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“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.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Chief Inspector and Madame Gamache, this,” said Clara, with a slightly manic flourish, as though producing the dinner guest out of thin air, “is the famous art critic Dominica Oddly.”
Ta-da.
Then poof, Clara disappeared.
“Madame Oddly,” said Armand, shaking her hand.
