“Gamache tried the door to the bistro and was surprised to find it open. Earlier that morning, over breakfast of pain doré, sliced strawberries and bananas, maple syrup and back bacon, Gabri had admitted he didn’t know when Olivier might reopen the bistro.”
“Maybe never,” he said, “then where would we be? I’d have to start taking in paying guests.”
“Good thing then that you’re a B and B,” said Gamache.
“You’d think that would be an advantage, wouldn’t you? But I’m handicapped by extreme laziness.”
And yet, when Gamache and Agent Morin walked into the bistro there was Gabri behind the bar, polishing it. And from the kitchen came the aroma of fine cooking.“Olivier,” Gabri called, coming around from behind the bar. “Our first customers since the murder are here,” he sang out.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Gabri,” they heard from the kitchen and a pot clanked down. A moment later Olivier punched through the swinging door. “Oh, it’s you.”