Page 56 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

“Isabelle,” she corrected, gently.

“No. My name’s Ruth.”

Now both women stared at each other, as did Clara and Myrna, trying to figure out what was going on. Then Myrna let out a single guffaw.

“She means that.” She pointed to the evidence bag Isabelle was holding. “It’s sprigs of rosemary. The herb.”

“Of course that’s what I meant. What did you think?” Ruth glared at Isabelle.

Clara spared both women by changing the subject, if there even was a subject. “This is where the body was found?”

“Yes.” Isabelle picked the twig off Myrna’s cheek.

“Are you kidding me?” Myrna turned to Ruth. “How long were you going to leave it there?”

“I thought you put it there on purpose.” Ruth turned to Clara. “It was an improvement.”

“Where’s Rosa?” Isabelle asked.

“She doesn’t like the forest. Afraid of hunters.”

Myrna, who’d never been a fan of hunting, suddenly saw at least one benefit.

Then all three women looked at where the technicians were working.

“Miss Wolcott’s Ghost,” said Clara, and the three women nodded as one. Looking like Sibyls.

Not for the first time, Isabelle thought there was something almost mythical about Three Pines and those who lived there. She wondered, in passing, if there might be room for one more witch. One day.

“Please, just stay here. Don’t get close.” Isabelle looked at the evidence bag. “It’s rosemary, you say?”

“Yes,” said Ruth. “Means remembrance.”

Isabelle looked over, and the others followed her gaze to the tiny stone marker surrounded by bright yellow tape fluttering in the sunlight, like a child’s ribbon.

You are remembered. Was that the message? To a child long dead, and perhaps never alive?

So much of what they’d discovered had to do with the past. And not the recent past. With memory.

So far in this investigation, they were doing far more questioning than answering.

Isabelle left the women and joined the technicians. “Anything?”

The chief technician stood up and stretched her back. “Looks like it’s not a name. I’m not sure what it is yet but might be a drawing or a symbol.”

Isabelle looked at the evidence bag, then at the technician. And took a leap. “Could it be this?”

“A twig? I don’t think so.”

“No. Rosemary.”

“My name’s Katrina.” The head technician and Isabelle had worked many cases together. Now the Sûreté tech looked at the homicide investigator as though she might be unwell.

“I mean that this”—once again, Isabelle held up the bag—“is rosemary.”

“The herb,” Ruth supplied, leaning into the conversation.

Isabelle turned, more than a little annoyed, and saw all three of them standing there. Of course they hadn’t done as they were told. Why she thought they would …