‘I can’t believe Jane would leave her home to Yolande, if for no other reason than she knew how much I hate her.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t about you, Clara.’
Zing. And maybe, thought Clara, he’s still pissed off. ‘I’ve been watching Yolande for the last couple of days. She keeps lugging stuff into Jane’s place.’
Peter shrugged. He was getting tired of comforting Clara.
‘Didn’t Jane make a new will?’ she tried again.
‘I don’t remember that.’ Peter knew Clara enough to know this was a ruse, an attempt to take his mind off his hurt and to get him on her side. He refused to play.
‘No, really,’ said Clara. ‘I seem to remember when Timmer was diagnosed and knew it was terminal that they both talked about revising their wills. I’m sure Jane and Timmer went off to that notary in Williamsburg. What was her name? You know. The one who just had the baby. She was in my exercise class.’
‘If Jane made a new will, the police’ll know about it. It’s what they do.’
Gamache got up from the bench. He’d seen what he needed to. What he suspected. It was far from conclusive, but it was interesting. Lies always were. Now, before the day swept him up in its imperatives, he wanted to see the blind again. Maybe not climb it, though. He walked across the green, his duck boots leaving prints in the frost-soaked grass. Up the hill he walked, past the old schoolhouse, and then into the woods. Once again he found himself at the foot of the tree. It was pretty obvious from his first, and he hoped only, visit upwards that the blind hadn’t been used by the killer. But still ...
‘Bang. You’re dead.’
Gamache swung around, but had recognised the voice an instant after he’d begun to turn.
‘You’re a sneak, Jean Guy. I’m going to have to put a cow bell on you.’
‘Not again.’ It wasn’t often he could get the drop on the chief. But Beauvoir had begun to worry. Suppose he snuck up on Gamache sometime and he had a heart attack? It would certainly take the fun out of it. But he worried about the Chief Inspector. His rational mind, which normally had the upper hand, knew it was stupid. The Chief Inspector was slightly overweight and he had crested fifty, but that described many people, and most did just fine without Beauvoir’s help. But. But the Chief Inspector’s job was stressful enough to fell an elephant. And he worked hard. But mostly Jean Guy Beauvoir’s feelings couldn’t be explained. He just didn’t want to lose the Chief Inspector. Gamache clapped him on the shoulder and offered him the last of the café au lait from the thermos, but Beauvoir had had breakfast at the B. & B.
‘Brunch, you mean.’