Chapter 20 Chapter Twenty

Clara closed the door and leaned against it, listening to Peter.Wishing, wishing, she wished not to hear a sound, wished to be alone.Only herself, indeed. Oh, no, no, no, she thought, the dead were still lying on the ground moaning.Lillian is not dead, she is still alive on Mr. Dyson's face. Clara galloped home, almost flying.Her view was obscured by the face.those faces. Mr and Mrs Dyson.Lillian's father and mother.old, weak.Almost unrecognizable, not at all the robust, cheerful figure she had known. But their voices are tough, and their language even tougher. There was no doubt that Clara had made a terrible mistake.Instead of making things better, she made them worse.

How could she make such a mistake? "Damn little bastard." Andre Kastongui pushed the table away, stood up, his body was unsteady, "I have to reason with him." François Marois also stood up. "Now is not the time, my friend." The two of them watched as Dennis Fortin descended the hill toward the village.He didn't hesitate, didn't look back at them, didn't stray from the path he had clearly chosen. Dennis Fortin was walking towards the Morrow house.Castongui saw clearly, and so did Marois.Like Inspector Garmash, he was also observing at this time.

"But we can't let him talk to them," said Castongui, trying to break free from Marois. "He won't make it, Andre, you know, just let him try. Besides, I saw Peter Morrow leave a few minutes ago, and he wasn't home at all." Castongui turned to Marois staggeringly, "Really?" There was a silly smile on his face. "Indeed," confirmed Marois. "Really. Why don't you go back to the hotel and rest?" "good idea." André Castongui walks slowly, deliberately across the village green. Gamache watched all this, and now his eyes returned to François Marois.There was a tired sophistication on the dealer's face, and he looked almost dazed.

The inspector came down from the terrace to Maroir.The latter's eyes never left the Morrow cottage, as if waiting for it to do something worth witnessing, and then turned to Castongui, who was stumbling along the dirt road. "Poor André," said Marois to Garmache, "it's not very nice of Fortin to do that." "What did he do?" Garmash asked, also looking at the gallery owner.Castongui, now at the top of the hill, was waving them goodbye before continuing on. "It seems to me that Mr. Castonguey is the sadist." "But he was irritated," Marois replied. "Fortin knew how André would react whenever he sat at the table. And then..."

"Then?" "Then he ordered more wine and got Andre drunk." "Did he know Mr. Castongue was in trouble?" "Like a drink?" Maroire smiled and shook his head. "It's an open secret. Most of the time, he can control it. He has to control it. But sometimes..." He waved his arms, which was self-explanatory. Yes, thought Garmash, sometimes... "And then explicitly told Andre that he was here to sign with the Moreaus. Fortin is asking for trouble. Self-righteous villain." "Aren't you a bit hypocritical?" asked Garmash. "After all, that's why you're here."

Marois laughed. "Well said. But we came first." "Are you saying there's a power system here? I don't know much about the art world." "I mean, I don't need someone to tell me what great art is. I see it, and I know it. Clara's work shows the genius of the painter. I don't need The Times, or Dennis Fortin, or André Castongui told me. Some people tell by ear, some by eye." "Does Dennis Fortin need to be told?" "In my opinion, yes." "So you're going to spread your opinion? Does Fortin hate you for that?"

François Marois now turned all his attention to the inspector.His face was no longer a cipher, and his surprise was palpable. "Hate me? I'm sure he doesn't. We're competitors, yes. We're always fighting for the same painter or buyer, and sometimes it's annoying. But that's what it is, a condominium, and I won't say it." Promoting my point of view." "But you told me," said Gamache. Marois hesitated, "Because you asked, otherwise I would never have said anything." "Is it possible that Clara will sign with Fortin?"

"Possibly. Everybody likes a repentant sinner. I'm sure he's repenting now." "He's already confessed," said Garmache, "that's why he was invited to the exhibition." "Ah——" Marois nodded, "I'm still wondering." For the first time, he showed a disturbed expression.Then, after hard work, his handsome face cleared up again. "Clara is no fool, she will see through him. He didn't know her value before, and he doesn't know her work now. He tried hard to make a name for himself as a cutting-edge man, but he wasn't. A wrong move , one bad show, and the whole thing goes wrong. Reputation is a fragile thing, and Fortin knows that better than anyone."

Marois motioned in the direction of André Castongui, who was almost at the spa hotel. "And he, he wouldn't be so vulnerable. He has a lot of clients and a big corporate account, Kelly Foods." "Baby food manufacturing company?" "Yeah, big corporate buyers. They invest heavily in art, adorning their offices all over the world to make themselves look a bit more classy, ​​not just for the money. Guess who scours that art for them ?” This needs no answer.Andre Castongui had plunged into the gate of the hot spring hotel and disappeared. "Of course, they are conservative." The art dealer continued, "But so is Andre."

"If he's so conservative, why is he interested in Clara Moreau's work?" "He's not interested." "That's Peter?" "I think so, so he kills two birds with one stone. A painter whose work he can sell to Kelly Foods is safe, conservative, respectable, nothing too bold or evocative. But take a really avant-garde painter, and he Get all kinds of publicity and status, like Clara Moreau. Never underestimate the power of greed, the detective, or the power of ego." "I'll write it down, thank you." Garmash smiled, watching Marois follow Castongui up the mountain.

"Hearts are not broken with sticks." Garmash turned around following the voice, and Ruth was sitting on the bench with her back to him. "It's not a rock either," she went on, apparently addressing the air. "I know. It's a whip, too small for you to see." Gamache sat down beside her. "Emily Dickinson," said Ruth, staring straight ahead. "Armand Garmache," replied the inspector. "It's not me, you idiot, it's poetry." She turned her face away angrily, but saw the inspector's smile.She laughed. "Hearts are not broken with sticks," repeated Garmache.It sounded familiar, reminding him of who said what recently. "Too much going on today," Ruth said, "too much noise, it's scaring the birds away." Indeed, not a single bird could be seen.But Gamache knew that she had one bird in mind, not many. Rosa, her mallard, flew south last year.But not back this year with the other birds, not back to her nest. But Ruth did not give up hope. Gamash sat quietly on the bench, remembering why Dickinson's lines were so familiar.He opened the book still in his hand and saw the words Lillian had highlighted with highlighter. The heart is broken.Sweet relationships die. He noticed someone looking this way from the tavern. It was Olivier. "How is he?" asked Garmache, gesturing slightly in the direction of the tavern. "Who?" "Olivier." "I don't know. I don't care." Garmash was silent for a moment, "He is your good friend, I remember." Ruth didn't speak, her face froze. "Men make mistakes," said Garmache. "He's a good man, you know. I know he loves you." Ruth snorted impolitely, "Tch, all he cares about is money. Not me, or Clara, or Peter, or even Gabriel. Not at all. He'd sell us all for a few bucks. You Should know better than anyone else.” "I'll tell you what I know," Garmash said. "I know he made a mistake. I know he's sorry, and I know he's trying to make it up." "But not to you. He doesn't even look at you." "Will you? Will you forgive me if I arrest you for a crime you never committed?" "Olivier lied to us, lied to me." "Everybody lies," said Garmache. "Everyone hides something. His was bad, but I've seen worse, terrible." Ruth's thinned lips had all but disappeared. "I'll tell you who really lied," she said, "the man who spoke to you just now." "François Marois?" "Well, I don't know what the hell his name is. How many people were you talking to just now? Whatever his name, he wasn't telling you the truth." "how?" "The kid didn't order that much himself. He did. The kid was drunk before the young guy showed up." "are you sure?" "I have a nose for wine, and eyes for alcoholics." "Evidently also has an ear for lies." Ruth showed a smile that surprised even herself. Gamache stood up, glanced at Olivier, bowed slightly to Ruth, and whispered in a voice only she could hear. "Now there is good news: "You lie on your bier, "One hour to live." "Enough." She cut him off, reaching out a bony hand, not really touching his face, but close enough to block the words, "I know how it ends. I wonder, do you really know The answer to that question?" She stared at him hard, "Who the hell is it that took you so many years to forgive, Inspector?" He got up, left her, and walked toward the little bridge over the Bella River, thinking. "Inspector." He saw Beauvoir striding forward from the case room.He knew that look.Beauvoir has news.