The sky was made of marshmallow, and it was falling.
Over coffee Chief Inspector Gamache put on his half-moon glasses and read the bundle of letters, handing each to Beauvoir as he finished. After a few minutes he lowered his glasses and stared out of the window.
He was beginning to know Julia Martin. To know her facts, her history. He felt the rich, thick notepaper in his hands.
It was almost nine in the evening and still bright. They’d only just passed the summer solstice. The longest day of the year. The mist was disappearing, though some hovered lightly over the calm lake. The clouds were breaking up and a hint of red and purple was in the sky. It was going to be a magnificent sunset.
“What do you think?” he asked, tapping his glasses on the stack of letters.
“They’re the strangest collection of love letters I’ve ever seen,” said Beauvoir. “Why’d she keep them?”
Agent Lacoste picked up the letters and the velvet ribbon.
“They were important to her, for some reason. More than important, they were crucial. So much so she kept them with her. But . . .”
She seemed lost for words and Gamache knew how she felt. The notes spanned more than thirty years and seemed simply a collection of thank yous for parties, or dances or gifts. Various people telling Julia Martin she was kind.
None an actual love letter. Her father had written to thank her for a tie. There was an old one from her husband before they married, asking her to meet him for dinner. It was pleasant, complimentary. All of them were. Affectionate, grateful, polite. But no more.
“Why did she keep them?” Gamache mumbled, almost to himself. Then he picked up the more recent notes, the ones crumpled and found in the grate. “And why did she throw these away?”
As he read them again something struck him.
“Do you notice something unusual about this note?” He pointed to one.
You are very kind. I know you won’t tell anyone what I said. I could get into trouble!
Beauvoir and Lacoste studied it, but saw nothing.
“Not in the words, but in the punctuation,” said Gamache. “The exclamation mark.”
They looked at him blankly and he smiled. But he also knew there was something there. Something important. As so often happened, the message wasn’t in the words but in how they were put.
“I found something else in my search,” said Agent Lacoste, getting up from the table. “I’d like to show you before the Morrows finish dinner.”