Read How the Light Gets In: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel for Free Online

book. Hiding, she thought, the magnitude of his longing. And how much he was missing his wife.
    The sound of a door opening brought Gamache out of the surprisingly riveting history of the tabby. He looked up to see Myrna coming through the door connecting her bookstore to the bistro.
    She carried a bowl of soup and a sandwich, but stopped as soon as she saw them. Then her face broke into a smile as bright as her sweater.
    “Armand, I didn’t expect you to actually come down.”
    Gamache was on his feet, as was Lacoste. Myrna put the dishes on her desk and hugged them both.
    “We’re interrupting your lunch,” he said apologetically.
    “Oh, I only nipped out quickly to get it, in case you called back.” Then she stopped herself and her keen eyes searched his face. “Why’re you here? Has something happened?”
    It was a source of some sadness for Gamache that his presence was almost always greeted with anxiety.
    “Not at all. You left a message and this is our answer.”
    Myrna laughed. “What service. Did you not think to phone?”
    Gamache turned to Lacoste. “Phone. Why didn’t we think of that?”
    “I don’t trust phones,” said Lacoste. “They’re the devil’s work.”
    “Actually, I believe that’s email,” said Gamache, returning to Myrna. “You gave us an excuse to get out of the city for a few hours. And I’m always happy to come here.”
    “Where’s Inspector Beauvoir?” Myrna asked, looking around. “Parking the car?”
    “He’s on another assignment,” said the Chief.
    “I see,” said Myrna, and in the slight pause Armand Gamache wondered what she saw.
    “We need to get you both some lunch,” said Myrna. “Do you mind if we eat it here? More private.”
    A bistro menu was produced, and before long Gamache and Lacoste also had the spécial du jour, soup and a sandwich. Then all three sat in the light of the bay window, Gamache and Lacoste on the sofa and Myrna in the large easy chair, which retained her shape permanently and looked like an extension of the generous woman.
    Gamache stirred the dollop of sour cream into his borscht, watching the deep red turn soft pink and the chunks of beets and cabbage and tender beef mix together.
    “Your message was a little vague,” he said, looking up at Myrna across from him.
    Beside him, Isabelle Lacoste had decided to start with her grilled tomato, basil, and Brie sandwich.
    “I take it that was intentional,” said the Chief.
    He’d known Myrna for a number of years now, since he’d first come to the tiny village of Three Pines on a murder investigation. She’d been a suspect then, now he considered her a friend.
    Sometimes things changed for the better. But sometimes they didn’t.
    He placed the yellow slip of paper on the table beside the basket of baguette.
    Sorry to bother you, but I need your help with something. Myrna Landers
    Her phone number followed. Gamache had chosen to ignore the number, partly as an excuse to get away from headquarters, but mostly because Myrna had never asked for help before. Whatever it was might not be serious, but it was important to her. And she was important to him.
    He ate the borscht while she considered her words.
    “This really is probably nothing,” she started, then met his eyes and stopped. “I’m worried,” Myrna admitted.
    Gamache put down his spoon and focused completely on his friend.
    Myrna looked out the window and he followed her gaze. There, between the mullions, he saw Three Pines. In every way. Three huge pines dominated the little village. For the first time he realized that they acted as a windbreak, taking the brunt of the billowing snow.
    But still, a thick layer blanketed everything. Not the filthy snow of the city. Here it was almost pure white, broken only by footpaths and the trails of cross-country skis and snowshoes.
    A few adults skated on the rink, pushing shovels ahead of them, clearing the ice while impatient children waited. No two homes around the village