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What she didn’t say was that she herself had canceled it. And spoken to the big gay guy about a room at their bed-and-breakfast. Or, as he insisted on calling it, bed-and-brunch.

If their B&B looked like their bistro and tasted like the bakery, she really might never leave. She did not tell Clara that. The woman already looked like her hair was on fire.

“Can’t you stay over in Burlington?” asked Clara, her voice rising. “Close to the airport?”

“Too late,” said Gabri, dropping a key into Dominica’s hand. “She’s booked in. The Basquiat Suite.”

“Since when do you name your rooms?” Clara all but hissed at him.

“Since she showed up,” said Gabri, unapologetically. “And if you’re not careful, we’ll call the public bathroom the Toilette Clara Morrow.”

“You know what she’s just posted online about my works,” said Clara, watching as Ruth and Myrna joined the critic at the bistro fireplace.

Reine-Marie had gone home, feeling the need for a long shower after watching those vile videos.

Gabri turned to face Clara, his expression no longer a little goofy. “I do. And now you have twenty-four hours you didn’t have before to change her mind.”

“She won’t change her mind.”

They walked over to the bar, and while Clara helped herself to a licorice pipe from the jar, Gabri poured her a red wine.

“You don’t know that.” He smiled and touched her hand. “People do change. Minds change. I know you know that.”

Clara turned and glared at Dominica Oddly, now laughing and chatting with her best friend and her mentor. In her seat. By the fireplace.

She felt the bile grow. Felt the subtle demonisms of thought take hold.

Lysette had tried to engage Homer in casual conversation. But, understandably, the only thing he was interested in hearing about was their investigation.

Lysette wasn’t really sure how much to tell him but suspected he would not pass any of it along. And it would be public knowledge anyway, as soon as Tracey was arraigned.

Besides, she was desperate to connect with him. To let him know the important role she’d played in having Tracey arrested.

To let him know she wasn’t just on his side but by his side.

In the twenty-minute drive from Cowansville to Three Pines, she’d been debating how much to reveal. Not just about the case against Tracey but about herself.

About her feelings.

It was just dumb luck that Chief Inspector Gamache had given her this time alone with Homer. He couldn’t possibly know what it meant to her. But now she needed to actually use it.

They were getting closer and closer to Three Pines.

Now was the time.

But what should she say? She couldn’t just blurt out, “I love you.”

Or could she? Maybe he needed to hear it. Especially now. To know someone loved him. Deeply.

Just before cresting the hill that would take them down into Three Pines, she reached over and placed her hand on top of his.

He didn’t pull away.

As they arrived at the Gamache home, just before putting the car in park, she squeezed.

And he, she was pretty sure, squeezed back.

Jean-Guy checked his phone again. It was instinctive.