A Great Reckoning by Louise Penny Page A

that fell to just below her knees.
    Sitting on the Eames chair and putting down his mug of tea, Armand reached for the parcel.
    â€œDo you know what it is?”
    â€œI don’t,” said Reine-Marie. “Olivier gave it to me this morning as we were leaving. Said it was for you. Please don’t shake it.”
    He always shook parcels, for reasons she could never understand. Surely not to make certain it wasn’t a bomb, since that would set it off.
    He shook it. Listened to it. Sniffed it.
    By now Reine-Marie was pretty sure he was doing it for her amusement.
    â€œIt’s not a pony,” he announced with regret.
    â€œIf only your students knew what a fine mind was teaching them.”
    â€œI think they suspect.”
    Opening the package, he stared at it for a moment.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked.
    He turned it around and she smiled.
    â€œDear man,” she said.
    â€œ Oui ,” said Armand.
    It was the old, odd map they’d found in the wall of the bistro. Olivier had had it framed. Attached to the back was a card.
    So you’ll always find your way home.
    The card was signed by Olivier, Gabri, Clara, and Myrna, and Ruth had added in her scrawl at the bottom, When you inevitably fuck up, again .
    Armand smiled and, taking a deep breath, he rocked himself out of the comfortable chair and put the picture on a side table before walking to the huge window.
    His rooms were on the top floor of the academy, commanding a spectacular view through the wall of windows. At least it would be spectacular, had the blizzard not arrived and the night not fallen.
    Now all he could see was his own reflection. The snowstorm had swallowed the town of Saint-Alphonse, lights and all.
    Saint-Alphonse was one of the first places settled by the French centuries ago, because it was flat and fertile. But the very elements that made it so inviting in summer made it especially brutal in winter.
    There was absolutely nothing to stop the wind and snow as they howled down from the mountains and along the riverbanks and burst out across the flatlands. The only thing that eventually stopped them was the town of Saint-Alphonse, which took it in the face.
    Out of the darkness, a white fist thumped the thick glass window, as though to remind Gamache it was still out there. And not happy.
    He didn’t flinch. But Gamache was aware that they were fortunate to be inside while it was outside.
    There was a knock on the door and Jean-Guy entered.
    â€œSince when have you knocked, mon beau ?” asked Reine-Marie, getting up to greet her son-in-law.
    â€œI wasn’t sure if anyone else had arrived,” he explained, his eyes scanning the room.
    Jean-Guy suspected the other staff members knew of his relationship with the Gamaches, but the students probably didn’t yet. He had no intention of letting anyone see an act of friendship and intimacy.
    Beauvoir’s sharp eyes took in his surroundings. Always alert for any threat. Like a gunman, or an open poetry book.
    These were very different quarters from any other home the Gamaches had had.
    This space in the academy was modern. Mid-century modern, he’d learned. With odd-shaped chairs with names that did not include La-Z-Boy, and did not look at all comfortable. At first he’d assumed the place had come furnished, someone else’s taste, and then he’d found out that the Gamaches had bought the stuff themselves.
    He didn’t like it.
    Walking across the thick shag area rug, he warmed his hands at the fireplace, then grabbed a Coke from the drinks table.
    There was a knock on the door and the first of the guests arrived. Within twenty minutes they were all there. A group of carefully chosen cadets, and a group of equally carefully chosen professors.
    They chatted, and helped themselves to food and drinks.
    The initially stiff atmosphere softened with the help of the cheerful fireplace, the storm outside, the drinks, and the ease of their