Page 143

It was the current Receiver of Wrecks.

“Oui.”

“I have your information. Yes, a Miss Daisy Wolcott booked a second-class cabin on the Empress. She disembarked at Québec City.”

“No idea where she went from there?”

“As a matter of fact, I do know. Since the ship was owned by the railway company, they also booked her onward train trip to Montréal. According to the weigh bill, she had a large trunk with her. I also looked up her return trip. Ten days later.”

“And the trunk?”

“Not with her. She left it behind.”

He heard a long, long exhale down the line.

As soon as she hung up, Isabelle sent another message to Gamache.

The Chief would sometimes say, “All is solved by walking.” Just before he went for a walk.

For the longest time, Jean-Guy disagreed. In his experience with the Sûreté, most things were solved by running. After suspects. Walking after them almost never worked.

The other thing the Chief liked to do was to sit and stare. In complete silence. When asked why he wasn’t doing anything, he’d smile and say he was doing something. He was thinking.

But the worst was when, at the height of an investigation, he went for a walk. In silence. It almost killed Agent Beauvoir.

Now Inspector Beauvoir and Inspector Lacoste left the Old Train Station, and together they walked, with measured pace, around and around the village green. In silence. Until the howls in their heads settled down and the way forward was clear.

Ruth watched them from the window of her front room, Rosa in her arms.

Clara watched them from her studio, her paintbrush in hand.

Myrna watched them from the shop, a book in one hand, a mug of tea in the other.

Gabri held a tray of beer on the terrace of the bistro. And watched.

As Reine-Marie stood up in the front garden and shoved a lock of grey hair that had fallen out from below her sun hat away from her face, she saw Jean-Guy stop and turn to Isabelle.

“It’s not Professor McDonald,” said Jean-Guy.

“It’s Macdonald Campus,” said Isabelle. “The agricultural college.”

“Miss Wolcott traveled to Montréal to donate her collection there,” said Jean-Guy.

“In the letter the Chief sent, Miss Wolcott mentions a professor she knew who would understand her collection’s immense value,” said Isabelle. “I bet we can find out who that was.”

“So,” said Jean-Guy, staring into space, then beginning to walk again, “we’re thinking that either that original professor or another one went through her collection a few years later and found something important.”

“Oui. He was taking it to the UK when the ship went down.” Isabelle had caught up with him, and together they resumed their measured walk around the village green. Now trailed by Henri and Fred and Gracie.

“After the sinking, Aldous Clybourne and his uncle Thomas Morrow brought it up. Thinking it was valuable.”

“Suppose—” Jean-Guy began.

“It was,” they both said together.

They stared at each other. Did it track? It seemed to, but there was something they needed to do before being sure.

“We need to find out if she really did make that donation, and who that professor was,” said Jean-Guy.