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He and Reine-Marie and Jean-Guy went for long walks in the late afternoon. The others, Annie, Daniel, Roslyn, left them to themselves. Understanding this was time they needed. Alone. Together.

At first they just walked, in silence. Each lost in their own thoughts. Then, little by little, they opened up. About what had happened.

Through the sunshine, through the woods, up and down the hills, over the wooden bridges, along the dirt road, they talked. And talked. And walked. And listened.

Sometimes they’d stop as one or the other halted. Overcome. Unable to go on.

They’d wait. And when the person was ready, they’d walk some more. Moving forward. Slowly. But always forward.

On clear, warm nights a bonfire would be lit. Marshmallows and hot dogs would be burned. Florence and Zora would crawl onto their grandfather’s lap, nestling into his open arms, while Honoré would curl up next to his grandmother, sharing a Hudson’s Bay blanket.

Jean-Guy always held Idola. Keeping her warm against his chest. Rocking her slowly. Back and forth. Back and forth. He’d push his chair back a little from the light so that no one could see his tears.

But rainy days were Armand’s favorites. They’d sit on the screened porch watching the warm rain on the lake, listening as it drummed on the roof. He’d get out the Monopoly board and, with Idola on his lap, he’d play all day with his grandchildren.

When they tired of Monopoly, he taught them cribbage and always, always, always cheated. Counting his cards to a ridiculous point total, to howls of protest.

And then it was time to leave.

If Armand’s and Reine-Marie’s embraces were a little tighter, a little longer, than normal, no one noticed. Or, if they did, they didn’t say anything.

John Fleming was dead. His skull crushed by the brick. Though Armand was honest enough to know it wasn’t the brick that did it. He did it. The brick just happened to be the tool at hand.

Sam Arsenault survived the gunshot wounds and was recovering in the prison hospital. He was charged with the murders of Claude Boisfranc and Monsieur Godin. Though Gamache suspected he was also responsible for the death of Madame Godin. Or was at least an accomplice.

But it was someone else’s case. He was now a witness.

He’d been interviewed, of course. And twice agents from his own department had traveled to the lake. He, Jean-Guy, and Reine-Marie had insisted the interviews not take place at the cabin, but in the detachment in Ste-Agathe. So as not to upset the children.

And now they were home in Three Pines.

Both Reine-Marie and Armand had wondered, as they’d driven back, how the place would feel.

Would they walk into their home and be overcome with terror? Would those ghosts come out of the walls, the floorboards, down the chimney and attack?

The place had been cleaned professionally, of course, in their absence. Several times. Then Clara and Myrna, Ruth, Olivier and Gabri, Monsieur Béliveau and Sarah and other friends and neighbors had gone in and scrubbed it down again.

What worried Armand and Reine-Marie as they got closer and closer to Three Pines weren’t the physical traces of what had happened. It was what could not be seen. That there was more in their home now than met the eye.

Armand unlocked the front door and reached for the handle, but Reine-Marie stopped him.

He looked at her, wondering if maybe she was about to say she could not go in. The place was not theirs anymore. John Fleming had taken possession of their home.

They would sell it and find a place somewhere else.

But instead, she laid her hand on top of his. “Let me.”

As she walked in, Reine-Marie was met with the familiar aromas of coffee and wood smoke and pine. The scents were embedded in the home.

But there was something else …

She turned and saw the huge bouquet of fragrant bee balm on the coffee table. And through the open door to the kitchen, she saw vases overflowing with roses and lavender. All from gardens around Three Pines.

Perennials. That never failed to return each year, no matter how harsh the winter.

She closed her eyes and dared the monster to do his worst.

Come on, she taunted. Come and get me.