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The two women watched the activity below. The others in the loft had, one by one, also noticed the intense focus of Reine-Marie, and drifted over.

“What’s Isabelle doing?” asked Clara. “Why’s she going into the tent?”

Inspector Lacoste brushed mud off her knees, though she only managed to smear it further into her jeans. “It’s gone, patron.”

“But not far.” Chief Inspector Gamache held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Aimée Lagacé stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There wasn’t anything there. And certainly not a whatever-you-called-it.”

“Ledger,” said Lacoste.

“Strange,” said Inspector Beauvoir as he carefully removed the tent and picked up his phone, which he’d set to record. “When they tried to stake the plant up last night, they kept hitting something. Chief Inspector Gamache dug it up and found a book buried there.”

“Now it’s gone,” said Inspector Lacoste.

“When you transplanted Miss Wolcott here,” said Gamache, “you took that opportunity to hide the incriminating ledger in the one place you knew we’d never look. My own garden.”

“What’re you talking about? Me? I have no idea what you’re saying. I came here to help you. If you found something buried there, it wasn’t me.” The botanist looked around. “It’s not exactly a secure location. Anyone could’ve done it.”

“True. But the book was there when you arrived this morning,” said Inspector Lacoste. “And now it’s gone. No one else went into the tent with you.”

Once again, the Chief Inspector held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

The botanist was shaking her head. “You’ve lost your minds. I don’t have it.” Into the silence, she said, “Look, even if I did take it, it proves nothing.”

“The ledger proves you killed Brian Fillmore,” said the Chief.

“No! That wasn’t me.” Dr. Lagacé was backing up, but her boot caught on the stake, as though Miss Wolcott had put out her foot.

If Lacoste’s reactions hadn’t been so quick, Lagacé would have fallen. As it was, the canvas satchel slipped from her shoulder, and something wrapped in filthy plastic bags fell to the wet earth.

They stared at it. Then at her.

Aimée Lagacé’s eyes were wide with panic. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. But I know who did.”

“We need to talk,” said Chief Inspector Gamache.

“What’re they doing?” Gabri was craning to see past the others blocking his view out the window.

“They’re leaving the garden,” said Myrna.

“Coming here?” asked Olivier. “We can let them into the bistro.”

It wasn’t yet open, but that didn’t matter. Not when intense curiosity called.

“No, they’re heading for the bridge,” said Clara. “Must be going to the Old Train Station.”

Ruth turned to Reine-Marie. “Okay, what do you know?”

CHAPTER 61

Chief Inspector Gamache placed the plastic-encased ledger on the conference table, while Inspector Beauvoir put the coffee on and Inspector Lacoste lit the woodstove.

The damp and cold had seeped into the old building and left a chill that penetrated to the bone.

Gamache waved Dr. Lagacé to a chair.

“Am I under arrest?” She stood defiant now. “I need to call a lawyer.”