A Rule Against Murder (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #4)

by Louise Penny

Leaning down to kiss Bean Marianna noticed the chandelier and its old corded electrical wire. In her mind she saw a spark leap in a brilliant arc onto the bedding, smoldering at first then bursting into flames as they slept. She stepped back, closed her eyes, and placed the invisible wall round Bean. There, safe.

As she undressed she went over the events of the day, making a list of all the people she might have hurt, all the people who might dislike her because of her words, her inflection, her manner.

But the words had already coiled themselves inside her and wouldn’t leave.

“You’re right,” said the maître d’ to Elliot. “I will stay to feed them cucumber sandwiches or whatever they want and Chef Véronique makes. And I do it happily. Sometimes people are rude and insensitive and insulting. That’s their problem, not mine. Everyone who comes here is treated with respect. Not because they’ve earned it, but because it’s our job. And I do my job well. They’re our guests, true. But they’re not our superiors. One more outburst like that and you won’t have to worry about staying on.” He turned to the rest of the room. “If any of you want to leave I’ll understand. I for one am staying.”

After years of investigating murders Chief Inspector Gamache knew one thing about hate. It bound you forever to the person you hated. Murder wasn’t committed out of hate, it was done as a terrible act of freedom. To finally rid yourself of the burden.

You can’t get milk from a hardware store. So stop asking for something that can’t be given. And look for what is offered.

“Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed . . . and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of.”

“Up, up the long delirious burning blue, I’ve topped the wind-swept heights . . . Where never lark, or even eagle flew.”

“And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.”

He looked at her with kindness. Not because he knew it would confuse or anger her further, but because he knew he’d had time to absorb his loss. And hers was fresh.

Grief was dagger-shaped and sharp and pointed inward. It was made of fresh loss and old sorrow. Rendered and forged and sometimes polished.

She taught me that life goes on, and that I had a choice. To lament what I no longer had or be grateful for what remained.

The mind is its own place, can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven,”

But he was a stubborn man, a proud man. He couldn’t admit he was wrong. He tried to apologize, in his way.

He was a good man, plagued by a bad ego. He paid a high price for it. But it doesn’t mean he didn’t love you all. Including Julia. It just meant he couldn’t show it. Not in the way you wanted.”

“We’re all blessed and we’re all blighted, Chief Inspector,” said Finney. “Every day each of us does our sums. The question is, what do we count?”