By Louise Penny
Winner of the 2007 Agatha Award for top Novel!When leader Inspector Armand Gamache is named to enquire a woman’s demise, it doesn’t take lengthy for him to gain that no love used to be misplaced on omit de Poitiers. yet whether each person 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 outside of 3 Pines to discover the place the genuine secrets and techniques are buried. yet different issues lie forward for the detective. it sort of feels he has a few enemies of his own…and with the arrival of the sour wintry weather winds, whatever way more chilling is in store.
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Additional resources for A Fatal Grace (Three Pines Mysteries, No. 2)
Asked Myrna. ‘Of course not. ’ Really, Myrna had grown quite out of touch. ’ ‘Or his unit. ’ Clara had seen pictures of the Sassoon salons and thought that while Myrna’s description was a little dramatic it wasn’t that far off, judging by the pouting, unhappy women in the photos. A few hours later, struggling along rue Ste-Catherine, mittened hands grasping the ropes of bags overflowing with gifts, Clara was exhausted and pleased. Her buying spree had gone brilliantly. She’d bought Peter the perfect gift, and smaller items for family and friends.
CC would collect the shampoos and stationery to prove her worth, just as she’d collected him. And she’d use them to make some obscure point to people who didn’t care, just as she’d use him. And then, eventually, everything would be discarded. As her husband had been tossed aside, as her daughter was ignored and ridiculed. The world was a cruel and insensitive place. And he now believed it. He hated CC de Poitiers. He got out of bed, leaving CC to stare at her book, her real lover. He looked at her and she seemed to go in and out of focus.
Each morning he’d wake early and go into the young day, when the world was new and anything was possible, and he’d see how lovely Montreal was. He’d see people smiling at each other as they got their cappuccinos at the café, or their fresh flowers or their baguettes. He’d see the children in autumn gathering the fallen chestnuts to play conkers. He’d see the elderly women walking arm in arm down the Main. He wasn’t foolish or blind enough not to also see the homeless men and women, or the bruised and battered faces that spoke of a long and empty night and a longer day ahead.