By Louise Penny
Winner of the 2007 Agatha Award for most sensible Novel!When leader Inspector Armand Gamache is named to enquire a woman’s loss of life, it doesn’t take lengthy for him to gain that no love was once misplaced on omit de Poitiers. yet whether all people hated her—her husband, lover, and daughter between them—how is it that nobody observed her get electrocuted in the course of a frozen lake within the heart of city? Gamache digs underneath the skin of 3 Pines to discover the place the true secrets and techniques are buried. yet different problems lie forward for the detective. it kind of feels he has a few enemies of his own…and with the arrival of the sour iciness winds, whatever way more chilling is in store.
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Additional info for A Fatal Grace (Three Pines Mysteries, No. 2)
Clara ran her hands through it, making it stand on end as though she’d just had a scare. ’ Olivier turned to Myrna. ‘She looks like a frightened doughboy from the trenches of Vimy. Not many people could carry off that look. Very bold, very new millennium. ’ Clara narrowed her eyes and glared at Myrna whose smile went from ear to ear. ‘Fuck the Pope,’ said Kaye. CC straightened the chair again. She stood dressed and alone in the hotel room. Saul had left without a goodbye kiss offered or expected.
She hadn’t recognized the man next to CC as Fortin, but then she’d only seen pictures of him. Amateur and banal. And then the pain started and the tears, and she stood in Ogilvy’s, the place she’d been yearning to enter all her life, and wept. She sobbed, and lowered her precious presents to the marble floor, and placed the sandwich there and the cookies and the coffee, carefully, as a child places food for Santa. Then she knelt there herself, the final offering, a tiny ball of pain. Amateur and banal.
It looked to Clara like one of those Currier and Ives prints she’d stared at for hours as a child and yearned to step into. Three Pines was robed in white. A foot of snow had fallen in the last few weeks and every old home round the village green had its own tuque of purest white. Smoke wafted out of the chimneys as though the homes had their own voice and breath, and Christmas wreaths decorated the doors and gates. At night the quiet little Eastern Townships village glowed with light from the Christmas decorations.
A Fatal Grace (Three Pines Mysteries, No. 2) by Louise Penny