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“I think you need to sit down,” said Lamontagne.

Armand gestured to the circle of bright red Adirondack chairs set out in the garden, each with a tall glass of lemonade.

Gracie sat in the shade under an apple tree.

“There’s a rat watching us,” said the Cambridge professor.

“Not a rat,” said Isabelle. “We think she’s a chipmunk.”

Professor Lamontagne opened the file folder containing the papers the Sûreté officers had found encased in the tombstone. It had taken the Université Laval professor a while to work her way through them. She’d even traveled to France, to speak to colleagues there. Then to the old Wolcott estate, to test out a theory.

Finally she’d visited Cambridge. After looking at the papers, and listening to Professor Lamontagne, and studying images and cross-sections of the plant, Agrawal had immediately asked for and received an extraordinary meeting of the senior members of the Royal Society of Botanists.

Frustrated with the delay, Chief Inspector Gamache had called Professor Lamontagne, reiterating that while Miss Wolcott’s research, and her Ghost, might be of academic interest—

“This is primarily a murder investigation. We need to know what that research says, and specifically what Miss Wolcott’s Ghost is. It’s an issue of motive.”

“I’m aware of that, Chief Inspector,” came the clipped reply of the botanist. “Aimée Lagacé and I are, were, friends. I have, had, great respect for her work. I find it hard to believe…” There was a pause.

“You don’t need to believe anything, Professor,” said Gamache, his voice gentler. “What I need from you are facts.”

“D’accord.” There was a deep breath down the line. “If you believe the motive for murder was to steal Miss Wolcott’s research and make a fortune from her work, you’d be right. Professor Russell back in 1914 might have been an academic cheat, but he also recognized how valuable her research was.”

“Tell me.”

“We need to show you. Professor Agrawal and I will be there in a day. Whatever you do, do not touch that plant. Do nothing to disturb it. Guard it with your life.”

And Armand had. He and Reine-Marie had sat on the porch for much of the night, staring at the huge plant. Hoping the wind didn’t change and they had to inhale that rancid smell.

The more he looked at it in the moonlight, the more it took on malevolent characteristics. He came close to nodding off a few times, and when he forced himself awake, he could almost imagine Miss Wolcott’s Ghost had turned and was staring, daring him to approach. He did not.

Jean-Guy and Isabelle had spelled them at two in the morning.

And now the two botanists sat in the peaceful garden, their findings warming on the broad arms of the cheerful chairs, along with Daisy Wolcott’s life’s work.

Armand had placed himself facing the awful plant.

They’d saved it. Been responsible for bringing it back from the brink.

Nurtured it. Raised it. This monster in their midst. The one that had blighted Daisy Wolcott’s legacy. That had survived a purge. That had been responsible for the death of Professor Russell. If not for the plant, he would never have been on that ship.

It might have contributed to the murders of Morrow and Clybourne and those of Flossy Fuller and Solange Péladeau.

It was certainly the motive for the murder of Brian Fillmore, who only wanted to find out what Daisy Wolcott had discovered. It had contributed to the death of Jeanette Bouchard.

And now they were about to hear.

“I beg your pardon.” In his reverie, Armand thought he must have misheard what Professor Lamontagne just said. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said if anyone in England or France had listened to Miss Daisy Wolcott, had anyone at Macdonald College actually read her papers, countless deaths and any amount of suffering could have been avoided.”

“What?” said Isabelle. “Avoided?”

Armand leaned forward and gestured toward the plant. “Because of that?”

“Not just that,” said Professor Agrawal, excited to tell them. As was Professor Lamontagne. The two academics stumbled over each other, eager to be the one to say it.

“All of it,” said Lamontagne, verbally elbowing Agrawal out of the way. “All of her research. What Daisy Wolcott discovered was a treasure trove of medicine.”