Because she was nothing if not fair, she’d show him Peter’s studio, and the chief curator of MOMA would be polite. But there’d be no doubt. She was the real talent in the family.

Clara hummed.

‘Now kneel down, Inspector. You grab the handle of the rock as though you’re going to shake hands.’ She was bending over him. ‘Now, you bring the rock back with your right arm and your left leg also swings back, then you bring both forward at the same time and slide down the ice, the rock leading the way. Don’t shove it, mind. Just release.’

Beauvoir looked down the curling rink to her stone at the far end. It suddenly seemed very far away.

Gamache watched Beauvoir take a deep breath and bring his right hand back, the rock threatening to overbalance him already. Beauvoir remembered the silly broom and leaned over on it, feeling his boots begin to slip. This couldn’t be right.

The rock thumped onto the ice and he gave a great heave, knowing he’d somehow lost the momentum he was meant to build up. His right arm shot out, still clinging to the stone, and his left leg scrambled for purchase. He could feel himself falling.

Beauvoir fell flat on the ice, arms and legs splayed, the stone still in his grip.

‘Whale oil beef hooked,’ said Billy Williams, laughing.

Clara was thinking about the movie the night before. It’d been a while since she’d watched a video. Almost all their movies were on DVD, mostly because Peter’s favorite videos were ruined. He’d kept pausing them at his favorite spots to watch over and over and the tape had stretched. Gone wonky.

Clara sat up in the bath, bits of fragrant herbs clinging to her body. Could that be it?

‘Honey, Mom’s on the phone from Montreal, calling to thank us for our gift.’ Peter walked in holding the phone. Clara waved him off, but it was too late. Wiping her hands she glared at Peter.

‘Hello, Mrs Morrow. Well you’re welcome, and Merry Christmas to you too. My job at the pharmacy? It’s going very well, thank you.’ She looked daggers at Peter. Clara hadn’t worked at the pharmacy in fifteen years. ‘And thank you for your gift. Very thoughtful. I’m using it now. Yes, bon appétit.’ Clara hung up and handed the phone to Peter. ‘Seems she gave me a pack of dried soup. Vegetable.’

Looking down at her toes, Clara noticed a pea bobbing on the surface, next to a bright orange rehydrated carrot.

‘Did I win?’ Beauvoir brushed himself off and stared at the curling stone at his feet.

‘Depends what game you’re playing.’ Em smiled. ‘You’ve definitely mastered the stationary stone game. Félicitations.’