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“I was pointing to Harriet and smiling. I think I even winked, so he’d know I was happy, am happy. Being with her makes me happy and I guess I wanted to show him.” Sam heaved a sigh and looked bashful. “I think I want his approval. Pathetic, isn’t it?” He looked up at Jean-Guy. “You know?”

It was a rhetorical question. But yes, Jean-Guy Beauvoir knew.

And Sam had explained it all. Of course that gesture, for a kid his age, would not be a camera. He’d probably never held a real camera in his life. When lunch was over, he’d have to tell Armand that he could relax, at least about that. Sam had not been in their home.

If anyone had violated the Gamaches’ privacy, it was Fiona, though Sam had not thrown his sister under the bus.

The meals arrived. Their steaks were charbroiled and covered in chimichurri sauce. The frites were thin and seasoned. Jean-Guy’s mouth was actually watering.

As Sam moved aside to let the server put down his plate, his phone fell to the floor. He bent to get it, but Jean-Guy beat him to it.

The phone, on recognizing Sam’s face, had popped open revealing a photo. Of Armand and Reine-Marie’s bedroom.

“What the hell is this?” Jean-Guy gripped the phone, practically shoving it in Sam’s face.

When Armand arrived in the loft, he found Myrna at the window seat, head in her hands. Crying.

We sat down and wept. And wept …

He sat down beside her and waited. And waited. Then he got up and did the only thing he knew might comfort Myrna. He went into the kitchen at the far end of the open loft, passing by the huge hole in the wall, and put on the kettle.

“You spoke to her?” he said when she joined him.

“Yes.” She watched him swirl the hot water around in the pot to warm it. “I fucked up.”

He turned to her. “I doubt that.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Given your suspicions, you had to warn her. Your heart was in the right place.”

“The road to hell, remember?”

“That’s not true. You know the difference between a lost young man and a deeply disturbed one. Harriet is young and does not. Do you think Sam Arsenault is safe?”

Myrna considered and shook her head.

“Do you think he’s sane?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Then how could you not say something? You knew what might happen and you did it anyway. You put her safety ahead of your relationship. That’s love.”

Taking their seats again, he leaned toward her. Over Myrna’s shoulder he could see the gaping hole in the wall and the yellow bands of police tape.

“Tell me about psychopaths.”

CHAPTER 27

Fiona Arsenault guided Harriet out the back door of the B&B and into the garden.

“Come. Sit. What’s wrong?”

They were alone.

“Where’s Sam?” Harriet looked around, hoping, but not hoping, to see him there. Hoping he’d take her in his arms and wipe away her tears. And reassure her. She’d made the right choice.

“He’s having lunch with one of the cops.”