Page 37 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

“Seems your young agent at the Incident Room recognized his name.”

In the background, he heard Ruth call out, “A rookie is one step ahead of you, Clouseau. You’re slowing down.”

That sounded to the Chief Inspector about right for this investigation. A lost nation. An obscure date on a strange headstone. A ghost. And now he was being schooled by a rookie. And Ruth.

When they returned to the cemetery, they found the botanist arguing with Isabelle Lacoste. Both turned at the sound of the footsteps.

“She won’t let me take any of the plants.”

“I’ve tried to explain, this is a crime scene. A murder investigation. Not a botany class.”

“I understand. But I don’t think you understand what a find this is. A plant long considered extinct?”

“We need to go,” said Armand. Then he reconsidered, and turned to Isabelle. “Take one of the plants and put it in my garden.”

“Yours, patron?” asked Isabelle.

“Oui. Mine. I want it close, where we can see it.”

“Can I take one back to my lab?”

“Non. Not yet.”

“All right, but at least let me be the one to transplant it.”

At a nod from him, she once more got on her knees and dug around one of the plants. Bringing out a root ball, she held it in front of her as one might a child. Or a sacrifice.

They followed her through the woods, out of Lost Nation. High Priestess and acolytes.

Armand had other things on his mind. The plant, while a curiosity, was not vital to their investigation.

Or so he thought.

CHAPTER 17

Reine-Marie had returned to Three Pines from the historical society. After failing to find Armand, she sent him a text with the information she’d dug up, then joined her friends on the sunny terrace outside the bistro.

Myrna, Clara, and Ruth were there. As she sat down, Gabri brought her a cold mug of beer.

“You look like you could use one.” He also put down a bowl of mixed nuts and joined them.

“Beer?” said Ruth. “Yech.” But that didn’t stop her from taking a long swig after which Rosa made a noise that sounded like a burp but could not have been.

Could it? wondered Reine-Marie.

“Did you find another tape?” Clara asked.

“No. No tape. No transcript.” She wondered if she should tell them what she did find in the newspaper morgue on microfiche but decided not to. Not until Armand had had a chance to absorb it. “What were you talking about?”

“That fellow who visited in March,” said Ruth. “Brian Fillmore.”

Reine-Marie thanked Olivier for the second beer, which she kept in her hand. It was already perspiring in the heat. And so was she.

“Comfortable, are you?” Olivier asked Gabri. “Can I get you anything?”

“A lemonade would be nice, merci.” If he picked up on the sarcasm, it didn’t show.

Olivier flung the dish towel over his shoulder and walked back into the bistro muttering.