A Fatal Grace - Page 75/127

In his palm Gamache held a glowing ball. A scene was painted on it. Three pine trees with snow heavy on the branches. Underneath was the word Noël, and below that, very lightly, was something else. A single capital letter.

L.

Gamache had found the Li Bien ball.

Peter Morrow looked as though he’d been cornered, and he had. When asked Clara had happily declared that the lovely ornament was the very first Christmas gift Peter had ever bought for her. Up until this year, she’d explained, they’d been too poor.

‘Or too cheap,’ said Ruth.

‘Where did you get it?’ Gamache asked, his voice polite, but with a firmness that demanded an answer.

‘I forget,’ Peter tried, but seeing the determination in Gamache’s eye he changed his mind. ‘I wanted to buy you something.’ Peter turned to Clara, trying to explain.

‘But?’ Clara could see where this was going.

‘Well, I was driving to Williamsburg to shop – ’

‘The Paris of the North,’ explained Gabri to Myrna.

‘Famous for its shops,’ agreed Myrna.

‘ – when I passed the dump, and—’

‘The dump?’ Clara exclaimed. ‘The dump?’

Now Lucy the dog started snaking between Clara’s legs, upset by the frequency Clara had achieved.

‘Careful, you’ll shatter the ball,’ said Ruth.

‘The dump.’ Clara’s voice deepened and she lowered her head, her eyes glowering at Peter who wished, as Ruth had earlier, that maybe the house could just explode now.

‘The Jacques Cousteau of dumpster diving has struck treasure again,’ said Gabri.

‘You found this,’ Gamache held the Li Bien ball up, ‘in the Williamsburg dump?’

Peter nodded. ‘I was just looking, just for fun. It was a mild day so everything wasn’t frozen together. I wasn’t there long and that thing just caught my eye. You can see why. Even now just by lamplight it’s glowing; you can imagine what it looked like in broad daylight. It was like a beacon. It was calling to me.’ He looked at Clara to see if maybe that would work. ‘I think I was meant to find it. Destiny.’

She remained unconvinced of the divinity of his gift.

‘When was this?’ Gamache asked.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Remember, Mr Morrow.’ They all looked at Gamache now. The man seemed to have grown and now radiated an authority and insistence that silenced even Ruth. Peter thought a moment.

‘It was a few days before Christmas. I know, it was the day after your book launch,’ he said to Ruth. ‘The twenty-third of December. Clara was home and could walk Lucy while I went Christmas shopping.’

‘Christmas garbage sifting, don’t you mean?’ said Clara.

Peter sighed and said nothing.

‘Where was it in the dumpster?’ Gamache asked.

‘Right on the edge, as though someone had reached up and placed it there, not just thrown it in.’

‘Did you find anything else?’

Gamache watched Peter closely to see if he was lying. Peter shook his head. Gamache believed him.

‘What is it? Why’s it so important?’ Myrna asked.

‘It’s called a Li Bien ball,’ said Gamache, ‘and it belonged to CC. She built her whole spiritual philosophy around it. In her book she described it, exactly like this, and said it was the only thing she had left from her mother. In fact, she said her mother painted it.’

‘It has three pine trees on it,’ continued Myrna.

‘And an initial,’ said Clara. ‘L.’

‘So that’s why CC moved here,’ said Gabri.

‘Why?’ said Peter, who’d been thinking of his own world of trouble ahead and not really concentrating on the conversation.

‘Three pines?’ said Gabri, walking over to the window and gesturing out. ‘Three pines. Three Pines?’

‘Three pines three times,’ said Ruth. ‘You’re clicking your heels, Dorothy.’

‘We’re not in Kansas any more,’ said Gabri. ‘We’re in?’ he beseeched Peter.

‘Three Pines,’ said Peter, finally getting it. ‘CC’s mother was from here?’

‘And her initial was L,’ said Myrna.

Émilie Longpré lay in bed. It was early, not yet ten, but she was tired. She picked up her book and tried to read but it was heavy in her hands. She struggled to hold it, wanting to finish the story, wanting to know how it ended. She was afraid she’d run out of time before she ran out of book.