The Nature of the Beast

“Like the news,” said Jean-Guy.

“Yes.” Rosenblatt shook his head. “That’s a shame.”

But he didn’t look at all upset.

“Please,” said Lacoste, smiling at the professor and indicating a chair. “The more the merrier.”

“Merrier” did not describe the gathering, no matter how many there were.

Professor Rosenblatt took a seat and looked at the unhappy faces of the CSIS agents. “Now, what were we talking about?” He put a white linen napkin on his lap and looked around at them. “Ah yes, the leak.”

Now there’s a shit-disturber, thought Beauvoir with some admiration. What seemed interesting was the amount of shit this professor emeritus was able to disturb.

Beauvoir shifted his gaze to the CSIS agents, whose faces were now masks of cool civility.

And why were they so disturbed?

“Did you do it?” Mary Fraser asked. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she wore a gray sweater and black skirt, and pearls, in what looked like an effort to dress things up, but only managed to make her look even more dowdy.

“A moment ago you were accusing that young man.” Rosenblatt indicated Beauvoir. “And now me? Who else are you going to blame? Him?”

He looked at Gabri, making his way across the wide-plank floor with the café au laits. The innkeeper wore an apron with gingham frills, which drove Olivier nuts.

“It’s fun,” Gabri had said to his partner. “It makes me happy.”

“It makes you gay.”

“Yes. Otherwise no one would ever know.”

Gabri arrived at their table, distributed the coffees and stood poised for their breakfast orders.

Professor Rosenblatt asked him for a few more minutes to consider the menu. Lacoste and Beauvoir said they’d wait a little longer as well, but the CSIS agents ordered, obviously anxious to finish as quickly as possible.

“There’re only so many people who could’ve leaked the information about the Supergun,” said Delorme once Gabri had left. “And most of them are sitting at this table.”

He looked around and Beauvoir was struck by how very hard the man was trying to be threatening, and how very unsuccessful it was. He just seemed petulant.

“Whoever did it will face the full weight of the law,” said Mary Fraser.

She managed to be somewhat more threatening, though perhaps not in the way she intended. It was as though they’d disappointed a favorite aunt.

Jean-Guy wondered if they’d be recalled to Ottawa and some real agents sent down. He hoped not. He quite liked these two.

“Bonjour,” said Armand Gamache, walking over to the table and taking off his jacket. “Bit of fog this morning. The fire’s nice.”

He held out his large hands, momentarily, toward the hearth.

“Patron,” said Gabri, coming in from the kitchen. “I thought I heard you. Café?”

“S’il vous plaît,” said Gamache, and looked at the people already at the table.

Beauvoir and Lacoste had gotten to their feet to greet him. He smiled at them, then shook the elderly scientist’s hand.

“Professor,” he said with a smile.

Gamache turned to the other two.

“May I introduce you?” said Lacoste. “Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme are down from Ottawa. They’re with CSIS. This is Armand Gamache.”

Delorme had risen and took Gamache’s hand, while Mary Fraser remained seated, staring at the newcomer.

Trying, thought Jean-Guy, to place him. He knew that look. Here was a familiar face, a familiar name. But in an unfamiliar setting.

And then she had it. “Of course. Gamache. Of the Sûreté.”

It sounded much like Renfrew, of the Mounties.

“Late of the Sûreté,” he said, taking the empty chair beside her. “My former colleagues are being kind to include me. My wife and I have retired to the village.”

Beauvoir marveled at Gamache’s ability to make himself sound insignificant. But he could also see the wheels turning in Mary Fraser’s mind. For a moment she looked less matronly and far shrewder. And then it was gone.

“It must be upsetting to have all this commotion just when you thought you’d left it behind,” said Mary Fraser.

“Well, I can pop in and out of the case. It’s different when it’s not your responsibility.”

Gabri came out with eggs Benedict for Sean Delorme, and for Mary Fraser, crêpes stuffed with apple confit and drizzled with syrup. On the side were thick strips of maple-smoked bacon.