"Louise and I signed up for a ceramics workshop in Pointe-aux-Pics. We thought it would be fun to learn how to make pottery-"

Heave. Heave.

"-stay in a B and B, do our Christmas shopping in the Charlevoix region."

"Your sister didn't feel up to going?"

When Fisher nodded an upper chin plunged into the fat of its lower counterpart.

"Louise insisted she'd be fine. Said if she needed anything, she'd call Claudia. That's my daughter." Fisher's throat seemed to clench. "Oh G.o.d. Does Claudia know?"

"Yes, ma'am. Claudia's been very worried about you."

"We should have told her. I I should have told her. When Louise decided to stay behind, it didn't seem necessary. Claudia's always fussing at me about driving during the winter. Treats me like I'm a doddering old fool. Wants me to stay home all the time." should have told her. When Louise decided to stay behind, it didn't seem necessary. Claudia's always fussing at me about driving during the winter. Treats me like I'm a doddering old fool. Wants me to stay home all the time."

"When did you get back from Charlevoix?" Ryan asked.

"Not long before you arrived. I thought Louise was over to the church. They do bingo on Thursday nights. I was tired from the drive, so I was about to leave her a note and turn in."

Fisher was wadding and unwadding the saturated tissue.

"Louise's bed is unmade. That's not like her."

The corpulent bosom heaved again.

"Let me get you some water."

As I filled a gla.s.s from the kitchen tap, Ryan and Fisher talked on in the living room. Now and then the c.o.c.katiel chirped or sang a fragment of song.

Before returning, I made a quick pa.s.s by Louise Parent's room. The scene differed little from the SIJ photos. The bed was now stripped, exposing a stain on the mattress where Parent's bladder had voided at death. A single pillow lay by the headboard.

I returned to the living room and handed Fisher the water.

Ryan caught my eye and gave a subtle head shake, indicating Fisher was too distraught for meaningful questioning.

"I'm going to call your daughter now," Ryan said.

Fisher made disjointed slurping sounds as she drank.

"We'll talk tomorrow, when you're feeling better."

"When can I see Louise?"

Ryan looked at me.

"A viewing can be arranged, if that's what you'd like."

"What a terrible Christmas." Fisher's lips trembled. Tears glistened on each of her cheeks.

I squeezed the woman's hand. "It's so very hard when we lose someone we love."

"I'll have to plan the funeral."

"I'm sure Claudia will be a great help."

"I know just what Louise would want."

"That's good," I said.

"We told each other everything."

That's good, I thought.

Claudia arrived within minutes.

Before leaving, I had one last question.

"Mrs. Fisher, did your sister sleep on a feather pillow?"

"Never. Louise was allergic."

"Do you use a feather pillow?"

"Goose down." Fisher's face clouded. "Why? Was my pillow on Louise's bed?"

My eyes met Ryan's.

"Seems like a nice lady," I said, as Ryan shifted into drive.

"More important, a living lady."

"No wonder no one spotted her car."

"Not likely, parked behind some p.i.s.sant B and B in Pointe-aux-Pics."

We drove in silence, bare branches cutting odd patterns in the streetlight bouncing off the windshield. Within minutes Ryan pulled onto the Pont Victoria. The wheels made the sound of a thumb rubbing the rim of a very large gla.s.s. Below us, the St. Lawrence looked black and still.

"Parent was murdered," I said grimly.

"It's looking that way."

"With Fisher's pillow."

"Fiber guys should be able to match the feathers."

"Some coldhearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d slipped into the house, took a pillow from Fisher's bed, and used it to smother Parent."

"While she was dead to the world on Ambien."

"How could someone break in without leaving a trace of evidence?"

"I intend to discuss that with Fisher."

"And Bastillo."

"And Bastillo."

"Do you suppose Fisher knew about Parent's phone calls to me?"

"Another topic for discussion."

That was it for conversation.

Fine.

I didn't want to think about Rose Fisher. Louise Parent. Ryan. Anne. My lost girls.

Leaning my head against the seat, I closed my eyes and occupied my mind making up phrases to describe the silence in the car.

The silence of a walled tomb. An abandoned library in a Vatican bas.e.m.e.nt. A black hole at the terminus of a spiral galaxy. A startled c.o.c.katiel.

Ryan dropped me at my car.

"You on for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Rose Fisher?"

"What time?"

"I'll phone after I've checked with Bastillo."

By the time I drove from the lab to Centre-ville, it was seven thirty-five. Anne was dozing, floral gla.s.ses on her nose, a paperback on her chest. Birdie was beside her.

Anne had made pot roast. We chatted as she thickened gravy and I tossed a salad.

During dinner, Anne described her book, the subject of which was death. She was finding the author's perspective enlightening. I found her choice of topic unsettling.

"Why the morbid interest in death?"

"You sound like Annie Hall."

"You're acting like Woody Allen."

Anne thought a moment.

"To move forward it is often necessary to change."

"Move toward what and change how?"

"In substance."

"What are you talking about?"

"Cycles."

As I pondered that enigmatic comment, the phone rang. It was Katy.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart. Where are you?"

"Charlottesville, but I'm heading home tomorrow."

"Exams went well?"

"Of course. I'm checking to make sure you'll be in Charlotte on the twenty-second."

The twenty-second?

"Hannah's shower? You promised you'd help me?"

What demented moron would plan a wedding at Christmas?

"Of course I'll be there."

"I'm counting on your years and years years of experience." of experience."

"Cute."

"I sent you a couple of e-mails. Ho! Ho! Ho! 'Tis the season, and all that. I especially crave that sweater from Anthropologie. And the tranquillity fountain would help me chill."

"What do you need to chill about?"

"Help me study, I mean."

"Um. Hm."

"Love you, ma mere. ma mere. Gotta go." Katy's voice sounded strung with mistletoe and holly. Gotta go." Katy's voice sounded strung with mistletoe and holly.

"What are you so bubbly about?"

"'Tis the season."