Bury Your Dead by Louise Penny Read Free Book Online Page A

people.
    “Chief Inspector.”
    It wasn’t said as loudly as all her other cries but it stopped the large man dead in his tracks. His back was to her, and she noticed some people giving him nasty looks as they suddenly had to swing around to avoid him on the narrow sidewalk.
    He turned back. She was afraid he would look annoyed, but instead his face was mild, inquisitive. He quickly scanned the faces and cameto rest on her standing stock-still half a block away. He smiled and together they closed the gap.
    “Désolé,”
she said, reaching out to him. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
    “Not at all.”
    There was an awkward silence. He didn’t comment on the fact she knew who he was. That much was obvious and like her, he clearly felt no need to waste time with the obvious.
    “I know you from the library, don’t I?” he said. “What can I do for you?”
    They were at the busy corner of St-Louis and Ste-Ursule. Families were trying to squeeze by. It didn’t take much to clog the narrow artery.
    She hesitated. Gamache looked round and motioned down the street, against the river of people.
    “Would you like a coffee? I suspect you could use something.”
    She smiled for the first time that day, and sighed.
“Oui, s’il vous plaît.”
    They fought their way a block down, finally stopping in front of the smallest building on the street. It was whitewashed, with a brilliant red metal roof and above it a sign.
Aux Anciens Canadienes.
    “It’s a bit of a tourist trap but at this time of day it might be quiet,” he said in English, opening the door. They found themselves in the not unusual situation in Québec where, to be polite, the French person was speaking English and, to be polite, the English spoke French. They stepped into the dark, intimate restaurant, the oldest in the province with its low ceiling and stone walls and original beams.
    “Perhaps,” Gamache suggested when they were seated and the waiter had taken their orders, “we should also choose a language.”
    Elizabeth laughed and nodded.
    “How’s English?” he asked. She hadn’t been this close to him before. He was in his mid-fifties, she knew from the reports. He was solid, comfortably built, but it was his eyes that caught her. They were deep brown, and calm.
    She hadn’t expected that. She thought they’d be sharp, cold, analytical, eyes that had seen so many dreadful things their soft centers had hardened. But this man’s eyes were thoughtful, kind.
    The waiter brought her a cappuccino and him an espresso. The late breakfast crowd was thinning and they’d been placed in a quiet corner.
    “You know, of course, what happened this morning?” Elizabeth asked. The coffee was fragrant and delicious. She didn’t often splurge on good coffees, and this was a treat.
    “Inspector Langlois told me a body has been found in the basement of the Literary and Historical Society.” Gamache watched her as he spoke. “It wasn’t a natural death.”
    She was grateful he hadn’t said murder. It was too shocking a word. She’d been testing it out in the safety of her own head, but wasn’t yet ready to take it out in public.
    “When we arrived this morning the phones didn’t work, so Porter called Bell Canada for repairs.”
    “The repairman came quickly,” said Gamache.
    “We’re known to them. It’s an old building and in need of repairs. The phones are often out, either through some sort of short, or a mouse has eaten through the line. This surprised us, though, since we’d only just redone all the wiring.”
    “What time did you arrive?”
    “Nine o’clock. Gives us an hour to sort books and do other work before the library opens. We unlock the door at ten every morning, as you know.”
    He smiled. “I do. It’s a wonderful library.”
    “We’re very proud of it.”
    “So you arrived at nine and called Bell right away?”
    “He came within twenty minutes. Took him about half an hour to track down the problem. He figured it was a