Page 161 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

“He got some bad news recently.”

Armand looked across the table to Comeau, who was staring into his untouched beer. But Armand wasn’t fooled. He suspected Comeau was following all this very closely.

“Had you heard of Daisy Wolcott before I messaged you?”

The professor considered. “Well, her name was vaguely familiar. The sort of thing most horticulturalists would think they know but can’t quite recall.”

“Even now, when I mentioned Miss Wolcott, you looked blank.”

Dr. Agrawal smiled. “I’m not sure you can read much into that. My wife tells me I often look blank.”

Armand laughed. “So does mine. She’s not wrong.” He took a long sip of his beer, a special brew called Eagle’s DNA. So named because Crick and Watson ran to the pub to announce they had unlocked the secret of life.

They failed to mention the vital contribution of their colleague Rosalind Franklin.

Fortunately, the Eagle rectified that by adding her name to a blue plaque on the building. Though it seemed to Armand, and many others, not nearly recognition enough.

“It’s taken a few moments to dredge up the name,” admitted the professor. “You look almost pleased about that.”

“Not pleased, exactly, but it does go some way to confirming a suspicion I’m nursing.”

“Nursing? Will it live?”

“It’s on life support.”

The professor laughed, then rubbed his head, ruffling his hair. “Wish I could tell you something useful. The only thing I remember hearing about Daisy Wolcott is that she spread invasive weeds in her neighbors’ gardens as a kind of revenge for being ostracized.”

“That’s the story.”

“You sound like you don’t believe it?”

“Hard to know what to believe at this stage. I do have some more questions for you.”

“Oh, good, a pub quiz.”

Armand smiled and brought out his phone. Just then, their dinners arrived. Fish and chips and mushy peas for Armand and Gaston, who’d simply taken whatever Gamache had ordered, and now looked at it as though he’d never seen food before.

Dr. Agrawal had cottage pie. He shook a liberal amount of HP sauce on it.

“Salvia rosmarinus,” Armand read from the photo of the folly on his phone.

“Rosemary. Herb. Also used in aromatherapy as an antianxiety. I’m not convinced, but my wife swears by it. She hates to fly and douses herself in rosemary essential oils before we travel. Disgusting. Maybe it acts as a sort of counterirritant.”

“Catharanthus roseus.”

“What a fascinating list you have there, Chief Inspector. That’s the Madagascar periwinkle.” Agrawal showed real interest, putting down his fork and leaning forward. “There’s some fascinating research being done on that. Promising. We think it could prove effective as an anticancer drug.”

“Really? Wouldn’t that be amazing.”

“It would. What else?”

“Eryngium mnemosyne.”

“Some sort of sea holly. What do I win?”

“A vat of rosemary essential oil.”

The professor laughed.