The Long Way Home: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel by Louise Penny

Author:Louise Penny [Penny, Louise]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Adult
ISBN: 9781250022073
Amazon: B00HY09X5W
Goodreads: 20579822
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2014-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

“Now what?” asked Jean-Guy.

He’d naturally turned to Gamache, but the Chief deflected the question over to Clara.

They’d gone around to all the B and Bs in Baie-Saint-Paul. All the country auberges. All the hotels, both shabby and high-end.

No Peter.

To make matters worse, Baie-Saint-Paul was enjoying the height of the summer tourist crush, and it became clear that while they were having trouble finding Peter, they would also have trouble finding a place to stay that night.

Clara looked this way and that, up and down the crowded main street. It was hot and she was frustrated. She’d thought they’d drive into Baie-Saint-Paul and find Peter standing on a street corner. Waiting.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Myrna said, and Clara nodded, grateful for the help. “I think we need to regroup. We have to find someplace to sit down and think.”

She looked around at the crowded terrasses and the happy tourists eating and drinking and laughing. It was all very annoying.

“We’ve thought enough,” said Clara. “That’s all we did for days and days in Three Pines. Now we need to act.”

“Thinking is an action,” said Gamache from a few paces away. “Running around might feel good, but it accomplishes nothing. And at this stage, wasting time is doing damage.”

“He’s right,” Myrna said, and received a filthy look from Clara.

“I have to use the toilet.”

“You said that all the way here,” snapped Clara.

“Well, this time it’s true.”

They turned to look at Jean-Guy, who was shifting from one foot to the other.

Clara surrendered. “Oh, Christ. Okay. Let’s regroup.”

“This way.” Jean-Guy pointed and led them down a slight hill, along a narrow side street, taking them further and further away from the tourist hubbub.

These streets, not much more than alleyways, were lined with row homes and old-fashioned, unfashionable businesses. Hardware stores, family-run drugstores, dépanneurs selling cigarettes and lottery tickets and soft, white POM bakery bread. Every now and then they caught a glimpse of grayish blue between the bright clapboard and fieldstone buildings. The river. So vast, so wide it looked like the ocean. Jean-Guy Beauvoir led them away from the tourist crush, into an area only locals knew.

“Over here.”

They followed Beauvoir to a shabby inn.

“But we’ve already asked here,” said Clara. “Haven’t we?”

She turned around. Beauvoir’s serpentine route had disoriented her.

“Oui,” he said. “But we came in the front way. This is the back.”

“And you expect a different answer depending on which door we go through?” asked Myrna. “I suspect Peter still isn’t here, even if we climb in through the window.”

Which, she thought, they might have to do if they didn’t find a place for the night soon.

“We’re asking a different question.” Beauvoir now looked like his hair was on fire. “Through here.”

He led them through a small archway, and suddenly they were confronted with the thing only hinted at through the cracks between buildings. Like catching glimpses of a huge creature, but just its tail, or nose, or teeth.

But here it was before them, exploding into view as they walked through the archway.

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