How the Light Gets In: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

wasn’t their territory, and not their body. The Sûreté du Québec was responsible for policing all of Québec, except those cities with their own forces. It still left them plenty of territory, and plenty of bodies. But not this one.
    Besides, both Gamache and Lacoste knew that the poor soul was probably a suicide. Driven to despair as the Christmas holidays neared.
    Gamache wondered, as they passed the body swaddled in blankets like a newborn, how bad life would have to be before the cold, gray waters seemed better.
    And then they were past, and the traffic opened up, and soon they were speeding along the autoroute, away from the bridge. Away from the body. Away from Sûreté headquarters. Toward the village of Three Pines.

 
    FOUR
    The small bell above the door tinkled as Gamache entered the bookstore. He knocked his boots against the doorjamb, hoping to get some of the snow off.
    It’d been snowing slightly in Montréal when they’d left, just flurries, but the snow had intensified as they’d climbed higher into the mountains south of the city. He heard a muffled thumping as Isabelle Lacoste knocked her boots and followed him inside.
    Had the Chief Inspector been blindfolded he could have described the familiar shop. The walls were lined with bookcases filled with hardcovers and paperbacks. With fiction and biography, science and science fiction. Mysteries and religion. Poetry and cookbooks. It was a room filled with thoughts and feeling and creation and desires. New and used.
    Threadbare Oriental rugs were scattered on the wood floor, giving it the feel of a well-used library in an old country home.
    A cheerful wreath was tacked on the door into Myrna’s New and Used Bookstore, and a Christmas tree stood in a corner. Gifts were piled underneath and there was the slight sweet scent of balsam.
    A black cast-iron woodstove sat in the center of the room, with a kettle simmering on top of it and an armchair on either side.
    It hadn’t changed since the day Gamache had first entered Myrna’s bookstore years before. Right down to the unfashionable floral slipcovers on the sofa and easy chairs in the bay window. Books were piled next to one of the sagging seats and back copies of The New Yorker and National Geographic were scattered on the coffee table.
    It was, Gamache felt, how a sigh might look.
    “Bonjour?” he called and waited. Nothing.
    Stairs led from the back of the bookstore into Myrna’s apartment above. He was about to call up when Lacoste noticed a scribbled note by the cash register.
    Back in ten minutes. Leave money if you buy anything. (Ruth, this means you.)
    It wasn’t signed. No need. But there was a time written at the top. 11:55.
    Lacoste checked her watch while Gamache turned to the large clock behind the desk. Noon almost exactly.
    They wandered for a few minutes, up and down the aisles. There were equal parts French and English books. Some new, but most used. Gamache became absorbed in the titles, finally selecting a frayed book on the history of cats. He took off his heavy coat and poured himself and Lacoste mugs of tea.
    “Milk, sugar?” he asked.
    “A bit of both, s’il vous plaît, ” came her reply from across the room.
    He sat down by the woodstove and opened his book. Lacoste joined him in the other easy chair, sipping her tea.
    “Thinking of getting one?”
    “A cat?” He glanced at the cover of the book. “ Non. Florence and Zora want a pet, especially after the last visit. They fell for Henri’s charms and now want a German shepherd of their own.”
    “In Paris?” asked Lacoste, with some amusement.
    “Yes. I don’t think they quite realize they live in Paris,” laughed Gamache, thinking of his young granddaughters. “Reine-Marie told me last night that Daniel and Roslyn are considering getting a cat.”
    “Madame Gamache is in Paris?”
    “For Christmas. I’ll be joining them next week.”
    “Bet you can hardly wait.”
    “Oui,” he said, and went back to his