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By the time Armand returned to Three Pines, it was dark, though there was light in the Old Train Station. Jean-Guy met him at the door to the Incident Room.
“I spoke to the warden of the SHU. All’s well. Everyone accounted for. I also asked about art therapy. He said they stopped it last year when two more inmates were stabbed by sharpened brushes.”
Art Therapy with Psychopaths. Canceled. And none too soon, thought Armand.
“You hungry?”
“You have to ask?” said Jean-Guy. “I’ll call Olivier and order something.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll go over. I need some fresh air.”
He found Fiona, Harriet, and Sam having dinner. He said hello to the women and mentioned to Fiona that Reine-Marie had gone to the Gaspé, to visit a sister.
“If you feel uncomfortable staying in the house without her, I’m sure Gabri can put you up in the B&B.”
“You’re not trying to get rid of her, are you?” said Sam, with a smile.
Armand ignored him. After an awkward silence, Fiona answered.
“No. I trust you and Inspector Beauvoir.”
“Would you like to join us, Chief Inspector?” Sam asked.
Once again, Gamache didn’t even look in his direction. It was as though the chair was empty.
He wanted to believe Jean-Guy, but he also wanted to hedge his bets. If Myrna was right and he ignored Sam, the young psychopath would turn all his attention on him. And leave the others alone.
He walked away, ordered dinner, then took it back to the Old Train Station, feeling Sam’s rage following him every step of the way.
Back in the Incident Room, Armand pulled up a chair and sat beside Jean-Guy. Together they ate their wild mushroom ravioli with sage brown butter, drank iced tea, and stared at the painting.
But nothing new appeared.
Armand woke up in the middle of the night to make sure Reine-Marie’s flight had landed. Then he struggled to get back to sleep. Finally giving up, he dressed, left a note for Jean-Guy, and walked back to the Old Train Station. Henri, Fred, and Gracie plodded sleepily along with him.
Putting the coffee on to perk, he once again pulled up a chair. By now he felt he’d memorized the painting, though he knew that wasn’t close to the truth. It was so detailed. With so many elements hidden in plain sight. It was indeed, as art historians had dubbed it, “A World of Curiosities.”
But this one, theirs, was also, as Dr. Louissaint had said, offensive. There was something aggressive, threatening, about it. He wondered if the real one felt the same way. Reine-Marie would soon find out.
She’d written as soon as they landed, and now there was another message. They were on their way to Norwich. He replied, then settled back with a mug of strong coffee and a chewy oatmeal cookie. And stared at the painting while the dogs, and Gracie, stared at the cookie.
The only light in the room was shining on The Paston Treasure. While the disturbing work was illuminated, Armand himself sat in darkness. In stillness and quiet. The only sounds were the breathing of the dogs at his feet and the slight cries of a dreaming Fred as the puppy chased squirrels.
Armand felt his shoulders drop and his breathing steady as he let the painting come to him. As Clara had taught him.
And then, one by one, he saw them. The people staring out of the painting. At him.
“Armand?”
Gamache jolted, almost falling out of his chair. The now cool coffee spilled on his shirt. The dogs lifted their heads at the disturbance.
“Désolé,” said Jean-Guy. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw the light and found your note.” He stopped in his tracks. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
There was no doubt about it. The Chief looked more than startled. He looked frightened.
“It is him.”
“It can’t be.” Beauvoir walked swiftly over.
