And, to her credit, she didn’t come back with a smart-ass reply.
But Gabri did. “Like the body?”
“No,” said the Chief, as they arrived at the chair. He turned and surveyed the garden from there. It was true that at this angle the dead woman was hidden by the flower beds. “I mean something else.”
He turned thoughtful eyes on Clara.
“Is there anything unusual about your garden this morning?” He shot a warning glance at Gabri, who put a finger to his mouth. “Anything small? Some detail off?”
Clara looked around. The back lawn was dotted with large flower beds. Some round, some oblong. Tall trees along the riverbank threw dappled shade, but most of it was in bright noonday sun. Clara scanned her garden, as did the others.
Was there something different? It was so hard to tell now, what with all the people, the newspapers, the activity, the yellow police tape. The newspapers. The body. The newspapers.
Everything was different.
She turned back to Gamache, her eyes asking for help.
Gamache hated to give it, hated to suggest in case he led her to see something that wasn’t really there.
“It’s possible the murderer hid back here,” he finally said. “Waiting.”
He left it at that. And he could see Clara understood. She turned back to her garden. Had a man intent on murder waited here? In her private sanctuary?
Had he hidden himself in the flower beds? Crouching behind the tall peony? Had he peered out from the morning glory climbing the post? Had he knelt behind the growing phlox?
Waiting?
She looked at each and every perennial, each shrub. Looking for something knocked down, knocked askew, a limb twisted, a bud broken off.
But it was perfect. Myrna and Gabri had worked days on the garden, getting it immaculate for the party. And it was. Last night. And it was that morning.
Except for the police, like pests, crawling all over it. And the bright body. A blight.
“Do you see anything?” she asked Gabri.
“No,” he said. “If the murderer hid back here it wasn’t in one of the flower beds. Maybe behind a tree?” He waved toward the maples but Gamache shook his head.
“Too far away. It would take him too long to make it across the lawn and around the flower beds. She’d have seen him coming.”
“So where did he hide?” Olivier asked.
“He didn’t,” said Gamache, sitting in the Adirondack chair. From there the body was also hidden. No, Clara couldn’t see the dead woman.
The Chief Inspector hauled himself up. “He didn’t hide. He waited in plain sight.”
“And she walked right up to him?” Peter asked. “She knew him?”
“Or he walked up to her,” said Gamache. “Either way, she wasn’t alarmed or frightened.”
“What was she doing back here?” Clara asked. “The barbeque was out there,” she waved beyond their home. “Everything was on the green. The food, the drinks, the music. The caterers set up all the tables and chairs out front.”
“But if people wanted to, they could walk into back yards?” Gamache asked, trying to get a picture of the event.
“Sure,” said Olivier. “If they wanted. There weren’t any fences or ropes up to stop them, but there was no need.”
“Well—” said Clara.
They turned to her.
“Well, I didn’t come back here last night, but I have at other parties. To kind of escape for a few minutes, you know?”
To their surprise, Gabri nodded. “I do the same thing, sometimes. Just to be quiet, get away from all the people.”
“Did you last night?” Gamache asked.
Gabri shook his head. “Too much to do. We had caterers, but you still have to supervise.”
“So it’s possible the dead woman came back here for a quiet moment,” said Gamache. “She might not have known it was your home.” He looked at Clara and Peter. “She just chose any place that was private, away from the crowds.”
They were silent then, for a moment. Imagining the woman in the bright red “look at me” dress. Slipping around the side of the old brick home. Away from the music, and fireworks, from the people looking at her.
To find a few moments of peace and quiet.
“She doesn’t seem the shy type,” said Gabri.
“Neither do you,” said Gamache with a small smile and surveyed the garden.
