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“Is that you, Chief Inspector?”

“Oui.” Armand had put on the auto-transcription function so he could read what was being said. “I’m wondering if a young woman is there, perhaps waiting for me?”

“No one has asked for you. Can you describe her?”

“Twenty-three years old, a woman of color. Probably looks annoyed.”

The maître d’ at the Ritz laughed. “Most young women these days seem to—”

“Oh, it’s okay, Julian. Merci. She’s just arrived.”

“Who the fuck’s this?” was the first thing out of Shona’s mouth. She stood across the diner, glaring at Ruth, then at Rosa. Then she turned to Gamache, who’d stood up. “You brought a date?”

Armand hoped to God he’d misheard, but the laugh of delight from Ruth said differently.

What he did realize was that he’d actually heard. While the cicadas were still screaming in his ears, the noise had dropped. This was no delusion, no wishful thinking.

He’d heard Shona. And, better still, he’d heard Ruth’s laugh.

How he missed laughter.

“Really, who the fuck is this?” Shona demanded. “You brought a vagrant? And a duck?”

“I heard you the first time,” he said.

Ruth caught his eye, her smile widening, before she looked at Shona and demanded, “Who the fuck is this?”

Armand began to grasp what might be the enormity of his misjudgment in having these two women in the same room. Then something happened.

“And in my heart, her anger smolders still,” Shona quoted. “Amid the ashes of residual guilt.”

“Forest fires,” said Vivienne.

They’d walked half a kilometer into the woods, marking the trail, then fanned out. But had found nothing. There was no evidence of anything buried or hidden.

They were now sitting on a fallen tree, resting. It had been a slog, and they still had to get back to the shore. The snow was accumulating. On the trees, the ground. Them. It tap-tap-tippity-tapped onto their rain gear, dripping under their collars and down their backs.

“What about the fires?” asked Isabelle, pulling her jacket tighter.

“Maybe that’s what Charles meant by the arrow. Not something he’d hidden close by, in these woods, but something further north. Maybe he wanted to bring our attention to the wildfires.”

“But the fires were news around the world. Hardly secret. And hardly a reason to be murdered.”

They were now retracing their steps. Both had come to the realization that if Charles Langlois did hide something in these woods, their chances of finding it were tiny.

They were almost back at the clearing when Isabelle stopped. She put her arm across Vivienne’s body to also stop her.

“What is it?”

“My God,” said Shona. “You’re Ruth Zardo.”

“And you are?”

“Shona Dorion.”

“You’re not…” Ruth raised her middle finger, and so did Shona. “Ha. You’re the one who’s always taking a run at Armand.”

“You follow her?” he said.