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"Still," he said "What could you hope to do about it?"
"Well," said Marois, "notall these years I was curious"
"Is that all?"
"Have you never wanted to visit Giverny to see where Monet painted, or go to Winslow Homer’s studio in Prouts Neck? Or see where Shakespeare and Victor Hugo wrote?"
"You’re quite right," admitted Gamache "Madame Gamache and I have visited the homes of many of our favorite artists and writers and poets"
"Why?"
Ga "Because they seeuay snorted Beauvoir bristled, embarrassed for the Chief Inspector It was a ridiculous answer Perhaps even weak To adic
But Marois sat still, staring at the Chief Inspector Finally he nodded, slightly and slowly It ht treic I hadn’t planned to coe I wanted to see the village that had produced such ic"
They talked for a few more minutes, about their movements Who they saho they spoke to But like everyone else, it was unremarkable
Chief Inspector Ga in the bright living roouests Within an hour they’d interviewed the suspicious or helpful
As they walked back down the hill into Three Pines, Gaht of their interviews and what François Marois had said
But there wasreen, had eaten the food and danced aht
And produced not ic but murder
SIX
Out theof her bookstore Myrna could see Ar down the dirt road into the village
Then she turned back to her shop, with its wooden shelves filled with new and used books, the wide plank pine floors Sitting on the sofa beside theand facing the woodstove was Clara
She’d arrived a fewher haul of newspapers to her breasts, like an ied and precious