A Great Reckoning by Louise Penny Page A

of art. Or map. Or whatever it was they’d found in the wall.
    Love and worry. They went hand in hand. Fellow travelers.
    Going back to the table to get more dishes, he saw Ruth watching him.
    â€œDo you see it?” she asked quietly as he bent for her bowl.
    â€œI see an anxious snowman,” he said, and even as the words came out, he realized how ridiculous they were. And yet the old poet didn’t mock. She just nodded.
    â€œThen you’re close.”
    â€œI wonder why the map was made,” said Armand, looking at it again.
    He didn’t expect an answer, nor did he get one.
    â€œWhatever the reason, it’s not for sale,” said Olivier, looking at it wistfully. “I like it.”
    While Armand and Myrna did the dishes, Olivier got dessert out of the fridge.
    â€œAre you looking forward to the first day of school?” Olivier asked as he served up the chocolate mousse, made with a dash of Grand Marnier and topped with fresh whipped cream.
    â€œI’m a little nervous,” Gamache admitted.
    â€œDon’t worry, the other kids’ll like you,” said Myrna.
    Gamache smiled and handed her a dish to dry.
    â€œWhat’re you worried about, Armand?” Olivier asked.
    What was he worried about? Gamache asked himself. Though he knew the answer. He was worried that in trying to clean up the mess at the academy, he’d only succeed in making it worse.
    â€œI’m worried I’ll fail,” he said.
    There was silence, broken only by the clinking of dishes in the sink, and the murmur of voices as Clara took Reine-Marie into her studio.
    â€œI’m worried that I’ve undervalued what’s in the blanket box,” said Olivier, putting a dollop of whipped cream on a serving of mousse. “But what I’m really worried about is that I don’t know what I’m doing. That I’m a fraud.”
    â€œI’m worried that the advice I gave to clients years ago, when I was a therapist, was wrong,” said Myrna. “I wake up in the middle of the night, afraid I’ve led someone astray. In the daylight I’m fine. Most of my fears come in the darkness.”
    â€œOr by candlelight,” said Armand.
    Myrna and Olivier looked at him, not sure what that meant.
    â€œDo you really think you’ll fail?” Olivier asked, putting the coffee on to perk.
    â€œI think I’ve made some extremely risky decisions,” said Armand. “Ones that could go either way.”
    â€œWhen I’m afraid, I always ask myself, what’s the worst that can happen?” said Myrna.
    Did he dare ask that? Armand wondered.
    He’d have to resign and someone else would take over the academy. But that would be the very best outcome, if he failed.
    The worst?
    He was bringing Serge Leduc and Michel Brébeuf together. For a reason. But suppose it backfired? There would be a conflagration, he knew. And one that would consume not just him.
    It was a very dangerous sequence of events he’d set in motion.
    *   *   *
    â€œI wouldn’t recommend it,” said Clara.
    â€œWhat?” asked Reine-Marie.
    They were in Clara’s studio, surrounded by canvases and brushes in old tin cans and the smell of oil and turpentine and coffee and banana peels. In the corner was a dog bed where Lucy, Clara’s golden, used to sleep as Clara painted, often into the night. Henri had followed them into the studio and was now fast asleep in the bed.
    But what held Reine-Marie’s attention, what would grab and hold anyone’s, was the canvas on the easel. Close up it was a riot of color, of bold slashes in purple and red and green and blue. All the tiny dots on Clara’s hands were splashed there, large.
    But take a step back and what appeared from the confusion was a woman’s face. Clearly Clara.
    â€œI wouldn’t recommend doing a self-portrait,” said the woman herself, sitting comfortably on the