She scanned the shore. Perhaps it was a tradition. Perhaps when the supply ship arrived, the residents came out and applauded. She would.

But that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t quite human.

“It’s the trees,” said Chartrand. He guided her gently around until Clara was looking away from the harbor, toward the forest.

“They’re happy to see us,” he said quietly.

Clara looked into his face, into his eyes. He wasn’t watching her. He was taking in the woods. The joyous trees with the leaves that clapped together in the slightest breeze.

Beside her Myrna looked down at the guidebook, and didn’t have the heart to tell them that the trees were called quaking aspens. And if they felt anything on seeing the ship approach, it was alarm. She would too, if she was a tree.

“We’ll be docking and unloading supplies,” the tinny voice over the PA system advised. “You are free to go ashore, but be aware that we will be leaving in four hours.”

With or without you was the implication.

“We can jump ship,” said Beauvoir. “There must be a plane we can charter.”

“No. We stay with the ship,” said Clara. “I’m sorry, Jean-Guy, I know this isn’t your first choice, but if Peter took this route, then we do too. We don’t know where he got off. It might be here.”

It did not take four hours to comb Port-Menier.

They split up, with Clara and Chartrand taking one part of town and the others taking the other. An hour after leaving the ship, and speaking to every merchant and villager they could find, Myrna, Jean-Guy, and Gamache arrived at the only restaurant in town.

“You must be starving,” Gamache said to Myrna. “I know I am.”

“I could eat,” she said.

They ordered fish and chips, and Beauvoir ordered a pizza as well. “And one to go,” he shouted. “You never know,” he told Gamache.

“I honestly don’t think we can get the pizza box into the cabin,” said Gamache, taking his reading glasses off and putting the menu aside. “And I’m a little worried if we eat the pizza we won’t fit in either.”

When the food came, they discovered that the fish was cod.

“Caught today,” said the young server. “And the potatoes are fresh today too.”

He gestured out the window to the huge ship they’d come in on. Clearly “fresh” was a sliding scale.

“You get many people off the ship?” Gamache asked. He cut into the crispy fish.

“Some. Most just want to stretch their legs. Like you.”

“Do many stay?” Jean-Guy took up the line of questioning while Gamache ate.

“Here? No,” the young man laughed. “Some hunters come for a week or so later in the season. Some fishermen. But no one lives here. Except us.”

He didn’t seem upset about that. If anything, he seemed relieved.