THE CRUELLEST MONTH
Still Life
Dead Cold
THE CRUELLEST
MONTH
Louise Penny
Copyright © 2007 Louise Penny
The right of Louise Penny to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
From
Reprinted by permission of the publisher.
‘Half-Hanged Mary’ from
Extract from ‘Epilogue’ by permission of The Society of Authors, representative of the estate of John Masefield.
Excerpt from ‘The Second Coming’ by W. B. Yeats used by kind permission of AP Watt Ltd on behalf of Michael B Yeats.
First published in 2007 by
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
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All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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For my brother Rob and his wonderful family,
Audi, Kim, Adam and Sarah, with love
ONE
Kneeling in the fragrant moist grass of the village green Clara Morrow carefully hid the Easter egg and thought about raising the dead, which she planned to do right after supper. Wiping a strand of hair from her face, she smeared bits of grass, mud and some other brown stuff that might not be mud into her tangled hair. All around, villagers wandered with their baskets of brightly colored eggs, looking for the perfect hiding places. Ruth Zardo sat on the bench in the middle of the green tossing the eggs at random, though occasionally she’d haul off and peg someone in the back of the head or on the bottom. She had disconcertingly good aim for someone so old and so nuts, thought Clara.
‘You going tonight?’ Clara asked, trying to distract the old poet from taking aim at Monsieur Béliveau.
‘Are you kidding? Live people are bad enough; why would I want to bring one back from the dead?’
With that Ruth whacked Monsieur Béliveau in the back of his head. Fortunately the village grocer was wearing a cloth cap. It was also fortunate he had great affection for the white-haired ramrod on the bench. Ruth chose her victims well. They were almost always people who cared for her.
Normally being pelted by a chocolate Easter egg wouldn’t be a big deal, but these weren’t chocolate. They’d made that mistake only once.
A few years earlier, when the village of Three Pines first decided to have an egg hunt on Easter Sunday, there’d been great excitement. The villagers met at Olivier’s Bistro and over drinks and Brie they divvied up bags of chocolate eggs to be hidden the next day. ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaaaahs’ tinged with envy filled the air. Would that they were children again. But their pleasure would surely come from seeing the faces of the village children. Besides, the kids might not find them all, especially those hidden behind Olivier’s bar.
‘They’re gorgeous.’ Gabri picked up a tiny marzipan goose, delicately sculpted, then bit its head off.
‘Gabri.’ His partner Olivier yanked what was left of the goose from Gabri’s massive hand. ‘They’re for the kids.’
‘You just want it for yourself.’ Gabri turned to Myrna and muttered so that everyone could hear, ‘Great idea. Gay men offering chocolates to children. Let’s alert the Moral Majority.’
Blond and bashful, Olivier blushed furiously.
Myrna smiled. She looked like a massive Easter egg herself, black and oval and wrapped in a brilliant purple and red caftan.
Most of the tiny village was at the bistro, crowded around the long bar of polished wood, though some had flopped down in the comfortable old armchairs scattered about. All for sale. Olivier’s was also an antique shop. Discreet tags dangled from everything, including Gabri when he felt under-appreciated and under-applauded.
