Round and round he went in the astonishing quietude and comfort of the hushed village, his feet crunching on the hardened snow and his breathing loud in his ears.

Was CC’s mother asleep in one of these houses? Was it an easy sleep she enjoyed, or did her conscience startle her awake, like a home invader intent on violence?

Who was CC’s mother?

Had CC found her?

Did Mom want to be found?

Was CC motivated by need for family or was there some other, darker, purpose?

And what about the Li Bien ball? Who’d thrown it away? And why not simply toss it into the frozen dumpster, smashing it into unrecognizable pieces?

Fortunately Armand Gamache loved puzzles. Just then a dark figure shot off the village green, racing toward him.

‘Henri! Viens ici,’ a voice commanded. For a dog with such big ears Henri didn’t seem to hear. Gamache stepped aside and Henri skidded past with great glee.

‘Désolée,’ said Émilie Longpré, puffing as she approached. ‘Henri, you have no manners.’

‘It’s a privilege to be chosen as Henri’s playmate.’

They both knew Henri also chose his own frozen poop as a playmate, so the bar wasn’t set so high. Still, Em gave a slight incline of her head, acknowledging his courtesy. Émilie Longpré was a dying breed of Québecoise. Les Grandes Dames, not because they pushed and insisted and bullied, but because of their immense dignity and kindness.

‘We’re not used to meeting anyone on our morning walk,’ explained Émilie.

‘What time is it?’

‘Just past seven.’

‘May I join you?’

He fell in beside her, the three of them making their slow progress round the Commons, Gamache tossing snowballs to an ecstatic Henri as one by one lights appeared in village windows. In the distance Olivier waved as he crossed from the B. & B. to the bistro. A moment later soft light came through the window.

‘How well did you know CC?’ Gamache asked, watching Henri skid lazily around on the frozen pond after a snowball.

‘Not well. I only met her a few times.’

In the dark Gamache couldn’t make out Em’s expression. He felt handicapped but focused intently on her tone.

‘She came to visit me.’

‘Why?’

‘I invited her. Then I met her a week or so later at Mother’s meditation center.’ Émilie’s voice held a touch of humor. She could still see it. Mother’s face the color of her caftan, which that day was crimson. CC, thin and righteous, standing in the middle of the meditation room, critiquing Mother’s entire way of life.