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"You have no need for concern," he reassured her

"But you don’t know everything, I think You don’t knoho the deadnow She sounded as Reine-Marie did when reading their infant granddaughters a fairy tale It was the voice she used not for the fairy godmother, but the wicked witch

"Who is it?" he asked, lowering his own voice

"Augustin Renaud," she whispered

Gaustin Renaud Dead Murdered in the Literary and Historical Society Now he knehy Elizabeth MacWhirter was so desperate

And he knew she had reason to be

FOUR

Gabri sat in the worn ar fire Around him in the bistro he now ran he heard the fa At so the Saturday paper or a book, soht very well be there for dinner

It was a lazy Saturday in February, the dead of winter, and the bistro wasof silverware on china His friends Peter and Clara Morroith him, as was Myrna, who ran the new and used bookstore next door Ruth had proenerally h thehe could see the village of Three Pines covered in snow, andwind for that, but he’d be surprised if they got less than a foot by the ti with a Québec winter, he knew It entle, beautiful even, but it could take you by surprise

The roofs of the hoe hite and s thick on the evergreens and on the three ether at the far end of the village green like guardians The cars parked outside homes had become white lu to do it," Myrna was saying, sipping her hot chocolate

"No you’re not," laughed Clara "Every winter you say you will and you never do Besides, it’s too late now"

"Have you seen the last-minute deals? Look" Myrna handed her friend the Travel section fro to a box<ins class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true"></ins>