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Ruth was looking at the minister with concern.

“I’d like to go home,” he said. He was weak and wilting. “Please. Do you mind driving me?”

“You can’t go home, Robert,” said Armand, wheeling him out. “You’re coming back with me.”

“Armand?” Ruth touched his arm and motioned him to step away.

“Are you sure he’s okay,” she whispered, glancing toward the minister, who was staring into space.

“The doctors have released him. I’ll take good care of him.”

She nodded and seemed distracted by some thought.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I just … be careful, Armand. That’s all.”

He knew what she was saying. Whoever did this might try again. Almost certainly would. That alone was reason enough to bring Robert Mongeau back home with him. Where he could protect the man. And maybe, maybe, catch the assailant when he did try again.

Fiona put the tray on the table.

Grilled salmon, roasted cauliflower with orange and dill crumb, and baby potatoes for Harriet, and piri-piri chicken thighs with roast parsnips and sweet potatoes for Sam.

She’d brought it over from the bistro, putting in the order with Olivier.

“Young lovers,” she said and saw him smile.

Once in the room, she locked the door, drew the curtains, mashed up the food, and then flushed it down the toilet.

Harriet roused. Her head still felt like it had been split open, but her eyes were clearer and she felt more alert.

The forest seemed in perpetual twilight, as though the sun were afraid to drop into the woods. But one thing that was dropping was the temperature.

A chill went through her, acting as a bucket of cold water to the face. She was no longer in any doubt. She was tied to a tree, her ankles also bound.

“Sam?” she whispered. It looked like he was lying on his side, a few feet from her. Still. Too still. Raising her voice a little, not wanting to alert her captors that she was conscious, she repeated, “Sam?” But the body didn’t move. Finally she shouted. “Sam!”

Nothing.

And now she just screamed. Not his name, not anyone’s. No words. Just a shriek. Startled birds took off, and squirrels scampered away from this new beast.

Her heart pounded, her head pounded.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

After what seemed hours, she’d exhausted herself. No one answered. No one came. But they must have been looking for them. A search party? Someone would know they were missing.

Myrna sat in the bistro with Ruth and Clara.

They were silent. Ruth had told them what had happened to Robert.

“Something’s wrong,” she now said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“I’d call murder and attempted murder more than wrong,” said Clara.

“I need to find Harriet,” said Myrna. “I need to make sure she’s all right.”

“She is,” said Gabri, joining them. “Fiona came and got them some dinner. They’re eating at the B&B.”