Bury Your Dead

needs.”

“And the confession helps,” said Emile with a smile.

“True,” agreed Gamache. He looked around the home. He and Reine-Marie had been coming for many years, since Emile had retired and he and his wife moved back to Quebec City. Then, after Alice died, they came more often, to keep Emile company.

“I’m thinking of selling,” said Emile, watching Armand look around.

Gamache turned to him and paused. “It’s a lot of house.”

“The stairs are getting steeper,” agreed Emile.

“You’re welcome to come live with us, you know.”

“I do know, merci, but I think I’ll stay here.”

Gamache smiled, not surprised. “You know, I suspect Elizabeth MacWhirter is finding the same thing. Difficult living in a large home alone.”

“Is that right?” said Emile, looking at Gamache with open suspicion.

Armand smiled and opened the door. “Don’t come out, it’s cold.”

“I’m not that frail,” snapped Emile. “Besides, I want to say good-bye to Henri.”

At the sound of his name the shepherd looked at Emile, ears forward, alert. In case there was a biscuit involved. There was.

The sidewalk was newly plowed. The blizzard had stopped before dawn and the sun rose on a white, unblemished landscape. The city glowed and light sparkled off every surface making it look as though Quebec was made of crystal.

Before opening the car door Gamache scooped up some snow, pressed it into his fist and showed Henri the snowball. The dog danced, then stopped, intent, staring.

Gamache tossed it into the air and Henri leapt, straining for the ball, believing this time he’d catch it, and it would remain perfect and whole in his mouth.

The snowball descended, and Henri caught it. And bit down. By the time he landed on all fours he had only a mouthful of snow. Again.

But Henri would keep trying, Gamache knew. He’d never give up hope.

“So,” said Emile, “who do you think the woman in Champlain’s coffin was?”

“I’d say an inmate of Douglas’s asylum. Almost certainly a natural death.”

“So he put her into Champlain’s coffin, but what did he do with Champlain?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Of course I don’t. I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s in Chiniquy’s journals, you read it to me the other night. I’ll call you when I get home, if you haven’t figured it out I’ll tell you.”

“Wretched man.” Emile paused, then reached out and laid his hand briefly on Gamache’s as it held the car door.

“Merci,” said Gamache. “For all you’ve done for me.”

“And you for me. So you think Madame MacWhirter might need a little help?”

“I think so.” Gamache opened the car door and Henri jumped in. “But then, I also think the night might be a strawberry.”

Emile laughed. “Between us? So do I.”

At home three hours later, Gamache and Reine-Marie sat in their comfortable living room, a fire crackling away in the grate.

“Emile called,” said Reine-Marie. “He asked me to give you a message.”

“Oh?”

“He said ‘Three mummies.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

Gamache smiled and nodded. Three mummies were taken to Pittsburgh but Douglas had only brought two back from Egypt.

“I’ve been thinking about that video, Armand.”

He took off his half-moon glasses. “Would you like to see it?”

“Would you like me to?”

He hesitated. “I’d rather not, but if you need to I’d watch it with you.”

She smiled. “Merci, but I don’t want to see it.”

He kissed her softly then they went back to reading. Reine-Marie glanced over her book at Armand.

She knew all she needed to know.

Gabri stood behind the bar of the bistro, dish towel in hand, wiping a glass clean. Around him his friends and clients chatted and laughed, read and sat quietly.

It was Sunday afternoon and most were still in their pajamas, including Gabri.