A Better Man

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Non, nothing new,” Jean-Guy reported over the phone to Gamache, who was calling from his study at home. “The warrant we applied for a couple days ago to look into Vivienne’s bank accounts should come through soon. We’ll see if Pauline Vachon was dreaming or if there really is something there.”

“That number Vivienne was calling is still bothering me,” said Gamache. “If it wasn’t Bertrand’s, then whose? Is there anyone related to the case with a number close to it?”

“I’ve checked that,” said Beauvoir. “Nothing.”

Gamache smiled. He should have known Beauvoir would be on top of that.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “Clara’s invited us over for an easy dinner. Let’s take a break.”

Beauvoir sighed and looked over at Lacoste.

She’d taken her regular room at the B&B but hadn’t yet dropped her bag there.

“Dinner at Clara’s?” he called across the room.

“Sounds great.” But she didn’t look up.

They were chasing their tails, and they knew it. A break would do them good.

“We’ll meet you there,” he said into the phone. “Another half hour.”

Jean-Guy picked up the statements again. And started reading. Again.

Gamache hung up and turned to Agent Cloutier.

They were alone in his study.

Homer was in the kitchen with Fred, as Reine-Marie prepared a squash, pear, and blue cheese soup to take to Clara’s. Homer seemed to find her company restful.

Cloutier, on the other hand, clearly did not feel the same way about Monsieur Gamache’s company.

“Tell me about Vivienne.”

“Vivienne?”

“Yes. You must’ve known her well.”

“I suppose so. To be honest, I wasn’t the best godmother. I never had one, so I had no idea what was expected, except that if anything happened to Kathy and Homer, I was to take her.”

“What was she like?”

Lysette thought about it. “Shy. A little hard to get to know. Bit of a homebody. She was a beautiful girl. You can see that in the pictures.”

Gamache nodded. “Was she nice?”

“I suppose.”

But there was reservation there.

“Go on.”

“No, it’s just that Kath found her difficult at times. I guess most mothers and daughters fight sometimes.”

“Do you mean fight? Or argue?” Gamache asked.

“Argue,” said Cloutier. “You don’t think Kathy actually hit her?”

Gamache raised his hands. “I have no idea what happened in that home. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“They argued. Quite a lot. But just words, nothing more. Like I said, that’s natural, isn’t it? Between mother and daughter. I sure did with my mother.”

Gamache nodded, remembering the foot stomping and dramatics from Annie and Reine-Marie’s narrowed eyes and tightly clamped jaw. Trying not to say something mean that she didn’t really mean.

Though Annie had no such qualms or restraint.

But now Annie and her mother were very close. Annie was a mother herself. He suspected that helped. With another child on the way. A girl.

Like Vivienne—

He brought his mind back to the job at hand.

“In what way did she find Vivienne difficult?”

“I actually don’t think it was Vivienne’s fault.” Lysette dropped her voice. “I think Kath was a little jealous of her.”

“Why?”

“Vivienne and her father were always close. From the moment she was born. Homer adored both his girls, as he called them. But there was a bond between him and Viv. Fathers and daughters, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Gamache. Annie. Annie. Healthy and happy. And alive. And leaving …

“It was hard on Kathy. She didn’t help herself, though. The more jealous she got, the angrier and more demanding she got. It just pushed Vivienne even further away.”

“And toward her father.”

“Oui.”

A self-fulfilling prophecy, thought Gamache. How often we made our worst fears come true, by behaving as though they already were.

“He took her to soccer practice,” said Cloutier. “Coached her hockey team. When she was a child, he’d read to her at bedtime. Babar. Tintin. I’ve never seen a daughter more loved by a father, or a father more adored. I felt bad for Kathy. To be honest, I was never sure if she was jealous of Vivienne or Homer. But I do know that Vivienne left home as soon as she could.”

“Pushed out by her mother?”

Lysette nodded. “And then Kathy died. It makes this even worse for Homer. Not having Kathy here to turn to.”

“Was it a happy marriage?”

Lysette thought. Finally nodding. “It got better once Vivienne was out of the house.”

“When we visited Pauline Vachon this afternoon, she said if Vivienne died, Carl would come into money. We’re checking out accounts and insurance, of course, but do you know if Vivienne had any money of her own?”

“Vivienne? I don’t think so.”

“Did her mother leave her anything in her will?”

“No. She left some jewelry and a comforter that came from her grandmother, but no money. I was a liquidator. She didn’t have much, and what she had, she left to Homer. Do you mind my asking why you want to know all this? We know who killed her—we just have to get him.”

“We have to regroup,” Gamache explained. “And part of that is getting to know Vivienne better. Is it likely she was having an affair?”

“I know what Tracey said, but I can’t see that happening. She always seemed more a loner, really.”

“Did you like her?”

Cloutier frowned. “What little I saw, yes. I guess.”

It was not exactly a ringing endorsement. But then, Gamache suspected that Cloutier’s opinions were affected, perhaps even infected, by what her friend Kathy had said. It was all too easy, Gamache knew, to believe the worst of others.

He thought for a moment. “Why do you think she married Carl Tracey?”

Cloutier considered. “Small community. Not much choice. She probably thought he was the best she could do. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at first. I don’t really know.”

Gamache nodded.

Could there have been love there once? Or was Vivienne punishing her parents? Look what you made me do. Or was it a childish attempt to make her father jealous?

Everyone made mistakes. Gamache had made his fair share, especially when young. Annie had married and divorced before finding Jean-Guy. As had Jean-Guy, before finding Annie.

Vivienne’s mistake just happened to be far worse than she could have planned or imagined.

They’d come to the end of what Agent Cloutier could tell him about Vivienne. Though there was one more thing.

“Did she like dogs?”

“Pardon?”

“Dogs. Did she like them?”

“Well, yeah. Loved them. Look at Fred. She rescued him as a puppy. Found him hurt on the road. He’s been with her a lot longer than Carl.”

“Merci,” he said.