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“Gamache?”

“No, the other one. The younger one. Beauvoir.”

Harriet took a few shuddering breaths and calmed herself.

The garden was private and peaceful. The old lilac bushes were thick with blooms, the crab apples were full of bright pink flowers. Some petals had already fallen, creating what looked like pink snow on the grass.

It felt a world away from the turmoil in Harriet’s head.

“I’m thinking of staying here.”

“Of course, but why?”

“My aunt says Sam’s sick. Mentally.”

Fiona smiled. “Well, he’s my brother, so of course I’m going to agree with that.”

Harriet looked at her, then gave one unexpected laugh.

“Brothers,” said Fiona, “are a pain in the ass. And Sam more than most. He’s taking his sweet time growing up. I grew up too quickly. Had to. I can see how people like your aunt, like Monsieur Gamache, might misinterpret Sam’s immaturity. But believe me, he’s okay. He cares a lot about you. You’re the first woman he’s felt that way about.”

“So you don’t think Sam is … unwell?”

“Do you? ’Cause if you do, you really shouldn’t be with him. For your sake, but also for his.”

“No, no, I like him, a lot. I think Auntie Myrna put things in my head.”

“She loves you. She just got the wrong end of the stick. She has a lot of respect for Monsieur Gamache, and for good reason, so she listens to him. And I think there’s a chance she’s overprotective of you. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to keep you away from other relationships. She just enjoys having you to herself.”

That had not occurred to Harriet, but it made sense. Auntie Myrna was clearly, now that she could see it, trying to come between her and Sam. Was she jealous?

“It’s a generational thing,” Fiona continued. “They get scared of anyone who’s a little different. I’m sure they don’t want to hurt you, or Sam. We just have to stick together, and they’ll come around.”

Harriet gripped Fiona’s hand. She hadn’t had that many women friends, that many friends period. Now she saw what she’d been missing.

“Tell me about psychopaths.”

“You know as much as I do, Armand.”

“I doubt that’s true. I’ve met a few but never spent much time with them. You have. You had to try to treat them.”

“That’s just it, there is no treating them.” Myrna put down her mug of tea. “The best I could manage was not letting them fuck with me. It was exhausting. They’re smart, often charming. ‘Beguiling’ is the word that comes to mind.”

“Nice word.”

“For lovers, maybe. Not for a psychopath. Then it’s horrifying. You can feel yourself slipping under their spell, even as you try to resist. They get in your head.” She stared at him. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

When he remained silent, she continued.

“They’re incredibly manipulative. They know what you want to hear, and they say it. They know what you’re missing in your life, even if you don’t. And they pretend to give it to you. They see things you don’t. They know things you don’t. They’re terrifying.”

“You talk about them as though they’re a different species.”

“Just about. If emotions are what makes us human, then yes, they’re a different species. They feign emotions but don’t actually feel them.”

“What motivates them?”

“Getting what they want. That’s it. They are purely focused on that.”