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Homer nodded. “I wonder if Vivienne believed it.”

“You think Tracey said he was sorry?”

Armand doubted that Tracey would ever have apologized, but maybe he had. Abusers often did. They begged forgiveness. Declared their love. They brought flowers and gifts, and through a flood of tears they promised to never, ever do it again.

And maybe they were even sincere. Until the next time.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” said Armand. “You don’t have to forgive me. But for your own sake, for your own sanity, you do need to give up this obsession with revenge.”

“Have you given up?”

“Trying to get Tracey? Non.”

“Then why should I? Does your badge give you more of a duty to Vivienne than I have, as her father?” He let that sit there for a moment before going on. “That old woman came to your house to see me this afternoon. I didn’t let her into my room. Didn’t want to see anyone. But she said something anyway, through the door.”

“What old lady?”

“I think she’s a poet.”

Armand tensed. Had Ruth done to Homer what she’d done to Clara? To himself? In trying to help, had she made things worse?

“What did she say?” Armand braced.

“Something from St. Francis. Something he said to a woman who’d lost her child in a river.” Homer closed his eyes. “Clare, Clare, do not despair. Between the bridge and the water, I was there.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Non, nothing new,” Jean-Guy reported over the phone to Gamache, who was calling from his study at home. “The warrant we applied for a couple days ago to look into Vivienne’s bank accounts should come through soon. We’ll see if Pauline Vachon was dreaming or if there really is something there.”

“That number Vivienne was calling is still bothering me,” said Gamache. “If it wasn’t Bertrand’s, then whose? Is there anyone related to the case with a number close to it?”

“I’ve checked that,” said Beauvoir. “Nothing.”

Gamache smiled. He should have known Beauvoir would be on top of that.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “Clara’s invited us over for an easy dinner. Let’s take a break.”

Beauvoir sighed and looked over at Lacoste.

She’d taken her regular room at the B&B but hadn’t yet dropped her bag there.

“Dinner at Clara’s?” he called across the room.

“Sounds great.” But she didn’t look up.

They were chasing their tails, and they knew it. A break would do them good.

“We’ll meet you there,” he said into the phone. “Another half hour.”

Jean-Guy picked up the statements again. And started reading. Again.

Gamache hung up and turned to Agent Cloutier.

They were alone in his study.

Homer was in the kitchen with Fred, as Reine-Marie prepared a squash, pear, and blue cheese soup to take to Clara’s. Homer seemed to find her company restful.

Cloutier, on the other hand, clearly did not feel the same way about Monsieur Gamache’s company.