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Gamache was nodding. That was exactly what he was thinking.

Beauvoir put his elbows on the table and leaned toward them. “And the only way Chancellor Roberge would know that is if she was involved in the first one. If she was the accomplice.”

“Or knows who is,” said Gamache. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong earlier. Chancellor Roberge might be more deeply involved.”

“And she’s just invited Robinson into her home,” said Beauvoir. “Should we stop it?”

Gamache thought for a moment, then shook his head. “If she is involved, and that’s a big ‘if,’ there’s no way she’d allow another attack in her own home. No, I think this’s just about the safest place for Professor Robinson.”

Beauvoir met Lacoste’s eyes. They knew famous last words when they heard them.

“Is she gone?” Myrna asked, standing just inside the door of Clara’s cottage and craning her neck to see beyond the mudroom and into the kitchen. “I can still smell sulfur.”

“That’s probably Ruth.” Clara shut the door firmly against the cold, then turned to Myrna. “And yes, she’s moved up to the Inn and Spa. You’re a shitty friend, by the way.”

“Gâteau?”

Clara took the chocolate cake, but made it clear this didn’t mean they were even.

“I begged you to come over and you didn’t. She’s your guest, and you left me alone with her. All night. Do you know she ordered French toast for breakfast? I’ve never even made it for myself. But I figured it out, then she decided it was, in her word, ‘disgusting,’ and refused to eat it.”

“Did you?”

“Eat it? Yes. But that’s not the point.”

“You offered to put her up.”

“When I thought she was a remarkable person, yes.”

“She’s still that.” Myrna removed her boots and put on the slippers she kept at Clara’s.

“And a shit.”

“Well, yes. Things they don’t mention in the Nobel Prize citation.”

They cut the cake into five equal pieces and took them into the living room, where Reine-Marie, Annie, and Ruth were gathered around the fire.

“Where were you?” Annie demanded. “You coward.”

“Cake?”

Annie took it and seemed at least somewhat mollified. Or at least distracted. As a diversion, few things were as effective as chocolate cake.

“I wanted to come,” said Myrna, plopping onto the sofa and sending Ruth and Rosa, at the other end, bouncing into the air. “But I had urgent business.”

“A used-book emergency?” asked Clara. Though, with her mouth filled with cake and creamy icing, it came out as “Uh oozed ook emerenthy?”

“This’s all your doing,” said Ruth. “Bringing that woman here. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that she’s a brave woman who should be supported and celebrated.”

“From a distance,” said Annie. “Of say a continent or two.”

“May the Lord bless her, and keep her,” said Clara, “far away from us.”

“Fiddler on the Roof?” asked Annie. “Isn’t Gabri hoping to do that for this year’s production?”

“Yes. He’s trying to convince your father to play Tevye.”