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“Not a date,” muttered Armand as he checked his phone again.

He was getting worried that maybe “the Ritz” wasn’t code. Wasn’t an in-joke after their last meeting here. That Shona really did mean the Ritz.

He’d messaged her but got no answer.

Now he was worried that she had meant to meet him here, but something had happened to her.

Isabelle lay face up, staring at the peak of the tent not that far above her runny nose.

She had to go to the bathroom, a.k.a. the log, badly, but was loath to get out of her toasty warm sleeping bag. And, to make matters worse, she could hear the rapid tapping of something against the canvas.

Ever since her grandparents had taken her camping as a child, Isabelle had loved the smell of a canvas tent. But that soothing scent did not outweigh the sound, and her dread of what she’d find when she opened the flap.

“Red sky at night, my ass,” she muttered.

Beside her, Vivienne was still asleep. Clearly she’d chosen, intentionally or not, the side that did not have a tree root sticking up.

Desperately trying to get out of her sleeping bag without touching the sides of the tent and breaking the seal that would allow whatever was hitting the outside in, Isabelle twisted and turned and finally kicked the sleeping bag away. Unzipping the tent flap, she looked out.

It was worse than she thought. Rain wasn’t hitting the canvas. It was snow. Sleet. Ice.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered as she ran barefoot across the campsite, to the designated log. “Fuck.”

But finally the relief was so great, she didn’t even feel the ice and snow on her legs and under her feet.

“May I?” Vivienne plunked down beside her, not waiting for permission.

After her own deep sigh, Vivienne asked, “Okay, what do we do first?”

It reminded Isabelle of Jean-Guy’s claim that he and the Chief had once, in desperation, used a two-holer outhouse as a situation room. She had never believed him. But this topped even that.

“We go into the woods, see if we can find what Charles was pointing to. I’m really hoping he left other signs.”

Isabelle looked at the snow and sleet, the leaden sky and lake. Even the woods seemed drained.

And yet, for all that, what she felt was glee. They were close. Today was the day they’d break this open and stop whatever was going to happen. Or at least find out what it was. Then they’d have a fighting chance.

She looked at Vivienne, who was also staring at the lake.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that next summer I’d like to bring my grandchildren here.”

“I’ll bring my kids and we can camp together. This time we won’t forget the s’mores.”

Neither said, as they ran back to the tent, that they hoped “here” would still be there next summer.

A few minutes later they were wearing every piece of clothing they’d brought with them. By mutual agreement they skipped breakfast. Though they ate the chocolate bars that had been intended for the s’mores.

Isabelle walked to the base of the tree and replaced the stone exactly where and how she’d found it.

“Why did you do that?” asked Vivienne.

“To hide Charles’s markings We might not be the only ones looking.”

They hitched their backpacks further up and headed into the woods.

“Bonjour, Julian—”