When she’d first seen them, in Bean’s bedroom, she’d been amused. Especially by the lips. But seeing them in her own home had made her queasy. It was a sort of seasickness. The horizon was no longer steady. Some shift, some upheaval, had occurred.

Was she jealous? Was that possible? Was she worried that these paintings by Peter really did signal an important departure for him as an artist? While laughable right now, might they actually lead to genius? And at the pointy end of that thought, another thought perched. A genius greater than hers?

After feeling quietly smug about Peter and his petty jealousy, was she no better? Worse, in fact? Jealous and hypocritical and judgmental. Oh, my.

But there was more. Somewhere else her thoughts were leading. Something else was running for cover.

Her friends were in an animated discussion about the paintings and why Peter had mailed them to Bean.

“I asked that an hour ago,” Jean-Guy protested. “And no one listened. Myrna asks it now and suddenly it’s a brilliant question?”

“The cruel fate of the avant-garde, mon beau,” said Reine-Marie, then turned back to Myrna.

“So what do you think?”

As they discussed it, Clara held her lemonade, the glass slippery with condensation, and examined her feelings.

“Clara?”

“Huh?”

She looked at Myrna, who was smiling at her in obvious amusement.

“Where’d you go?” Myrna asked.

“Oh, just enjoying the garden. Wondering if I should put up more sweet pea on that trellis.”

Myrna now looked at Clara with less amusement. Like most people, Myrna Landers did not like being lied to. But unlike most people, she was willing to call them on it.

“What were you really thinking?”

Clara took a deep, deep breath. “I was thinking about Peter’s paintings and how they made me feel.”

“And how was that?” Reine-Marie asked.

Clara looked at the faces watching her.

“Unsettled,” she said. “I think the paintings frightened me a little.”

“Why?” asked Gamache.

“Because I think I know why he mailed them to Bean.”

They leaned toward her.

“Why?” Beauvoir asked.

“What makes Bean different from most other people?” Clara asked.

“Well, we don’t know if he’s a girl—” said Reine-Marie.

“—or she’s a boy,” said Gamache.

“Bean’s a child,” said Beauvoir.

“True,” said Clara. “All true. But there’s something else that distinguishes Bean.”

“Bean’s different,” said Myrna. “In the Morrow family where everyone’s expected to conform, Bean doesn’t. Peter probably identifies with that. Might even want to reward that.”

“And sending those awful paintings is a reward?” asked Beauvoir.

“Of sorts,” said Myrna. “The act is often more important than the actual object.”

“Tell that to a kid who gets socks for Christmas,” said Beauvoir.