Once inside Gamache was surprised by how mundane the place felt. Not evil at all. If anything it felt kind of pathetic.
‘Up here, Chief,’ Agent Isabelle Lacoste called, her brown hair hanging down as she looked over the dark wood banister. ‘She died in this room.’ Lacoste waved behind her and disappeared.
‘Joyeuses Paques,’ she said a moment later when Gamache had climbed the stairs and walked into the room. Agent Lacoste was dressed in comfortable and stylish clothes, like most of the Québécoises. In her late twenties she’d already had two children and hadn’t bothered to work off all the weight. Instead she dressed well and was perfectly happy with the results.
Gamache took in the sight. A luxurious four-poster bed stood against one wall. A fireplace with a heavy Victorian mantel sat across from it. On the wooden floor was a huge Indian rug in rich blues and burgundies. The walls held intricate William Morris wallpaper and the lamps, both floor and table, were festooned with tassels. A colorful scarf was artfully draped over a lamp on a vanity.
It was as though he’d stepped back a hundred years. Except for the circle of chairs in the middle of the room. He counted them. Ten. Three had fallen over.
‘Careful, we haven’t quite finished,’ Lacoste advised as Gamache took a step toward the chairs.
‘What’s that?’ Beauvoir pointed to the rug and what looked like ice pellets.
‘Salt, we think. At first we thought it might be crystal meth or cocaine, but it’s just rock salt.’
‘Why put salt on a carpet?’ Beauvoir asked, not expecting an answer.
‘To cleanse the space, I think,’ was her unexpected reply. Lacoste seemed not to appreciate the oddity of her answer.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Gamache asked.
‘There was a séance, right?’
‘That’s what we’ve heard,’ agreed Gamache.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Beauvoir. ‘Salt?’
‘All will be revealed.’ Lacoste smiled. ‘There’re lots of ways of doing a séance but only one involves salt in a circle and four candles.’
She pointed to the candles on the rug inside the ring. Gamache hadn’t noticed them. One had also fallen over and as he leaned closer he thought he could see melted wax on the carpet.
‘They’re at the compass points,’ Lacoste continued. ‘North, south, east and west.’
‘I know what a compass point is,’ said Beauvoir. He didn’t like this at all.
‘You said there’s only one way to do a séance that involves candles and salt,’ said Gamache, his voice calm and his eyes sharp.
‘The Wicca way,’ said Lacoste. ‘Witchcraft.’