Pushing open the large wooden door, Gamache walked over to the front desk. A woman in her early forties looked up and smiled.

It was Dominique Gilbert, one of the owners of the Inn and Spa.

“Hello, Chief Inspector.” She shook hands with the large man. “Come for a massage? Or perhaps a pedicure?”

“Sadly, no.” He returned her smile. He liked Mrs. Gilbert. He’d met her on earlier cases in this part of Quebec. “I’m afraid my visit is much more serious in nature.”

He watched as her smile faded and a look of worry crossed her face.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been a murder.”

“Oh, no. Who?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m here. He might be one of your guests.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I have a picture of him.” The chief inspector studied Dominique Gilbert. She was a sensible woman. A former Montrealer who had moved to the country to open the Inn and Spa. It was a great success, but anything Dominique Gilbert did would likely succeed.

Dominique nodded, knowing what it meant to look at the picture. She steeled herself. “Of course. Angela?”

A woman in her mid-thirties appeared. “Yes, Mrs. Gilbert?”

“Could you look after the front desk?”

Dominique led the chief inspector into her office and closed the door. She squared her shoulders and looked directly at Gamache.

“I’m ready.”

Armand Gamache thought she probably wasn’t ready. No one could be prepared for what he was about to show her.

As she looked at the picture, her face became pained, as though he’d hit her.

“Are you all right?”

It was, he knew, a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. She’d just seen the face of a man strangled to death.

“I’m sorry,” she kept saying, as if she had something to be sorry for.

Finally, colour returned to her face.

“What happened to him?”

Gamache chose to ignore her question. “Do you know him?”

“It’s hard to say, but I think he might be Mr. Ellis. One of our guests.”

“What can you tell me about Mr. Ellis?”

Chief Inspector Gamache led her to a comfortable chair. She sat and he pulled another chair over.

“Not much, I’m afraid, but Angela might be able to help. I think she checked him in.”

He went to the door and quietly asked Angela to join them. There were no guests around, so she was able to leave the front desk.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked as she entered.

“Angela, this is Chief Inspector Gamache, of the Quebec Provincial Police. I’m afraid a man has been murdered, and he might have been one of our guests.”

Angela’s blue eyes widened. Red spread across her pale skin, moving up her neck to her cheeks.