Olivier had also seen the menorah, toppled over on the floor. Coated with blood.
He’d backed out of the room, onto the porch, preparing to run. Then he stopped. In front of him was the horrible scene. A man he knew and had come to care about, violently dead. And behind him the dark forest, and the trail running through it.
And caught between the two?
Olivier.
He’d collapsed into the rocking chair on the porch to think. His back to the terrible scene in the cabin behind him. His thoughts stretching forward.
What to do?
The problem, Olivier knew, was the horse trail. He’d known it for weeks. Since the Gilberts unexpectedly bought the old Hadley house, and even more unexpectedly decided to reopen the bridle paths.
“Now I understand why you hated them so much,” said Gabri softly. “It seemed such an overreaction. It wasn’t just the competition with the bistro and B and B, was it?”
“It was the trails. I was afraid, angry at them for getting Roar to open them. I knew he’d find the cabin and it’d all be over.”
“What did you do?” asked Gamache.
And Olivier told them.
He’d sat on the porch for what seemed ages, thinking. Going round and round the situation. And finally he’d arrived at his
“So I put him in the wheelbarrow and took him to the old Hadley house. I knew if another body was found there it would kill the business. No inn and spa, then no horse trails. Roar would stop work. The Gilberts would leave. The paths would grow over.”
“And then what?” asked Gamache, again. Olivier hesitated.
“I could take what I wanted from the cabin. It would all work out.”
Three people stared at him. None with admiration.
“Oh, Olivier,” said Gabri.
“What else could I do?” he pleaded with his partner. “I couldn’t let them find the place.” How to explain how reasonable, brilliant even, this all seemed at two thirty in the morning. In the dark. With a body ten feet away.
“Do you know how this looks?” rasped Gabri.
Olivier nodded and hung his head.
Gabri turned to Chief Inspector Gamache. “He’d never have done it if he’d actually killed the man. You wouldn’t, would you? You’d want to hide the murder, not advertise it.”
“Then what happened?” Gamache asked. Not ignoring Gabri but not wanting to be sidetracked either.
“I took the wheelbarrow back, picked up those two things and left.”
They looked at the table. The most damning items. And the most precious. The murder weapon and the sack.
“I brought them back here and hid them in the space behind the fireplace.”
“You didn’t look in the bag?” Gamache asked again.
“I thought I’d have plenty of time, when all the attention was on the Gilbert place. But then when Myrna found the body here the next morning I almost died. I couldn’t very well dig the things out. So I lit the fires, to make sure you wouldn’t look in there. For days after there was too much attention on the bistro. And by then I just wanted to pretend they didn’t exist. That none of this had happened.”
Silence met the story.
Gamache leaned back and watched Olivier for a moment. “Tell me the rest of the story, the one the Hermit told in his carvings.”
“I don’t know the rest. I won’t know until we open that.” Olivier’s eyes were barely able to look away from the sack.
“I don’t think we need to just yet.” Gamache sat forward. “Tell me the story.”
Olivier looked at Gamache, flabbergasted. “I’ve told you all I know. He told me up to the part where the army found the villagers.”
“And the Horror was approaching, I remember. Now I want to hear the end.”
“But I don’t know how it ends.”
“Olivier?” Gabri looked closely at his partner.
Olivier held Gabri’s gaze then looked over at Gamache. “You know?”
“I know,” said Gamache.
“What do you know?” asked Gabri, his eyes moving from the Chief Inspector to Olivier. “Tell me.”
“The Hermit wasn’t the one telling the story,” said Gamache.
Gabri stared at Gamache, uncomprehending, then over at Olivier. Who nodded.
