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“And many were far better than their male counterparts,” said Myrna.

“Right,” said Ruth. “Like that can be true.”

Rosa rolled her duck eyes.

“You paint portraits on large canvases,” Ruth persisted. “Why do tiny landscapes?”

“I wanted to stretch myself,” said Clara.

“By doing miniatures?” asked Ruth. “Bit ironic.”

“Did you see Clara’s works?” Reine-Marie asked.

“Don’t have to. I can smell them. They smell like—”

“You might want to take a look before you comment.”

“Why? Apparently they’re trite and banal.”

“Do you write the same poem over and over?” asked Myrna.

“No, of course not,” said Ruth. “But neither do I try to write a novel. It’s all words, but I know what I’m good at. Great at.”

Myrna Landers heaved a sigh and shifted her considerable weight in her armchair. As much as she longed to contradict Ruth, she couldn’t. The fact was, their drunk and disorderly old neighbor in Three Pines was a brilliant poet. Though not much of a human being.

Ruth made a noise that could have been a laugh. Or indigestion.

“I’ll tell you what is funny. You crash and burn trying to do something different while Armand destroys his career by agreeing to go back and do the same old thing.”

“No one’s crashing and burning,” said Reine-Marie, glancing at her watch again.

The atmosphere in the conference room was crackling.

“So how’s this going to work?” asked one of the agents. “Are we going to have two Chief Inspectors?”

They looked at the visiting Superintendent. “Non. Chief Inspector Beauvoir will be in charge until he leaves for Paris.”

“And Gamache will be…?” asked another agent.

“Chief Inspector Gamache. This’s a transition for a few weeks, that’s all,” said Lacoste, trying to sound more confident than she actually was. “This is a good thing. There’ll be two experienced leaders.”

But the men and women in the room weren’t idiots. One strong leader was great. Two led to power struggles. Conflicting orders. Chaos.

“They’ve worked together for years,” said Lacoste. “They’ll have no trouble working together now.”

“Would you be okay taking orders from someone who’d been your subordinate?”

“Of course I would.”

But despite her annoyance, Lacoste knew it was a legitimate question.

Could Beauvoir bring himself to give orders to his former boss and mentor?

And, more to the point, could the former Chief Superintendent take them? Gamache, as respectful as he might be, was used to being in charge. And in charge of Beauvoir.

“But it’s not just that, is it?” said a senior officer.

“There’s more?” asked an agent.