Zardo really believed this sarcasm would be fruitful. He also wondered why she would take this attitude at all.
‘Mrs Zardo, what can I get you?’ the young waitress asked as though none of the dramatics had happened. Or perhaps it was simply intermission.
‘A Scotch, please, Marie,’ said Ruth, suddenly deflating and sinking back into the chair. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
She sounded to Gamache like someone used to apologising.
‘I suppose I could blame Jane’s death for my poor behavior, but as you’ll discover, I’m just like this. I have no talent for choosing my battles. Life seems, strangely, like a battle to me. The whole thing.’
‘So I can expect more where that came from?’
‘Oh, I think so. But you’ll have plenty of company in your foxhole. And I promise not to whack my cane, at least around you.’
Armand Gamache leaned back in his chair, just as the Scotch and his
cafe au lait
and candy arrived. He took them and with all the dignity he could muster, turned to Ruth. ‘Pipe, Madame?’
Ruth took the largest one and immediately bit the red candy end off.
‘How did it happen?’ Ruth asked.
‘It looks like a hunting accident. But can you think of anyone who would want to deliberately kill your friend?’
Ruth told Gamache about the boys throwing manure. When she’d finished, Gamache asked, ‘Why do you think these boys might have killed her? I agree it was a reprehensible thing to do, but she’d already announced their names, so it’s not as though killing her would stop that. What’s gained?’
‘Revenge?’ suggested Ruth. ‘At that age, humiliation could be considered a capital offense. True, they were the ones who were trying to humiliate Olivier and Gabri, but the tables turned. And bullies don’t much like getting some of their own back.’
Gamache nodded. It was possible. But surely, unless you’re psychotic, the revenge would take a different form, something short of cold-blooded murder.
‘How long did you know Mrs Neal?’
‘Miss. She never married,’ said Ruth. ‘Though she almost did, once. What was his name?’ She consulted the yellowing Rolodex in her head. ‘Andy. Andy Selchuk. No. Sel … Sel … Selinsky. Andreas Selinsky. That was years ago. Fifty or more. Doesn’t matter.’
‘Please, tell me,’ said Gamache.
Ruth nodded and absently stirred her Scotch with the butt end of her licorice pipe.
‘Andy Selinsky was a logger. These hills were full of logging operations for a hundred years. Most of them are closed now. Andy worked on Mont Echo at the Thompson operation. The lumberjacks could be violent men. They’d work all week on the mountain, sleeping rough through storms and bear season, and the blackflies must have driven them crazy. They’d smear themselves with bear grease to keep away bugs. They were more afraid of blackflies than black bears. On weekends they’d come out of the woods, like living filth.’
Gamache was listening closely, genuinely interested, though not sure whether it was all pertinent to the investigation.
‘Kaye Thompson’s operation was different, though. I don’t know how she did it, but somehow she kept those huge men in line. Nobody messed with Kaye,’ said Ruth, in admiration.
‘Andy Selinksy worked his way up to foreman. A natural leader. Jane fell in love with him, though I must admit most of us had a crush on him. Those huge arms and that rugged face …’ Gamache could feel himself receding as she spoke and drifted back in time. ‘He was immense but gentle. No, gentle isn’t right. Decent. He could be tough, even brutal. But not vicious. And he was clean. Smelled like Ivory soap. He’d come to town with the other lumberjacks from the Thompson mill and they’d stand out because they didn’t stink of rancid bear fat. Kaye must have scrubbed them with lye.’
Gamache wondered how low the bar was set when all a man had to do to attract a woman was not smell of decomposing bears.
‘At the opening
‘Mrs Zardo, what can I get you?’ the young waitress asked as though none of the dramatics had happened. Or perhaps it was simply intermission.
‘A Scotch, please, Marie,’ said Ruth, suddenly deflating and sinking back into the chair. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
She sounded to Gamache like someone used to apologising.
‘I suppose I could blame Jane’s death for my poor behavior, but as you’ll discover, I’m just like this. I have no talent for choosing my battles. Life seems, strangely, like a battle to me. The whole thing.’
‘So I can expect more where that came from?’
‘Oh, I think so. But you’ll have plenty of company in your foxhole. And I promise not to whack my cane, at least around you.’
Armand Gamache leaned back in his chair, just as the Scotch and his
cafe au lait
and candy arrived. He took them and with all the dignity he could muster, turned to Ruth. ‘Pipe, Madame?’
Ruth took the largest one and immediately bit the red candy end off.
‘How did it happen?’ Ruth asked.
‘It looks like a hunting accident. But can you think of anyone who would want to deliberately kill your friend?’
Ruth told Gamache about the boys throwing manure. When she’d finished, Gamache asked, ‘Why do you think these boys might have killed her? I agree it was a reprehensible thing to do, but she’d already announced their names, so it’s not as though killing her would stop that. What’s gained?’
‘Revenge?’ suggested Ruth. ‘At that age, humiliation could be considered a capital offense. True, they were the ones who were trying to humiliate Olivier and Gabri, but the tables turned. And bullies don’t much like getting some of their own back.’
Gamache nodded. It was possible. But surely, unless you’re psychotic, the revenge would take a different form, something short of cold-blooded murder.
‘How long did you know Mrs Neal?’
‘Miss. She never married,’ said Ruth. ‘Though she almost did, once. What was his name?’ She consulted the yellowing Rolodex in her head. ‘Andy. Andy Selchuk. No. Sel … Sel … Selinsky. Andreas Selinsky. That was years ago. Fifty or more. Doesn’t matter.’
‘Please, tell me,’ said Gamache.
Ruth nodded and absently stirred her Scotch with the butt end of her licorice pipe.
‘Andy Selinsky was a logger. These hills were full of logging operations for a hundred years. Most of them are closed now. Andy worked on Mont Echo at the Thompson operation. The lumberjacks could be violent men. They’d work all week on the mountain, sleeping rough through storms and bear season, and the blackflies must have driven them crazy. They’d smear themselves with bear grease to keep away bugs. They were more afraid of blackflies than black bears. On weekends they’d come out of the woods, like living filth.’
Gamache was listening closely, genuinely interested, though not sure whether it was all pertinent to the investigation.
‘Kaye Thompson’s operation was different, though. I don’t know how she did it, but somehow she kept those huge men in line. Nobody messed with Kaye,’ said Ruth, in admiration.
‘Andy Selinksy worked his way up to foreman. A natural leader. Jane fell in love with him, though I must admit most of us had a crush on him. Those huge arms and that rugged face …’ Gamache could feel himself receding as she spoke and drifted back in time. ‘He was immense but gentle. No, gentle isn’t right. Decent. He could be tough, even brutal. But not vicious. And he was clean. Smelled like Ivory soap. He’d come to town with the other lumberjacks from the Thompson mill and they’d stand out because they didn’t stink of rancid bear fat. Kaye must have scrubbed them with lye.’
Gamache wondered how low the bar was set when all a man had to do to attract a woman was not smell of decomposing bears.
‘At the opening
Similar Books
