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Ahhh, thought Harriet, here it comes.

“Yes. Their mother was murdered. Fiona was arrested by Monsieur Gamache and spent years in prison.”

“Yes. But there’s more.”

Myrna wasn’t completely sure how far to go. Sam, after all, was never arrested. His possible involvement was never made public. It was just something Armand suspected. Though he suspected more than just “possible.” And more than just “involvement.”

Was it fair to say this to Harriet? To smear a young man, without proof.

Rumor was loose in the air, hunting for some neck to land on.

Ruth had written those lines about witch hunts, but really the poem was about those young women killed in the Polytechnique. For being smart, independent women.

Yes. Rumor did that. Like an alchemist, it turned vague discontent into concrete action. And gave suggestive minds a target for their insecurities. Their free-floating fear and resentments were just waiting for some neck …

Myrna did not want to do the same thing to anyone. Turn a feeling, a fear, into a fact. But she had to say something.

“Before Fiona could be released on parole, she and her brother needed psychological evaluations. I was asked by Monsieur Gamache to speak to them, to find out if it was safe for him to vouch for Fiona. Which I did.”

Harriet waited.

“I stopped the interview with Sam after ten minutes. It was clear to me that he is deeply disturbed. Unwell.” Myrna searched her niece’s face. “Be careful.”

“Thank you.”

Never very open, Harriet now did exactly what Myrna had feared. She shut down. Shut her out. She was a past master at hiding her feelings, hiding from anything that even remotely resembled confrontation.

“How are you feeling about what I just said?” she asked her niece.

“Oh, I’m okay. Thank you.”

Harriet got up.

“Please,” said Myrna, following her to the stairs. “Can we talk?”

Harriet turned. “No need.” She smiled. “I’m just fine. Thank you.”

Jesus, thought Myrna. It’s like I shot her into outer space. She reached out for Harriet, but the young woman drew away.

“It’s all right. I think I might stay at the B&B for a while. You’re right. There’s no room for me here.”

“I never said that. There’s always room for you. You know that.”

“Thank you.” Harriet looked around for her knapsack. Picking it up, she walked by her aunt and down the stairs. The bell over the bookshop door merrily jingled.

Myrna went over to the huge window and watched Harriet walk across the village green. Armand stopped to say hello, but she walked right by him and disappeared into the B&B.

Armand stared after her, then looked up at the window. At her.

Myrna dropped softly onto the window seat and looked out at the three huge trees, the message Anne Lamarque and the other women had sent out four centuries earlier.

Three Pines was a safe place, they’d declared. Not safe from hurt or pain. Not from illness and accident and death. What the village in the valley offered was a place to heal. It offered company and companionship, in life and at the end of life. It offered a surefire cure for loneliness.

Like the women who were fleeing for their lives, almost everyone in the village now had come there to find a safe haven. Once again, Myrna questioned herself. Was she denying Sam the very thing they all sought? A safe place?

But there was a difference between Sam Arsenault and the rest of them. He was the one they were running from.

CHAPTER 26