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“Who is she?” asked Armand.
Reine-Marie looked torn between amusement and concern. “She doesn’t exist.”
“Then how do you know her name?” asked Jean-Guy.
“And she does exist,” said Gabri. “We met her.”
“No, I mean the name, Mountweazel. It’s a code too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Sylvie. “Code for what?”
Reine-Marie was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Years ago, before the internet and electronic ways to investigate intellectual property thefts, publishers would put traps into books. Fictitious entries in reference books, to catch copyright thieves. Lillian Virginia Mountweazel is the most famous.”
“Well,” said Gabri, “famous?”
“Among archivists, yes. She’s almost a folk hero. Lillian Virginia Mountweazel is a fake biographical entry in The New Columbia Encyclopedia. She was described as a fountain designer who died in an explosion while on assignment for Combustibles magazine.”
The minister, Robert Mongeau, was the first to break the silence, with a laugh. Soon the others were chuckling too.
“If something’s called a mountweazel, it means it’s a fraud,” said Reine-Marie.
“Shit,” said Gabri. “I wish you’d been around when she was here.”
“Maybe that’s why she came when she did,” said Sylvie. “So you wouldn’t be here.”
Armand was nodding. It was a thought. And a disturbing one. It meant that someone really was feeding information about his family, their travels, their habits and interests. Someone close.
He was happier than ever that Reine-Marie was going away. Though they had to make sure that person did not know where.
“It’s not that funny,” Gabri said to Ruth, who was still chuckling.
Ruth was staring at the painting through her binoculars.
“It’s not that,” she said, lowering them. “It’s that.” She gestured toward the painting.
“What?” asked Armand.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“For fuck’s sake, you old drunk,” said Gabri. “If it was obvious, we wouldn’t be here.”
“I just said that to you.”
“I know. Do you never listen to yourself?”
He turned to Armand. “She doesn’t see anything in the painting. The duck has a better chance of decoding those marks.”
Rosa nodded. But then, ducks often did. Though they almost never broke codes.
“I see a DVD,” said Ruth.
“So do we.” Olivier waved toward the painting.
“But do you see its title?”
They all leaned forward and brought their magnifiers back up to their faces.
“‘Tire’?” suggested Olivier.
