Sandra left the room, smiling, having forgotten why she went in. She’d never wanted children, too much work. But sometimes, in the company of an extraordinary child, a kind child, she felt an ache. It was inconceivable that fat, stupid, lazy Marianna had managed to have a baby. It gave Sandra some comfort to think Bean was screwed up. But then sometimes she forgot to hate Bean. And terrible things happened.

“Where were you?” Marianna asked when Sandra returned. “The police want you.”

“I was taking a walk. I heard Peter talking to that Chief Inspector and he said the oddest thing.” She noticed her mother-in-law and raised her voice slightly. “He said he thought if his mother died it would be a blessing.”

“He didn’t,” said Marianna, clearly delighted. “Really?”

“There’s more. He said Julia was greedy and cruel. Imagine that. She’s barely gone and already he’s badmouthing her, and to a stranger. But maybe I misheard.”

“What was that?” Mrs. Finney spoke from across the room, her soft pink face turned to them.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Forget I said anything.”

“He said Julia was greedy and cruel?”

Mrs. Finney saw again her daughter’s white hand reaching out. So Finney typical of Charles, to do such damage. Especially to Julia. But he’d damaged them all.

And now Peter was continuing his father’s work.

“I won’t have it. Julia was the most kind, the most sensitive, of all the children. Certainly the most loving.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sandra, and she was beginning to mean it.

“Who would want to kill your sister?”

Across from Beauvoir sat Thomas Morrow, a man in command even in the wilderness. He smoothed his linen slacks and smiled charmingly.

“She was a lovely woman. No one would want her dead.”

“Why not?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking why?” But he was suddenly nonplussed.

“Why?”

“Huh?” asked Thomas, lost now. “Look, this is ridiculous. My sister is dead, but she can’t have been murdered.”

“Why not?”

Back there again. Beauvoir loved rattling witnesses.

“Listen, she lived most of her life in Vancouver. If she angered anyone enough to kill her they’d be there, not here, and sure as hell not in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’re here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I heard all about what happened last night. In this very room. That must be the coffee stain.” He walked over and looked down. He’d found it before, but he liked the drama of this “sudden” discovery.

“She wasn’t herself, she was upset.”

“What upset her?”

“She’d been flustered all day. Father’s unveiling. She and Father had had a falling out. It was emotional for all of us to see that statue, but probably more so for her. It’s a difficult time for her. She’s just been through a very public and messy divorce. Her husband was David Martin, you know.”

His blue eyes slid over to Beauvoir, to make sure he’d understood. Beauvoir already knew about David Martin but was interested in Morrow’s manner. He’d spoken with both malicious pleasure and pride. Pleasure that his little sister had screwed up and married a felon, and pride that the felon was one of the wealthiest men in Canada, even after paying back all that money.

“Who would want your sister dead?”

“Nobody. This was a family reunion, a happy time. No one wanted her dead.”

Beauvoir slowly turned his head to look into the misty day and was silent but even a Morrow couldn’t miss his meaning. A hole in the ground outside those windows put the lie to Thomas Morrow’s words.

Don’t believe a thing they say, Marianna Morrow had said. And Beauvoir didn’t.

“Did Julia have any children?” Gamache asked as he and Peter emerged from the woods and headed slowly back to the Manoir.

“None. Don’t even know if they tried. We’re not a big family for kids,” said Peter. “We eat our young.”

Gamache let that join the mist around them. “What did you think of the statue of your father?”

Peter didn’t seem fazed by the non sequitur. “I didn’t give it any thought. I had no reaction at all.”

“That’s not possible. Even as an artist you must’ve had an opinion.”

“Oh, well, as an artist, yes. I can see the merit. Obviously the person who did it has some technique. It wasn’t bad. But he’d never met Father.”