Chapter Thirty-SixThe third cyanide poisoning in Castillac occurred the next day, a Wednesday notable for an unusual amount of snowfall. Castillac generally got a dusting or two each winter, rarely more, but this was a real snow. Not to Molly, who was used to close to four feet a year in Boston, but to the residents of Castillac, the five inches was a dire emergency.
But no ambulance skidded through the storm on the way to Madame LaGreffe’s house that night. Madame LaGreffe lived alone in a little house on rue Saterne, and there was no one to call for help.
That morning she had gotten up early, as she always did, never able to sleep through the night after she hit her mid-fifties. Now she was nearly eighty. At least, she told friends, for these last years of my life, I will be awake near
