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She was there for a reason, a dark purpose.

Reine-Marie Gamache made her way to the parfumerie. And from there, to the colognes.

Gamache and Beauvoir had their heads together, looking at Stephen’s cramped writing.

They’d first checked his entries for the day before. There were several.

Stephen had written Armand, Rodin, and the time.

Below that he’d written AFP.

“Alexander Francis Plessner?” asked Beauvoir.

“Must be. That’s when he arrived in Paris.”

Below that Stephen had written dinner, family, Juveniles, and the time.

“You said he was meeting someone for drinks before coming to dinner,” said Jean-Guy. “Do you think he meant Plessner?”

Gamache was nodding, staring at the page.

“Jacques?”

“Oui, Monsieur Armand?”

“Was Monsieur Horowitz here yesterday?”

“Bien sûr. He came in for ice cream.”

“Who was he with?”

“No one, monsieur. He was alone. I personally waited on him.”

“You’re sure.”

“Certain. Will he be joining you?”

Armand stared at him and realized the maître d’ had no idea what had happened. Why would he?

Gamache got up and stood facing Jacques. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

Jacques’s face slackened. “Non,” he whispered. “Is it serious?”

His blue eyes, sharp as ever, trained to pick up the most nuanced of movements, the smallest change of facial expression in his patrons, now betrayed his own feelings.

Jacques had known Monsieur Horowitz from the first day he started at the Lutetia. The visiting Canadian’s water glass was practically the very first one he’d filled.

In his nervous state, Jacques had tipped the silver beaker too steeply and ice cubes plopped out, spilling water onto the linen.

Jacques, all of fifteen, stared in horror, then lifted his eyes to the man sitting there.

The patron’s face was placid, not revealing that anything was wrong. But he gave a small smile and nod of encouragement.

It was okay.

While everything else about his first few days was a blur, the Canadian businessman had made an impression. And not just for that act of kindness.

His accent, for one. It was a mixture of German, English, and French. And was, for the new busboy, a little hard to follow.