Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve

"what is this?" Clara stood by the kitchen phone.The grill was set up, and Peter was outside poking a steak from Breeze Farm. "What?" he called through the screen door. "this." Clara stepped outside, a piece of paper in her hand.Peter's face fell. "Oh, shit. Oh, God, Clara, I totally forgot about it. The confusion of discovering Lillian, plus those constant interruptions—" He froze the spit, then froze. Clara's face froze, though she was often very mild.What she held in her hand were some messages Peter hastily recorded, some congratulations.He pinned it and put it under the phone.He had meant to show her.

Just forgot. From where she stood, Clara could see the yellow tape marking an irregular area in the garden.A hole, a place where life ends. But now another hole appeared, right where Peter was standing.She could almost see the yellow tape wrapping around him, enclosing him, swallowing him as it had swallowed Lillian. Peter stared at her, pleading, begging her to understand. As Clara looked at him, Peter seemed to disappear, leaving nothing but emptiness where he had stood. Armand Garmache sat in his study, taking notes on the phone with Isabelle Lacoste. "I have already reported to Sergeant Beauvoir, who suggested that I call you, Inspector. We have interviewed most of the guests," she said, calling from the town of Three Pine, "for the night's There was a general picture of the situation, but nothing about Lillian Dyson. We asked everyone, including the waiter, but no one had seen her."

Gamash nodded.All day he followed up on her written report.The reporting was as usual amazing, clear, detailed and the reporter's instincts not missing.Agent Lacoste has never been afraid to follow her instincts, and she's not afraid to be wrong. And this, the Sheriff knew, was a very important asset. That meant she was able to explore obscure trails that less-capable agents might not see at all.Or, even if they see it, they dismiss it as impossible and dismiss it as a waste of time. Where could the murderer be hiding, he asked the agents?Hiding in plain sight?Maybe.But most of the time, they are found hiding in unexpected places, in unexpected personalities and bodies.

Along the dimly lit paths, most people assume a false facade of friendliness and kindness. "What do you think it means that nobody saw her at the party?" he asked. Lacoste was silent for a moment, "Well, I suspect that she might have been killed elsewhere, and then the body was taken to the garden of Moreau's house. This can explain why no one saw her at the preview or at the party." "Then?" "I've had discussions with those on the scene and it seems unlikely. They believe she was killed where the body was found." "Are there any other options?"

"Besides the obvious possibility? She was teleported there by aliens?" "Except for this." "I think she went straight to the Morrow garden when she arrived." "why?" Lacoste paused for a moment, slowly sorting out the possibilities.While she's not afraid to make mistakes, she's also not eager to make them. "Why drive an hour and a half to a party and then never make it to the scene, but go straight to a secluded garden?" she mused to herself. Garmash waited.He could already smell the aroma of Reina Marie's dinner, pasta with fresh asparagus and pine nuts, and goat cheese.This is his favorite food and it's almost ready.

"She was in the garden to see someone," said Lacoste at last. "It's possible," said Garmash.He put on reading glasses and took notes.They've gathered the facts, all the scene findings, the preliminary autopsy results, the witness interviews.All that is needed now is an explanation. Into the dark path. This is where the killer will be found, or disappear. Daughter Annie appeared at the door with a tray in her hand. Do you eat here?she asked silently with her mouth. He shook his head, smiled and raised a hand to signal her to wait a moment and he would join them.Anne left, and the Inspector turned his attention back to the call with Lacoste.

"What did Inspector Beauvoir say?" asked Garmache. "He asked similar questions. He wanted to know who I thought Lillian Dyson was going to see." "Good question. How did you answer it?" "I think she saw the murderer," replied Lacoste. "Yes. But is the murderer the one she wanted to see?" asked Garmash. "Or could it be that she thought she was going to meet one person, and it turned out to be someone else?" "You mean she was lured there?" "I think it's a possibility," replied Garmash. "So did Officer Beauvoir. Lillian Dyson was ambitious, she had just returned to Montreal and needed a jump-start. She knew there would be a lot of gallerists and dealers at Clara's party. Couldn't be better What about a good social opportunity? Inspector Beauvoir thinks she's been lured into a garden by a man pretending to be a well-known gallery owner."

Gamash smiled.Beauvoir has taken the role of mentor seriously, and has done a good job. "What do you think?" he asked. "I think she has to have a good reason to be at Clara Moreau's party, after all, they have such a bad relationship. So what can lure Lillian Dyson to come here? What can make her overcome this A deep grievance?" "Should be something she wants very, very much," Gamash speculated. "What would it be?" "Meet a very famous gallerist and impress him with her paintings," said Lacoste without hesitation. "Maybe," said the Inspector, leaning forward, scanning the report, "but how did she get all the way to Sampine?"

"Someone must have invited her to the party, possibly tricking her into coming here by promising a private meeting with a big art dealer." Lacoste reasoned along the lines of the inspector. "He should have told her how to drive here." Garmash remembered the useless maps on the passenger seat of Lillian's car, "and then killed her in Clara's garden." "But why?" Now it was Lacoste's turn to ask the question, "Did the murderer know it was Clara's garden? Or just anywhere? Does it make any difference if it's in Ruth's or Merna's garden?" ?”

Gamash took a deep breath, "I don't know. Why did you arrange the appointment at the party? If he planned the murder, why didn't he choose a more private place? A more convenient place? Why Sansong Town , instead of Montreal?" "Perhaps Sansong Township is a convenient place, Inspector." "Maybe." He agreed.This is a question he has been thinking about.The murder happened there because the murderer was there, lived there. "Also," said Lacoste, "the murderer must have known there were a lot of suspects. There were a lot of people at the party who knew Lillian Dyson years ago, people who hated her. That would make it easy for him to disappear in the crowd." gone."

"But why the garden of the Moreaus' house?" the Inspector demanded. "Why not in the woods or somewhere else? Was the Clara's garden chosen on purpose?" No, Gamash meditated and got up from his chair.There are so many things hidden.Trails are still too blurry.He likes to live with ideas, theories, and speculations, but he's also careful not to get too far ahead of the facts.They are now stumbling around and in danger of getting lost. "Any developments about the motive for the crime?" he asked. "Officer Beauvoir was in Montreal and I was here in San Pine, and we interviewed almost everyone who was at the party. Since Lillian came back, almost no one has had any contact with her. But whoever it was, as long as it was many years ago Knowing her, back then she was a critic, hated her, feared her." "The motive, then, was vengeance?" asked Garmache. "Either it's this, or it's stopping her from doing more damage because she's back now." "Very good." He paused, thinking, "However, there is another reason." He told her about his conversation with Dennis Fortin that day.A gallery owner is convinced that a great painter dead is worth more than a great painter alive. An outstanding painter who is dead has more selling points and is easier to manipulate.A Lillian Dyson painting could make someone very rich right now. He said good night to Detective Lacoste, took some more notes, and walked to the dining room to sit with Raina Marie and daughter Anne.They had a quiet supper of pasta and fresh crispy bread.He suggested that they might have some wine, but decided not to drink it himself. "Keeping a cool head?" Rena Marie asked. "Actually, I'm going to an AA party tonight. I shouldn't be smelling like that myself." His wife laughed: "Though you may not be the only one. Finally admitting that you have a problem?" "Well. I have a problem, but not the alcohol." He looked at them with a smile on his face, and finally his eyes fell on Annie. "You haven't talked. Is there something wrong?" "I need to talk to both of you."