24. Louise Penny, A Fatal Grace (2017) (9/11/18)
The second book in Penny’s series of mysteries set in the bucolic village
of Three Pines, Québec (my report on the first can be seen
here),
A Fatal Grace features
two murders (and one accidental death for good measure) occurring over the Christmas holiday.
Snow, ice, and dangerously frigid temperatures figure in. The story is complex,
the murders, one of a reviled newcomer to the village, one of a down-and-out homeless
woman in Montréal, at first appearing unrelated—and the murderers too. Though
all is not as it seems in this otherwise peaceful hamlet.
Naturellement. Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, smart, caring,
trusting but not innocent, urbane, supremely moral yet warmly human, comes to town with his
right-hand man, Inspector Beauvoir, and several deputies. Ultimately, though, it
is Gamache and Gamache alone who manages to assemble all the disparate clues
and stories into a sensible whole to arrive at the truth. The sport of curling,
Eleanor of Aquitaine, niacin, transcendent music, and jumper
cables figure into the mystery. And through it all, we come to know just a little
bit better the various residents of Three Pines: artists Clara and Peter;
bistro owners Olivier and Gabri; the “three Graces,” aged Émilie, Kaye, and Bea;
rude, crude poet Ruth Zardo; bookstore owner Myrna; and others.
Late in the book, Gamache and
Émilie have a resonant conversation, which begins with Gamache describing becoming lost while driving in a blizzard and, ultimately, resorting to prayer when he finds himself stuck, deep in snow at a dead end. He then tells a story of a murder
investigation, to explain where the prayer arose from.
“Did you find your murderer?”
“I did.”
But his inflection
told her there was more. She waited, but when nothing more came she decided to
ask.
“And what else did
you find?”
“God,” he said
simply. “In a diner.”
“What was he eating?”
The question was so
unexpected Gamache hesitated then laughed.
“Lemon meringue pie.”
“And how do you know
He was God?”
The interview wasn’t
going as he’d imagined.
“I don’t,” he
admitted. “He might have been just a fisherman. He was certainly dressed like
one. But he looked across the room at me with such tenderness, such love, I was
staggered.” He was tempted to break eye contact, to stare at the warm wooden surface where his hands now rested. But Armand Gamache didn't look down. He looked directly at her.
“What did God do?” Émilie asked, her voice hushed.
“He finished his pie then turned to the wall. He seemed to be rubbing it for a while, then he turned back to me with the most radiant smile I'd ever seen. I was filled with joy.”
“I imagine you're often filled with joy.”
“I'm a happy man, madame. I'm very lucky and I know it.”
“C'est ça.” She nodded. “It's the knowing of it. I only became really happy after my family was killed. Horrible to say.”
“I believe I understand,” said Gamache.
“Their deaths changed me. At some point I was standing in my living room unable to move forward or back. Frozen. That's why I asked about the snowstorm. That's what it had felt like, for months and months. As though I was lost in a whiteout. Everything was confused and howling. I couldn't go on. I was going to die. I didn't know how, but I knew I couldn't support the loss any longer. I'd staggered to a stop. Like you in that snowstorm. Lost, disoriented, at a dead end. Mine, of course, was figurative. My cul de sac was in my own living room. Lost in the most familiar, the most comforting of places.”
“What happened?”
“The doorbell rang. I remember trying to decide whether I should answer the door or kill myself. But it rang again and I don't know, maybe it was social training, but I roused myself enough to go. And there was God. He had some crumbs of lemon meringue pie on the corner of His mouth.”
Gamache's deep brown eyes widened.
“I'm kidding.” She reached out and held his wrist for a moment, smiling. Gamache laughed at himself. “He was a road worker,” she continued. “He wanted to use the phone. He carried a sign.”
She stopped, unable for a moment to go any further. Gamache waited. He hoped the sign didn't say The End is Nigh. The room faded. The only two people in the world were tiny, frail Émilie Longpré and Armand Gamache.
“It said Ice Ahead.”
