“Have you seen them?” Peter asked. Beauvoir nodded. “How did they make you feel?”

Jean-Guy answered without hesitation, “Homesick.”

Peter nodded. “They became like a window for me, back to Three Pines. Back to Clara and what I had. And what I’d lost. At first they made me indescribably sad. But then, the more I looked, the calmer I became. They gave me a sort of settled happiness. A hope.”

“The lips,” said Gamache.

Peter turned to him and smiled. “Yes. That’s when I painted the lips.”

“How’d you know No Man was here?” asked Beauvoir.

“Luc Vachon told me. He was still in contact with Professor Norman.”

“He’d belonged to the art colony Professor Norman created,” said Beauvoir.

Peter nodded. “But ‘create’ is probably the wrong word. It sorta grew up around him. People were drawn to him. Because he seemed to know.”

“Know what?” asked Beauvoir.

“That there was a tenth muse. And he knew how to find it,” said Peter. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. A derisive, unpleasant sound.

“You think it’s bullshit,” said Beauvoir.

“I think I didn’t have to come all the way to the end of the earth to find it,” said Peter. “It was there all along. Beside me in bed. Sitting in the garden. It was in the studio next to mine. In the chair next to mine. I came here to find what I already had.”

“You came here to confront Professor Norman,” Gamache reminded him.

“True. When I arrived it was clear Norman was very sick. This was a couple of months ago. He was dying and alone.”

Now Peter took a step forward, crossing the threshold.

“Did you confront him?” asked Beauvoir.

“No. The place was a mess. So I thought I’d clean it up first. After that, I’d let him have it. But then I realized he hadn’t eaten in a while, so I bought some food and cooked it. I’m not much of a cook, but I made scrambled eggs and toast. Something nutritious and light.”

“Did you tell him after that?” asked Beauvoir.

“No. His clothes and bedding were filthy. So I took them to the Laundromat in Tabaquen and washed them.”

Beauvoir had stopped asking, and was now just listening.

“His clothes and linen were clean then,” said Peter. “But he hadn’t had a bath in days. He was too weak.” Peter took a deep breath. “So I bathed him. I poured a bath and put in rosewater and lavender and a little essence of lily. Anything I could find.” Peter smiled. “I might’ve overdone it.” He looked down at the man in the bed. “I picked him up and put him in the bath. And washed him. It smelled like our garden in Three Pines.”