A Fatal Grace

He didn’t want to go back into that dark place, but he knew now he’d have to.

CC de Poitiers had bought it. And that spoke more eloquently about the woman than any number of adjectives.

‘She used it only on weekends,’ Ruth continued when her bombshell proved a dud. ‘Came down with her husband and daughter. Now, there were a couple of losers. At least CC had some spark to her. Some life. Those two looked like great lumpen masses of indulgence. Fat and lazy. And dull. Very dull.’

For Ruth Zardo, dull was one of the greatest insults. It ranked right up there with kind and nice.

‘What happened at the curling?’ Gamache asked.

Talking about CC’s family seemed to have angered Ruth. She became even more curt and abrupt.

‘She died.’

‘We’re going to need more than two words,’ Gamache said.

‘Em’s team was losing, as usual. Then CC died.’ Ruth sat back in her chair and glared at Gamache.

‘Don’t play games with me, Madame Zardo,’ he said pleasantly, contemplating her with interest. ‘Do we really have to do this again? Don’t you ever tire of it?’

‘Of anger? It’s as good as this.’ She raised her glass to him in a mock salute.

‘But why are you angry?’

‘Doesn’t murder anger you?’

‘But you’re not angry at that,’ he said thoughtfully, almost kindly. ‘Or at least, not exclusively. There’s something else.’

‘Clever boy. I bet you heard a lot of that at school. What time is it?’

Gamache seemed unfazed by the abrupt change of topic. He looked at his watch.

‘Quarter to five.’

‘I have to go in a few minutes. Appointment.’

‘What happened at the curling?’ Gamache tried again. Lemieux held his breath. He didn’t know why, but this seemed an important moment. The old poet stared at Gamache, her face and figure full of loathing. Gamache simply stared back, his face open and thoughtful and strong.

Ruth Zardo blinked. Literally. It seemed to Lemieux she’d closed her eyes in rage then opened them to a new world. Or at least a new attitude. She took a deep breath and nodded her gray hair. She smiled slightly.

‘You bring out the worst in me, Chief Inspector.’

‘You mean you’re about to be decent?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘My apologies, madame.’ Gamache rose momentarily from his plastic chair and bowed. She inclined her head toward him.

Lemieux wasn’t at all sure what had just happened. He thought perhaps it was some weird Anglo code, a dance of aggression and submission. This rarely happened in francophone encounters, in his limited experience. The French, he felt, were far more open about their feelings. The English? Well, they were devious. Never really knew what they were thinking, never mind feeling.

‘I was in the stands, next to Gabri. The curling had been going on for a while. Em was losing, as I said before. Poor Em always loses. It got so bad she once called her team Be Calm. At some point Gabri poked me in the side. Someone shouted that there’d been an accident.’

Ruth described the scene for them, replaying it in her head. Swaying back and forth, trying to get a clear view of what was causing the commotion. All the bulky parkas and tuques and scarves blocking her view, then the stands clearing as people began shuffling, then walking and finally running toward the crowd gathering near the overturned chair.

Ruth had made her way through, expecting to see Kaye collapsed there, shouting, ‘Fire chief coming through, clear the way.’

Of course, there wasn’t a fire, nor did Ruth expect to find one. Still, she’d learned that most people, while claiming to hate authority, actually yearned for someone to take charge. To tell them what to do.

CC was flat on her back. Dead. Ruth knew that immediately. But she still had to try.

‘Olivier, you do the massage. Peter? Where’s Peter Morrow?’

‘Here, here.’ He was making his way through the crowd, having had to sprint across the lake from the curling rink. ‘What’s happened?’

‘You give her mouth-to-mouth.’ To his credit Peter didn’t hesitate. He fell to his knees beside Olivier, ready to go, both men staring up at Ruth. But there was one more order she had to give.

‘Gabri, find her husband. Clara?’

‘Here.’

‘Find the daughter.’

Then she turned her back on them, certain her orders would be followed, and started counting.

‘Did you have any idea what had happened to her?’ Gamache asked, bringing her back to this world.