“No. Not a man. But another hare. Almost as big. Just standing there too. I’d been so taken with the one I hadn’t noticed the others.”

“Others?”

“Must’ve been twenty. All standing on their hind legs. Straight upright. In a perfect circle. Not moving.”

Constable Stuart felt himself grow very quiet. Very still. The old man’s eyes were on him, like searchlights.

“The wife says I was drunk, and I’d had a few. But not more than usual. She says I was seeing double. Triple. She says I was seeing things.”

He dropped his eyes and his head and spoke into the hacked and stained old counter.

“And she was right. I saw something.”

“What?”

*   *   *

“What’s that?” Clara asked, leaning closer to the vile colors.

“What?” asked Reine-Marie, getting to within inches of the painting.

“There, by that zigzag.”

“They’re stairs, I think,” said Armand.

“No, I don’t mean the zigzag, I mean beside it.” Clara spoke urgently, as though it would disappear at any moment.

“It’s a stone,” said Jean-Guy.

Clara peered closer.

*   *   *

“The hares were made of stone.”

The two men stared into each other’s eyes.

“It’s a sculpture garden,” said Constable Stuart. “They probably were stone.”

“No.”

Alphonse spoke softly, almost regretfully. And Constable Stuart understood then that this man hadn’t been searching for dry land. He’d been searching for company. One person. Who’d believe him.

“I saw the old one move. I saw his heart beat. And I saw him turn to stone.”

*   *   *

“It’s a circle of stones,” said Armand, also leaning in.

Their eyes were adjusting to Peter’s wild colors, until what had appeared to be chaos became a design.

“But the website doesn’t show a stone circle, by the stairs,” said Clara.

*   *   *

“And then they turned back into rabbits,” said Alphonse. “They came alive again.”

His eyes shone, not with fear, but with wonderment. The astonishment of an elderly man, closer to death than life.

“Did you ever go back?” Stuart asked.

“Every night. I go back every night. But I don’t take my rifle anymore.”

Alphonse smiled. Constable Stuart smiled.

*   *   *

When the others left to get dressed, Gamache stayed behind.

“Do you mind?” he asked Clara, and she shook her head.

“Make some more coffee,” she waved toward the old electric perk. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

While the coffee perked, Gamache carried a chair over, to face the wall of paintings. He sat and stared.

“Oh, God,” came the familiar voice. “Am I walking in on something I shouldn’t know about?”

Gamache stood up. Myrna was in the doorway holding a loaf of what he could smell was fresh banana bread.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She waved her hand up and down to indicate both his attire and his very presence.