Page 110 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

“The murderer might’ve been so horrified by what they did,” she continued to think out loud, “they just ran away. Happens.”

“Or,” said Jean-Guy, slowly, “maybe they did dig it up.”

“Go on,” said Armand. He could tell that Jean-Guy was onto something.

“Maybe Brian and his brother dug it up, got whatever was in there, and replaced the soil. Then Charles killed Brian and kept what they found.”

“But the grave was undisturbed,” Isabelle repeated. “We’d have seen overturned dirt.”

“Would we?” asked Armand.

He sat back in his chair and shifted his gaze to his garden. To the perennial borders of phlox and poppies, roses and spires of foxgloves that self-seeded. Like magic.

One thing living in the country had taught both Armand and Reine-Marie was how anxious nature was to heal itself from the indignities of humans. How a forest recovered from a terrible fire. How a farmer’s field, left fallow, became nutrient-rich again.

How when, in the autumn, he and Reine-Marie threw wildflower seeds over soil, they grew in thick the next spring.

“Can you call Dr. Lagacé?” he asked Lacoste.

Though not sure why, still she placed the call and put the phone on speaker.

It rang. And rang. Finally …

“Oui, allô?”

“Dr. Lagacé? It’s Inspector Lacoste again. I have the Chief Inspector with me. We have a question—”

“Oh, good. I’ve been looking for you.” Behind her, they could hear a hubbub of cheerful activity. The botanist lowered her voice. “Are ducks allowed in bistros?”

CHAPTER 39

The Sûreté officers looked at each other, while over the phone they heard a soft “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Surely there couldn’t be two—

“Where are you?” Isabelle turned in her chair to stare back at the Gamache house and the village beyond.

“Here.”

“Where here?”

“The village. Three Pines.”

Isabelle looked at the Chief, who raised his brows and shrugged. Might as well.… A couple of minutes later, Isabelle returned with the botanist.

Armand indicated the fourth chair, and she slid into it. He poured her a pink lemonade and offered the plate of cheese.

“Merci. Really, are ducks allowed?”

“Are you going to be the one to tell her to leave?” Armand asked.

She laughed. “I’d rather walk through a thicket of barberry.”

Since none of them knew what that meant, they assumed it was bad and ignored it.

“Why were you looking for us?” Gamache asked.

“I’ve heard back from some of my European colleagues about Miss Wolcott’s Ghost. I could’ve called, but I wanted to bring this down for you.”