patience his parents got him sorted out. Old Mundin kissed his son and jogged back to the line.
Charles Mundin, Gamache saw, had Down’s syndrome.
“Ready?” called Mundin, raising his arm. “Set.”
Gamache gripped his boot and glanced down the line at Peter and Clara, staring intently ahead of them.
“Toss!”
Gamache swung up his arm and felt his boot whack his back. Then he sliced forward, losing his grip on the muddy boot. It headed sideways to land about two feet ahead of him and to the side.
Clara’s grip, while stronger, didn’t last much longer, and her boot went almost straight up into the air.
“Fore!” everyone yelled and as one they reeled back, straining to see as it plunged toward them out of the blinding sun.
It hit Peter. Fortunately it was a tiny, pink child’s boot and bounced off him without effect. Behind Gamache, Gabri and Myrna were taking bets how long it would take Clara to come up with an excuse and what it would be.
“Ten dollars on ‘The boot was wet,’ ” said Myrna.
“Nah, she used that last year. How about ‘Peter walked into it’?”
“You’re on.”
Clara and Peter joined them. “Can you believe they gave me a wet boot again?”
Gabri and Myrna hooted with laughter and Clara, smiling broadly, caught Gamache’s eye. Money changed hands. She leaned into Gamache and whispered, “Next year I’m saying Peter leaned into it. Put some money down.”
“Suppose you don’t hit him?”
“But I always do,” she said earnestly. “He leans into it, you know.”
“I had heard.”
Myrna waved across the field to Ruth, limping along with Rosa beside her. Ruth gave her the finger. Charles Mundin, seeing this, waved, giving everyone the finger.
“Ruth doesn’t do the Wellington Boot Toss?” asked Gamache.
“Too much like fun,” said Peter. “She came to find children’s clothing in the craft barn.”
“Why?”
“Who knows why Ruth does anything,” said Myrna. “Any headway with the investigation?”
“Well, there was one important finding,” said Gamache, and everyone crowded even closer around him. Even Ruth limped over. “The coroner says the dead man wasn’t killed in the bistro. He was killed somewhere else and taken there.”
He could hear the midway clearly now, and hawkers promising huge stuffed toys if you shot a tin duck. Bells jingled to call attention to games and the ring announcer warned people the horse show was about to start. But from his audience there was silence. Until finally Clara spoke.
“That’s great news for Olivier, isn’t it?”
“You mean it makes him less of a suspect?” said Gamache. “I suppose. But it raises a lot more questions.”
“Like how’d the body get into the bistro,” said Myrna.
“And where he was killed,” said Peter.
“We’re searching the village. House by house.”
“You’re what?” asked Peter. “Without our permission?”
“We have warrants,” said Gamache, surprised by Peter’s vehement reaction.
“It’s still a violation of our privacy. You knew we’d be back, you could’ve waited.”
“I could have, but chose not to. These weren’t social calls, and frankly your feelings are secondary.”
“Apparently our rights are too.”
“That’s not accurate.” The Chief Inspector spoke firmly. The more heated Peter became the calmer Gamache grew. “We have warrants. Your right to privacy I’m afraid ended when someone took a life in your village. We’re not the ones who’ve violated your rights, the murderer is. Don’t forget that. You need to help us, and that means stepping aside and letting us do our work.”
“Letting you search our homes,” said Peter. “How would you feel?”
“I wouldn’t feel good about it either,” admitted Gamache. “Who would? But I hope I’d understand. This has just begun, you know. It’s going to get worse. And before it’s over we’ll know where everything is hidden.”
He looked sternly at Peter.
Peter saw the closed door into his studio. He imagined Surete officers opening it. Flicking on the light switch. Going into his most private space. The place he kept his art. The place he kept his heart. His latest work was in there, under a sheet. Hiding. Away from critical eyes.
But now strangers would have opened that door, lifted that veil and seen it. What would they think?
“So far we haven’t found anything, except, I understand, Guylaine’s missing boots.”
