“You run the risk of him never leaving, monsieur,” smiled Gamache as the shopkeeper produced a biscuit.
“Fine with me.” He fed Henri the treat and rubbed his ears to groans from the dog.
It was then Gamache noticed the cushions on the floor and the name “Maggie” on the side of a food bowl. But no dog.
“How long ago?” Gamache asked.
“Three days,” said the man, standing up and turning away. Gamache waited. He recognized this movement too.
“Now,” the man finally said, turning back to Gamache and Henri. “You said you wanted to talk about Augustin Renaud. Are you a reporter?”
Gamache looked as though he might be, but not for the television or radio or even a daily paper. Perhaps for an intellectual, monthly magazine. One of those obscure university presses or journals specializing in dying ideas and the dead people who’d championed them.
He wore a shirt and tie under a cardigan the color of butterscotch. His slacks were charcoal gray corduroy. If the shopkeeper noticed the scar above Gamache’s left temple he didn’t mention it.
“Non, I’m not a reporter, I’m helping the police but in a private capacity.”
Henri was now leaning against the little shopkeeper, whose hand was down by his side kneading the dog’s head.
“Are you Alain Doucet?” Gamache asked.
“Are you Armand Gamache?” Doucet asked.
Both men nodded.
“Tea?” Monsieur Doucet asked. Within minutes the two men were sitting at the back of the tiny store in a cave of books, of words, of ideas and stories. And Monsieur Doucet, after pouring them fragrant cups of tea and offering his guest a digestive cookie, was telling his own story.
“Augustin came in once a fortnight at least, sometimes more often. Sometimes I’d call if I got in a book I knew he’d be interested in.”
“What interested him?”
“Champlain, of course. Anything to do with the early colony, other explorers, maps. He loved maps.”
“Was there anything he found here that particularly excited him?”
“Well, now, that’s hard to say. Everything seemed to excite him, and yet he said almost nothing. I knew him for forty years but we never sat down like this, never had a conversation. He’d buy books and be animated and enthusiastic, but when I tried to ask him about it he’d get quiet, defensive. He was a singular man.”
“He was that,” said Gamache, taking a bite of his digestive cookie. “Did you like him?”
“He was a good client. Never argued about price, but then I never tried to take advantage.”
“But did you like him?” It was funny, Gamache had asked this question of all the used-bookstore owners and all had been evasive.
“I didn’t know him but I’ll tell you something, I had no desire to get to know him better.”
“Why not?”
“He was a fanatic and they scare me. I think he’d do just about anything if he thought it would get him an inch closer to Champlain’s body. So, I was civil, but kept my distance.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”
“He had a knack for annoying people, but you don’t kill someone just because they’re annoying. The place would be littered with bodies.”
Gamache smiled and took a leisurely sip of his strong tea, thinking.
“Do you know if Renaud had a current idea? Some new theory about where Champlain might be buried?”
“You mean the Literary and Historical Society?”
“I mean any place.”
Monsieur Doucet thought then shook his head.
“Did you buy books from them?”
“The Lit and His? Sure. Last summer. They had a big sale. I bought three or four lots.”
Gamache put his mug down. “What was in them?”
“Frankly? I don’t know. Normally I’d go through them but it was the summer and I was too busy with the flea market. Lots of tourists, lots of book collectors. I didn’t have time to go through the boxes, so I just put them out at my stall. Renaud came by and bought a couple.”
“Books?”
“Boxes.”
“Did he go through them before buying?”
“No, just bought. People are like that, especially collectors. They want to go through them privately. I think that’s part of the fun. I got another couple of lots from the Lit and His later, sometime this past fall, before they decided to stop the sale. I called Renaud and asked if he was interested. At first he said no then he showed up about three weeks ago asking if I still had them.”
