Page 1

CHAPTER 1

Annie? Daniel?

Armand fought his way to the surface through a deep sleep.

The grandchildren?

He sat up straight in bed. His senses alert. It was … his head turned quickly to the bedside clock … 3:17 on a Saturday morning, and the phone was ringing.

He saw Reine-Marie bolt upright.

No one called at that ungodly hour unless something ungodly had happened.

No, not the family, he quickly thought. They were asleep in their beds in the Gamaches’ rambling old home in Three Pines.

Stephen? Could it be about the ninety-six-year-old curmudgeon, who’d cheated Death many times over? Had Death finally cornered Armand’s godfather. And dared to take him.

Henri raised his head from his paws, his gigantic shepherd ears swinging toward the unexpected sound. Fred, elderly and less alert, looked at Henri, unsure what was happening, while tiny Gracie, who was looking more and more like a chipmunk, sat up on her haunches.

All this happened in the blink of an eye.

Armand turned on the bedside lamp while Reine-Marie grabbed the phone.

“Oui, allô?”

Armand stared at her, his eyes anxious, his body tense. His breath held. His mind racing through the people they knew. The people they loved.

This was their personal number. It was not work. Not someone else’s tragedy.

“Pardon?” said Reine-Marie, holding her husband’s eyes.

On hearing that, his head dipped slightly to the side, perplexed.

“I’m sorry.” She’d raised her voice, to be sure she was heard. “I don’t understand. What’re you saying?”

“Stephen?” Armand mouthed.

Her shoulders lifted and she frowned. Unsure.

Her focus was complete. As was his.

So heightened were his senses, he could hear the breathing of the dogs, and Gracie. He could hear the soft ruffle of the curtains at the window. He could hear not just rain hitting the roof, but the sound of it dripping off the trees outside their home in the Québec village.

The scent of wet grass, pine needles, mud drifted through the open window, to mingle with the lingering aroma of woodsmoke, imbedded in their home after a century or more of log fires. And below that, the hint of coffee and the chocolate chip cookies Olivier and Gabri had baked with the grandchildren the day before.

All this Armand took in as he stared at his wife.

Reine-Marie passed him the phone. “I can’t understand…,” she whispered.

“Allô?”

There was silence. Then came the sharp inhale of a person out of breath from running. But no, it was more than that. It was a sound Armand Gamache knew well. Not running, not exertion. This was a gasp of shock. Of fear.

“There’s…” The line crackled …

“What?” Armand swung his legs out of bed and slid his feet into the slippers left there for the inevitable nighttime trip to the bathroom. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear and leaned forward, as though that would help. While his hearing had recovered, he was still worried he wasn’t catching everything.

“… a body in…” The line dropped out.