your superior skills to work out where Commander Gamache has billeted you?”

Jacques looked at him. In the background, Myrna was staring wide-eyed at Olivier.

“He didn’t,” she said, and saw Olivier nod.

“Cadet Laurin will be staying with Myrna Landers.”

“I won’t do it,” said Jacques.

“It’s either that, or that.” Olivier gestured toward the bench on the village green, glistening with melting snow.

“Or I could leave. We don’t have to stay.”

“Absolutely,” said Olivier. “I can’t imagine anyone here trying to stop you. But it’s a long walk back to Saint-Alphonse.”

“Now who’s the coward?” asked Myrna. Her horror had turned to a certain satisfaction.

He squared his shoulders. “I’m not afraid.” Then he turned to Huifen and whispered, “Can we trade?”

Huifen shook her head.

“Nice,” said Myrna.

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t trade me in an instant.”

“Trading isn’t what I have in mind for you.”

“Why do I get him?” Ruth demanded. “He’s like a hole in the room.”

She pointed a gnarled finger at Nathaniel.

“Hey,” said Nathaniel. “I’m a great guest.”

“Right, if I want to play an endless game of hide and seek. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathaniel demanded.

“Oh, go fffff—”

Now it was Myrna’s turn to lay a hand on her arm.

“Who’s Clara Morrow?” asked Amelia.

“The artist,” said Huifen, and gestured toward her head, mimicking abandoned hair. “She drove us down. Seems nice.”

Olivier, somewhat more helpful, gestured out the window to where Clara was walking her new puppy, though it looked from a distance like she was dragging an empty leash through the thin layer of snow on the village green.

Amelia sighed. Nice. In her world, it was code for dim-witted.

*

Armand Gamache waved at Clara, who picked up the puppy and walked over.

“Who’s that?” asked Gélinas. “She looks familiar.”

“Yes, it’s hard to mistake Clara Morrow for anyone else.”

“Clara Morrow, the artist? The one who does portraits? She did the old and forgotten Virgin Mary. An incredible work. I could barely look at it and I could barely look away. Though I think my favorite is The Three Graces. I saw her solo show at the Musée d’art contemporain.”

“She lives over there.” Gamache pointed to a small house across the green.

They walked forward, meeting Clara halfway. After putting the puppy down, she was introduced to Paul Gélinas, who seemed more than a little starstruck.

“Have you met Leo?” Clara asked Armand.

“Non. Bonjour, Leo,” said Armand, kneeling down.

Leo was, he had to admit, just about the most adorable puppy he’d ever seen. He had light brown fur, almost yellow, and rounded ears that seemed made of felt. They were perked forward. His tail wagged and he stood with his legs firm and straight. Eager and bright-eyed.

Like a very, very small lion.

Was it possible Clara got a lion and they got a weasel?

But no, Leo was definitely a dog. Of unknown breed, but a dog.

“How’s Gracie?” Clara asked, and Armand searched her face for any hint of a smile.

It was not an exhaustive search. There was more than a little amusement.

He got to his feet as Gélinas squatted down and played with Leo.

“She’s wonderful,” said Armand.

“Really?”

“Well, she’s peeing everywhere. But then, so did Daniel and Annie when we first brought them home. Granted, we were pretty sure they were human. It’s not totally clear what Gracie is.”

“Does it matter?” asked Clara.

“Obviously not to you,” said Armand. “Are they really litter mates?”

He looked down at the very handsome Leo.

“Well, they were all found in the same bin. I guess it’s possible a little raccoon cub crawled in there with them. Or maybe a skunk.”

“Right,” said Armand. “How did we end up with Gracie? Was she the only one left?”

“Not at all. Reine-Marie was given the pick of the litter. I think Billy Williams is a little sweet on her. She chose Gracie.”

Of course she did, thought Armand. The runt. He’d have done the same thing.

“How’s Henri adjusting?” Clara asked.

“He looks at her as though she’s an hors d’oeuvre we dropped on the floor.”

Clara grimaced, then turned to leave. “Well, good luck.”