The path comes out at the churchyard. There’s a plastic-covered notice board nailed to the middle of the chapel door. The priest uses it to announce events and the time for mass.

I quickly slide the letter under the plastic and carry on my way, whistling.

9

THROUGH MY SLEEP, I hear someone knocking at the door. The sound seems to come from far away.

Knock, knock, knock! I don’t have time to react before someone shoves in the door with their shoulder. Three people rush in. I am sitting on my bed, hurriedly putting on my trousers. I walk toward them in a daze as I button my shirt.

First I recognize William, then two giants from the mounted police, the same ones who patrol the reserve. Through the window I can see a patrol car parked in front of the band office.

The sun is already high in the sky. It must be the middle of the afternoon. I have been sleeping as soundly as a bear in its den.

“Pierre Larivière?” It’s the older officer, the one with the square head, bristly moustache and eyes like a husky.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s Pierre Larivière,” William says nervously. “I know him.”

The second officer, thin as a bulrush, noses around the house. I watch him out of the corner of my eye while his boss stares at me.

“You have a damn good view from here,” he says. “You can see the entire reserve. Where were you last night?”

I don’t answer.

“Did you hear or see anything unusual? Anything suspicious or out of the ordinary?”

I pretend to think hard.

“I heard thunder and I saw lightning!”

“The band office was broken into last night,” William says. “A confidential dispatch was stolen. The letter was found attached to the door of the church.”

“Stop! You’ve said enough.”

The older officer’s green eyes are leveled right at me. He leans forward until his face is two inches from mine.

“Do you have any idea, Larivière, what smart-aleck could have done that? Steal a letter and stick it on the church door?”

I shrug. I purse my lips and frown.

“At the church?”

“Yes!”

“Did you ask the priest?”

He turns as red as a maple leaf in autumn.

“Don’t try to get smart with me, Larivière. It’s me, Sergeant John Macdonald, who asks the questions.” He jabs his big finger in my stomach. “I have mighty sharp teeth, and when I bite, I don’t let go. I’m looking for the guilty party, and I know I’m on the right track.”

The thin officer is still snooping around. He looks under the mattresses, lifts the blankets with his gloved fingers, peeks in the cupboards, pats down the clothes hanging on a nail near the back door.

“Nothing here, chief!’

“I’ll take you next door,” William says to him. “The neighbor has a good view of the reserve, too.”

“Okay, let’s go. We’re going to go through this reserve with a fine-tooth comb. Larivière, we’re watching you. Understand?”