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The words were like a slap across Beauvoir’s face. And with it he seemed to wake up. To come to. And he saw with clarity why he’d done it. It might not be enough to satisfy the Chief Inspector, but it might satisfy his father-in-law.

“Idola—” Jean-Guy began, but only got the one word out.

“Don’t you dare blame your daughter. This isn’t about her and you know it.”

And that was it. Jean-Guy exploded.

“What I know . . . sir, is that I’m her father. You’re only her grandfather.” All bonds had broken and he was again free from all constraint. “You’re nothing. You’ll be long dead and buried, and she’ll still be living with us. Forever. And then, one day, she’ll be Honoré’s burden. So don’t you ever, ever fucking tell me what is or is not about my daughter. Because everything is.”

By the time he finished, his snarl had turned into a shout. His hands gripped the table, and in his anger, his sudden madness, he jerked it and the lemon meringue pie bounced off and crashed to the floor.

The bistro had grown quiet as patrons stared, then looked away. As though Jean-Guy had unexpectedly stripped down to his underwear. To what normally never showed.

And then, with that one word, that too fell. Until he was as naked as the day he was born.

Burden. Burden.

Another silence enveloped them, punctured only by Jean-Guy’s small gasping cries as he struggled for breath, and fought off the tears that were taking him under.

He shoved his chair back, or tried to. Tried to get up. To get away. But he was too tightly wedged in.

And still Gamache said nothing.

About to yell at him again, to scream at Gamache to let him go, Jean-Guy looked directly at the Chief. And saw tears in his father-in-law’s eyes.

“What’s wrong with them?” asked Haniya Daoud.

She alone had continued to stare.

“Nothing,” said Clara. “They’ve had a hard day.”

“Yes.” Haniya recognized the larger, older cop, from the news reports. “Why don’t you like them? What’ve they done to you?”

“Nothing,” said Ruth.

“Well, they must’ve done something. When they came in, you did this.” Haniya held up her middle finger. “I believe it means ‘go fuck yourself.’ ”

Myrna’s brows shot up in surprise.

“It’s also a term of endearment,” said Ruth. “If you win the Nobel Peace Prize, you might start with that.”

Haniya Daoud smiled, but her eyes were hard as she stared at the elderly woman. Then over to the two Sûreté officers.

“They’re angry. Unstable. And no doubt armed.” She looked around. “I don’t think I like it here.”

Chapter 9

Jean-Guy dropped his head and covered his face, his hands muffling the sobs.

Armand remained quiet, though the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were filled with tears.

He brought out a clean handkerchief and pushed it across the table, then used a napkin on his own face.

Finally, after wiping his face and blowing his nose, Idola’s father looked at her grandfather.

But before Jean-Guy could speak, Armand said, “I’m sorry. You’re right. Everything in your life now is about Idola and Honoré. I should have known that. Forgive me. I should never have put you in that position. It was wrong of me.”

What was it about this situation, about Abigail Robinson, that brought out the worst in people? Though Gamache now faced his own uncomfortable truth.