“Oh my God,” came the hushed response.
“We need to close it down, now.”
“Got it.”
“And Isabelle. I’ve handed in my resignation.”
“Yes sir. I’ll tell the others. They’ll want to know.”
“Good luck,” he said.
“And you? Where’re you going?”
“Back to Three Pines. I left something there.” He paused before he spoke again. “Can you find Jean-Guy, Isabelle? Make sure he’s all right today?”
“I’ll make sure he’s far away from what’s about to happen.”
“Merci.”
He hung up, called Annie to warn her to stay away from downtown, then got back in his car.
* * *
Sylvain Francoeur sat in the backseat of the black SUV. Tessier sat beside him, and in the rearview mirror Francoeur could see the unmarked van, carrying two more agents and the equipment they’d need.
Francoeur had been happy to get out of the city, given what was about to happen. Far from the trouble and far from any possible blame. None of it would stick to him, as long as he got to the village in time.
It was coming down to the wire.
“Gamache didn’t go to headquarters,” Tessier whispered, checking his device. “He was tracked to east-end Montréal. The Villeneuve place. Should we pick him up?”
“Why bother?” Francoeur had a smile on his face. This was perfect. “We searched it. He won’t find anything there. He’s wasting what little time’s left. He thinks we’ll follow him. Let him think that.”
Tessier hadn’t been able to find Three Pines on any map, but it didn’t matter. They knew approximately where it was, from where Gamache’s signal always disappeared. But “approximately” wasn’t good enough for the careful Francoeur. He needed no delays, no unknowns. So he’d found a certainty. Someone who did know where the village could be found.
Francoeur looked over at the haggard man behind the wheel.
Jean-Guy Beauvoir held tight to the steering wheel, his face blank, as he drove them straight to Three Pines.
* * *
Olivier looked out the window. From Myrna’s loft they had a panoramic view over the village, past the three huge pine trees and up the main road out of Three Pines.
“Nothing,” he said, and returned to sit beside Gabri, who put his large hand on Olivier’s slender knee.
“I canceled choir practice,” said Gabri. “Probably shouldn’t have. Best to keep everything normal.” He looked at Olivier. “I might’ve blown it.”
“It?” asked Nichol.
After a surprised and strained pause, Gabri laughed.
“Atta girl,” said Ruth.
And then the quiet descended again. The weight of waiting.
“Let me tell you a story,” said Myrna, pulling her chair closer to the woodstove.
“We’re not four-year-olds,” said Ruth, but she put Rosa on her lap and turned to Myrna.
Olivier and Gabri, Clara, Gilles and Agent Nichol, all moved their chairs closer, forming a circle in front of the warm fire. Jérôme Brunel wandered over, but Thérèse stayed by the window, looking out. Henri lay beside Ruth and gazed up at Rosa.
“Is it a ghost story?” asked Gabri.
“Of sorts,” said Myrna. She picked up a thick envelope from the coffee table. Written in a careful hand were the words: For Myrna.
An identical envelope lay on the table. It said, For Inspector Isabelle Lacoste. Please Deliver by Hand.
Myrna had found them dropped through her mailbox early that morning. Over coffee, she’d read the one addressed to her. But the envelope for Isabelle Lacoste remained sealed, though she suspected it said almost exactly the same thing.
“Once upon a time, a poor farmer and his wife prayed for children,” said Myrna. “Their land was barren, and so, apparently was she. So desperate was the farmer’s wife for children that she traveled all the way to Montréal, to the Oratory, to visit Brother André. She crawled up the long, stone stairs, on her knees. Reciting the Hail Mary as she went—”
“Barbaric,” muttered Ruth.
Myrna paused to look over at the old poet. “Now, pay attention. This is important later.”
Ruth, or Rosa, muttered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” But they listened.
“And a miracle occurred,” Myrna resumed. “Eight months later, on the day after Brother André died, five babies were born in a tiny farmhouse, in the middle of Québec, delivered by a midwife and the farmer himself. At first it was a terrible shock, but then the farmer picked up his daughters and held them and he discovered a love like none he’d ever experienced. As did his wife. It was the happiest day of their lives. And it was the last happy day.”
