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“It must mean where the money came from. Washington, DC,” said Ruth. “And ‘FEDS’ means the Federal Reserve.”

“Which means not just American corporations, but the American government’s involved,” said Shona.

“Which means the American government’s involved,” Armand said, not realizing he was repeating what Shona had just said. But neither woman pointed that out.

It seemed to bear repeating.

“What is it?” whispered Vivienne, edging closer.

Isabelle Lacoste had spotted a lump, a bit of ground higher than it naturally would be, should be.

“Maybe nothing,” she said, kneeling beside it. From her knapsack she took out gloves and a small shovel.

“Please,” she muttered to herself, “let it be Langlois’s laptop. Please…”

Several inches down she found something promising. A heavy-duty green bag. The type you’d wrap something in to keep it safe from the elements.

But as she worked the earth around it, Isabelle Lacoste grew wary. It was much larger than a normal garbage bag, and certainly larger than a laptop would be, should be. Could be.

Completely oblivious now to the sleet hitting her face and the rivulets of cold water dribbling through her scalp as she bent over, Isabelle carefully dug around the edges of the plastic. Then stopped.

“What?” asked Vivienne, sensing the change. She was no longer with Isabelle. Her companion had become Inspector Lacoste.

Vivienne leaned in to get a closer look, then took a step back. The green garbage bag was outlining what could only be a boot.

For the first time in decades, Vivienne LaPierre crossed herself.

CHAPTER 11

Ruth finished her eggs Benedict at about the same time Rosa polished off the small bowl of frozen peas and sliced grapes the Ritz in Montréal had provided for her.

“Did you really kill her mother?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. It was complicated.

As Shona had left the dingy diner, she’d said to Ruth, “Having been hanged for something / I never said, / I can now say anything I can say.” Then she turned to Armand and said, with a glacial stare, “Before I was not a witch, / but now I am one.”

At the door Shona Dorion had turned and raised her middle finger. Ruth raised hers back. And, behind the counter, the emaciated server raised hers.

Armand lowered his eyes in the face of this private message between the women, a power of three that even the most obtuse man could not fail to understand.

Before I was …

Now, sitting in the grandeur of the Ritz, he gave his credit card to the server and said to Ruth, “I arrested her mother for killing her dealer, and asked that she be placed in the infirmary, for observation and help in coming off crack. She hanged herself.”

Ruth took a deep breath in and pushed away her plate.

“I later learned that she’d killed the man when he’d tried to rape Shona, who was eight.”

“Dear God,” sighed Ruth.

“I don’t think God had anything to do with what happened. It was a travesty from beginning to end.”

“Before I was not a witch,” said Ruth, softly, “but now I am one.”

He nodded.

In the car on the way home Armand tried to ignore the duck on his lap. Staring at him. Her beak almost touching his nose. Had it been a gun, he would not have been more disconcerted.