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‘It was that woman’s fault’ As she spoke a chunk fell fro inside Not sorrow, not loss

Rage

‘Who, h he knew the answer

The needles stuck deeper into Beauvoir’s botto forward

‘Why are you here?’ Hazel asked ‘Was Madeleineabout? What woman?’ Gamache repeated firmly

‘That witch Jeanne Chauvet’

All roads lead back to her, thought Gamache But where was she?

FIFTEEN

Armand Gamache opened the door to Madeleine Favreau’s bedroo the woman

‘So, was Madeleinethe upstairs hallway and met them at the bedroom door

‘Youwo dark hair moist from a recent shower Even a few paces away he could srance of the shauess’ She smiled fully at Beauvoir and cocked her head to one side, extending her hand Sophie Smyth was slim and dressed in a white terrycloth robe Beauvoir wondered if the young woman knew the effect this had

He sht she probably did

‘Now, you were asking about h he was seriously contehts?’

She laughed as though he’d said so both riotous and clever and pushed him playfully

Ga Jean Guy Beauvoir to work his dubious htly of perfuht and sophisticated Not the fulsoht in the hallway