Welcome back to Three Pines, that charming, peaceful (minus the occasional murder) village nestled in the mountains of Québec. Louise Penny’s prior two novels, “The Grey Wolf” and “The Black Wolf,” took us into a far-reaching conspiracy that spoke of world politics and evil intentions. While our beloved Armand Gamache was still intrepid is his determination to protect people from dastardly plots and despicable deeds, we didn’t get to spend much time in the lovely, fantastical village of Three Pines. But even though this novel returns us to that idyllic locale, there is still so much going on, so many threads to the plot, that trying to do justice to them all is a Sisyphean task.

One of the best parts of Louise Penny’s novels, and almost a character in its own right, is the village of Three Pines. It’s a magical place that doesn’t appear on any map or GPS, and it’s difficult to find, but the “right” sort of people end up there — people who need to be there. And I daresay most readers, certainly moi, long to move there as well. There’s the bistro with the charming couple, Gabri and Olivier, which serves mugs of café au lait and sandwiches with ham and brie and apples. There’s the famous poet Ruth, whose favorite word rhymes with her pet Rosa, a duck. Myrna owns the local bookstore, and Clara Morrow is the now world-famous artist. And Inspector Gamache and his wife, Reine-Marie, live in Three Pines in a charming cottage with a wide veranda and a lovely garden.

The story begins with a phone call in the middle of the night. Someone wakes Gamache with the information that there’s a body in Lost Nation. The call is disconnected and Gamache is flummoxed. He doesn’t know who called, and he has no idea where or what Lost Nation is. Muddling the matter even more, the phone call originated from a burner phone registered to Clara Morrow, their friend, who claims to know nothing about it. He and Reine-Marie ask their friends about Lost Nation and try to research it, but to no avail. Ruth mentions that perhaps the couple at Buzz, the bistro in nearby Knowlton, might know about it. It turns out that they do, and it also turns out that it’s a real bistro, which I’m guessing will be getting a lot more traffic from Penny fans who flock to Knowlton, where Penny lives.

Lost Nation is a place that, in the novel, is uninhabited. The cemetery contains tombstones on which the dates stop in the late 1880s. And yes, when Gamache is led there by the bistro’s chef and owner, there is indeed a body on top of one of the graves. But this grave is different, and not only because of the fact that there’s a moldering body on top of it. The tombstone has no name, just a date. And it’s made of a different material and faces in a different direction than the other markers. Growing out of the body, through the body, is a strange plant. One that turns out to be named Miss Wolcott’s Ghost.

One of the satisfying results from reading many of the Louise Penny novels is that she brings to our attention historical events that might otherwise have passed us by. For example, in another novel we learn about the shooting of the Canadian engineering students, the women, at the École Polytechnique. That event resulted in the passing of gun control laws, and there is a national day of remembrance. In this novel, Penny continues that tradition by sharing another tragic event. It’s an event that I’m not going to name, as it needs to be discovered during the reading, but it’s yet another obscure event that should be known.

In the Acknowledgments, which Penny (and I) advise you not to read until you have read the book, Penny shares that Miss Wolcott’s character is based on a very real woman, a brilliant woman.

So this mystery wanders from Miss Daisy Wolcott, a wealthy, eccentric, woman, her roundabout connection to the tragic event, to the murder of two women over half a century ago, and the current murder Gamache is investigating, of wealthy entrepreneur Brian Fillmore. It’s Brian’s body that was left in Lost Nation on the unnamed tombstone with the plant growing through his body.

In this novel are tales of greed and unbridled avarice. But perhaps the most touching element is that Miss Daisy Wolcott, who exemplified the difference between male explorers and female. She didn’t explore to simply find riches. Rather she listened to indigenous people. she noted their stories and thought they were important. There is more that can’t be shared, but she is truly one of Penny’s most notable characters.

Along the way in this free-rambling mystery we are treated to Penny’s brilliant writing, her wry commentary on the history of women, and at one point she describes the three women from Three Pines, Clara, Ruth, and Myrna, as they arrive at the cemetery at Lost Nation after an arduous climb. “They looked for all the world like something Mother Nature had birthed. Like the three tall pines. Or the witches from Macbeth. Or the Three Graces. It came to the same thing, Isabelle knew. Witches. Graces. Same women. Just different interpretations.”

She mentions the perceived threats from history that certain governments feel, and which they sometimes try to erase due to “toxic nationalism and unpleasant truths.” How much history do certain governments try to erase from textbooks and museums for political reasons? Penny also spends time studying opposites: bravery and cowardice. It’s one thing for an officer to know what is expected in a planned raid, but she points out that we don’t know how we’d behave in a crisis. “A ship sinking, a plane crash.” Would we sacrifice our lives to help others escape or would we succumb to that basic desire to run and live to see another day? She points out that bravery isn’t a lack of fear; it’s how we deal with that fear. Do we run away? Do we face it?

One of the reasons that the Inspector Gamache series is so very delightful and beloved is the sense of belonging as we read about Three Pines and its residents. The sense of community and friendship and family. Where one woman goes, the others show up. And after just a bit, Gabri appears with libations and delicious treats. Lemonade and ginger cookies in the summer. Mugs of coffee and tea with hearty soups and sandwiches dripping with melted cheeses in the winter. Sitting in front of fireplaces enjoying the crackle of the logs burning or sitting outside the bistro and taking in the sunny day, depending on the season. Three Pines is at the heart of the stories, and the warm feelings and Inspector Gamache’s kind, intelligent, understanding demeanor envelope us inside a sensation of protection. We know he’ll keep us safe.

And then we have to close the book and step into the real world. That’s cruel. But at least for several hours or several days we get to live in Louise Penny’s world, a better place (except for the murders, of course), and most definitely a more delicious experience through-and-through.

For more enjoyable, thrilling reads, consider Penny’s previous two novels, “The Gray Wolf” and “The Black Wolf.”

This review was first posted on Bookreporter.com.