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“We need to follow it, at least partway into the Green Mountains. See what’s there.”

“Though we don’t know how far down Langlois went. Still, it’s a start. I’ll send Jean-Guy.” Then, remembering the imminent arrival of his visitor, he said, “Unless you’d like to—”

She was about to agree when she read the look on his face. “What haven’t you told me?”

He took a deep breath but didn’t have to actually say it. Only one thing could explain his expression.

“You haven’t,” Reine-Marie said. “My God, you have. You’ve invited her here, haven’t you.”

“Yes. I need to talk to her.” Neither used Jeanne Caron’s name. “She’ll meet me here in the church.”

Reine-Marie looked at him as though he’d raised his fist to her. It shocked and hurt him. But he understood. He had, in her view, invited what might as well have been their son’s murderer into their safe place. For a chat.

Reine-Marie sighed. “I hate this. I hate her. And at this moment I don’t much like you. But I understand.” She looked around. “And at least it’ll be easy to perform the exorcism.”

She gave him a cursory kiss on the cheek, then left. And for the first time in months, he wished he hadn’t understood what had been said to him.

“Over there.”

Isabelle Lacoste’s keen eyes had picked out not just a small clearing by the water’s edge, but also what looked like a stone circle. It was either a very, very small megalith, a minilith, or—

“Looks like an encampment,” said Vivienne LaPierre.

Once the seaplane got as close as the pilot dared, Lacoste inflated the raft and the two women paddled to shore.

They wore their heaviest sweaters under thick wax coats. This far north they were on the cusp of winter. It was certainly cold enough to sleet, if not snow.

“This is fairly recent,” said Vivienne, kneeling beside the campfire and examining the black muck in the middle that had been charred firewood.

“Agreed. Looks like a tent was pitched over there, but the grass and underbrush has had time to grow back.”

“We make camp?” asked Vivienne.

“We make camp, but first I need to go over the area to make sure we don’t destroy any evidence.”

“Bon. While you look, I’ll get our stuff onshore. Good to keep moving.”

The chill had seeped through her coat and was menacing her thick sweater. The last line of defense before her skin.

By the time Isabelle had been over the campsite and even into the surrounding woods, Vivienne had brought everything over from the plane.

Puffing from the exertion, she said, “The pilot says he’ll come back for us tomorrow at this time. Is that okay?”

Isabelle saw the pilot watching them from the cockpit. She gave him the thumbs-up, he returned it, and within minutes he’d gathered speed, bumping down the lake; then he lifted off in a graceful arc over the trees. And disappeared.

It took a while for the sound of the plane to die in the distance, for the waves the plane created to stop slapping against the rocky shore and the startled birds to return. But eventually peace and tranquility had been restored, except for the grunting as Vivienne lugged another large backpack farther ashore.

“Hope your work isn’t too much for you,” she said as she dropped the heavy satchel with a thud and watched Isabelle sitting at the base of a large tree. “Really, don’t worry about me.” She wiped her brow, inadvertently putting a streak of muck there, and walked over. “What’re you looking at?”

Isabelle pointed to a smooth stone nestled against the tree trunk. “That didn’t get there on its own. It’s a river rock.”

Vivienne automatically reached for it, but Isabelle stopped her. “Don’t touch.”

The biologist knelt beside the Sûreté officer and together they studied it. The stone was completely smooth.

“You think someone put it there?” asked Vivienne.

“I think Charles Langlois put it there.”