Page 35 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

But Armand was no longer paying attention. He was staring at the tombstone.

“I’m a fool.”

He stepped away and made a call. Or at least tried. But there was no reception. Looking around, he remembered the ridge he’d stumbled along when first approaching the cemetery.

“Stay with her,” he said, even as he made for the higher ground. “Make sure nothing’s disturbed.”

“Patron?” Beauvoir called after him, then turned to Lacoste.

“You go,” she said, reading his thoughts. “I’ll stay with her.”

Beauvoir ran after the Chief, who was now making his way up the side of the steep hill, clutching branches and saplings to pull himself forward.

At the top, out of breath, he paused for just a moment, then made the call.

“Fortin? Gamache. About the murder in Lost Nation … No, I’m not surprised you haven’t found anything. Can you check this date, May 29, 1914? I think it might be the day of the murder. Yes, 1914. Did you get that?” The reception still wasn’t good. “I’m sending you a photo of a headstone. It has that date. We’re trying to work out the person’s name. Allô? Allô?”

The line was dead.

Gamache heaved a sigh of frustration and looked around, settling on staring out across the ancient landscape.

Beauvoir arrived beside him. “Patron,” he managed between heaves, and followed Gamache’s eyes. Jean-Guy had run by it so fast earlier that morning to get to Gamache that he hadn’t taken it in.

Now he did.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder. Gamache deep in thought. Beauvoir in awe. He half expected to see a quetzalcoatlus fly by. He’d made the mistake of calling the biggest flying dinosaur a pterodactyl. Only to have his eight-year-old son correct him. Firmly.

Honoré had become fascinated with dinosaurs. Even Idola, who could not see all that well, loved the bright pictures of the long-extinct creatures. Ruth had made her a stuffed brachiosaurus in fluorescent pink, and a lime green raptor for Honoré.

Jean-Guy took a photo.

“For Honoré and Idola?”

“And Ruth. What was that all about?”

“That oral history of Lost Nation ended with the woman, Flossy Fuller, saying, ‘And then there was the murder.’ There’s no way an interviewer heard that and didn’t follow up. But there’s no sign of another tape, and the transcription of the first is missing.”

“You’re thinking the name and date on the headstone might be that murder victim. But how could it have anything to do with our body?”

“I don’t know. But I want to. Even if the murderer is long dead, we know these types of crimes reverberate through the generations. We need to know who was murdered, and if it was ever solved.”

“There must be another tape.”

“Agreed. The archivist is looking to see if it’s been misplaced. Reine-Marie’s also at the archives trying to find out more about Madame Fuller and the interviewer. There must be records of who did the oral histories. She sounded young. She might still be alive.”

Armand looked back down the hill to where the body had been found. “We need to know if the murder Flossy Fuller mentioned is somehow connected to the grave. If so, what brought the dead man to this particular one? And why was he killed there?”

“Why was he killed at all?”

“Surrounded by Miss Wolcott’s Ghost,” said Gamache.

His phone buzzed. Inspector Fortin again.

“You found something?”

“Not yet, patron, but I wanted to give you an update. Our agents have interviewed everyone on Madame Morrow’s list. Well, almost everyone. As you know, the four people who visited her in November and are most of interest all have alibis, but there is something strange.”

“I’m putting you on speaker. Jean-Guy is here.”