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“You’re in her spot,” Ruth explained.
He turned to look outside as city turned to countryside, though Armand barely noticed. His thoughts were on what Shona had said. About Action Québec Bleu. They’d investigated its Executive Director, Margaux Chalifoux, but found nothing against her. The environmental organization appeared to run not just on a shoestring, it would be lucky to have even that. It ran on vapors and wishful thinking and, mostly, the goodwill and passion of its workers who were, in essence, involuntary volunteers.
Isabelle had investigated their funding and found nothing irregular, beyond its lack of support from any level of government, which was in itself odd.
She’d planned to look more closely, but then the plot exploded, and was resolved, and the investigation ended.
But now …
But now Shona had found tens of millions of dollars had been funneled through AQB to … Lauzon? They’d have their forensic accountants check the accounts, to be sure.
Ruth, who was a surprisingly good driver, had gotten them almost home before she quietly said, without turning to him, “I know.”
“What do you know?”
“That you heard what I just said. That your hearing is better than you let on.” She glanced at him. “Why would you hide that?”
“Why do you hide that you are, in fact, a kind and decent and loving person?”
It looked as though she was not going to answer. It wasn’t until they crested the hill that led down into Three Pines that she said, “Because it’s dangerous to expose myself.”
“Even to friends?”
“They don’t have to be told, they know.” She peered at him. “I’m presuming your family knows too.”
He smiled. “I didn’t know until you laughed.” It did seem unfair that the first sound he heard clearly was out of Ruth. Though how perfect that it was a laugh. “Please don’t tell anyone. Leave that to me.”
“You want people to think you’re not up to the job? Believe me, it’s not a hard sell.”
It was his turn to laugh. But she had it right. It was vital that he be underestimated.
There were still far too many cicadas screaming in his head, but he now had confidence they too would leave. And he found he could now think more clearly.
“It’s not always obvious who our friends are,” Ruth said, pulling her car partway onto her lawn.
He was not the only one who wanted to be underestimated.
“True enough. Thank you for the drive.”
“And the distraction? That is why we were there, no? So that no one would figure out the real reason for your visit to Montréal?”
He smiled. “You are a witch.” At which she cackled. “I’m afraid you and Rosa can’t come over for Sunday lunch today.”
“That’s okay. I’ve had my fill of you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.” And heard her laugh. “Thank you, Ruth. You’re a good friend.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” said Ruth, and heard him laugh as he got out of the car.
As he walked along the path to the house, their front door opened and Henri, Fred, and Gracie bounded out, and with them came the scent of roasting chicken.
“Evelyn’s here,” said Reine-Marie, giving him a hug. “She’s waiting for you in the bistro. Jean-Guy isn’t back yet.”
He could see that. No car.
“I’m going over to Clara’s before he gets here.” The “he” she meant was not Jean-Guy. “Take the chicken out in half an hour and let it rest, and for God’s sake, don’t let Henri get it.”
That had only happened once, and they suspected it wasn’t Henri but Ruth who’d dragged the carcass away.
