Chapter 46

There were six scientists gathered in the mycology lab, marked by their white coats, and one young man with a patch over his eye and an annoyed expression on his scarred face. Elizabeth knew that was Joseph Rowe. He stood next to a younger woman she guessed was Mary Fitzsimmons, by her youth and brown hair.

"I really must insist," Mary said breathlessly, "that everyone don their protective equipment while in this laboratory."

Everyone ignored her. Quinn and Sutcliffe—identifiable by his shouting about invaders of his domain—were already arguing. Burnwell and the other botanist, an older man, sat against one of the walls on metal stools. The older botanist watched the scene with far less amusement than Burnwell. His rounded cheeks were flushed and his bespeckled eyes bounced between Quinn and Sutcliffe as they shouted. That left the silent man towering over the scene with a slight frown, who must have been the other one who studied bugs.

Dr. Calderbrook, wiry and nearly shaking with apprehension, had come jogging down the stairs moments ago. He'd been eager to help shuffle everyone into the tiny room. Elizabeth appreciated he had no inclination to gainsay her right to shove them all into the mycology lab.

A final person entered the room, a slip of a girl with dark hair covered by a cap and a mousy manner to her that Elizabeth imagined was ideal in a maid. She edged into the room, eyes darting all around. When she caught Elizabeth's eye, she shied away, as if she thought Elizabeth might bite.

Considering how the day was going, she might do just that.

"Thank you for assembling so quickly," Elizabeth said. The shouting scientists quieted down.

Dr. Calderbrook, rocking on his heels, said, "I understand you have questions for us, but Mr. Hale already spent a good deal of time interviewing each staff member, even Betsy." He nodded to the quivering maid.

"My colleague is woefully inadequate at his job," Elizabeth said with real satisfaction. "I was sent here to finish what he couldn't. Now." She cleared her throat and took her time looking from face to face. They were apprehensive, save for Burnwell, who watched her with shudder-inducing interest. She might as well ask the questions she really wanted the answers to while she had them there. "First, I would like to know what happened to Specimen No. 28923."

The reactions were disappointing. Confusion tightened the faces of some of the staff. All but Mary, Sutcliffe, and Quinn. The other bug scientist just looked bored.

"Well?" Elizabeth prodded. She glanced at Quinn. "You took notes about the specimen. Said it had potential."

Quinn's mouth fell open. "How could you possibly—where did you—?"

With a grim smile, Elizabeth said, "I have my ways. What happened to it? My colleague was unable to find any trace of it here at the lab."

"Now, see here!" began Sutcliffe.

"I do see, that is the problem, Dr. Sutcliffe!" she called over his brewing tirade. "I see that specimens and reports have gone missing. I see that your colleagues have died mysteriously."

"Specimens and reports are misplaced all the time," Quinn said, darting a glance at the large, dreamy fellow next to her. "And our colleagues became ill."

Incredulity crept into Elizabeth's voice. "At the exact same time? Just when dangerous specimens have gone missing?"

The others were getting restless. Burnwell was muttering to the old fellow at his side. Joseph Rowe, who'd been silent at Mary's side, was looking antsy. And Dr. Calderbrook looked as if he might faint. She'd have a mutiny on her hands before long, and these people had to know something. She couldn't count on Saffron being able to find any information about Specimen No. 28923, because if she didn't, Nick was going to die. Alexander was going to die. And she and Saffron would no doubt be just behind them.

Elizabeth's eyes caught on the counter nearest her, where something black was festering in a sealed glass dish. An idea sparked, fueled by fear and the rage caused by helplessness.

She stepped back to the lab's door, grabbed the handle, and slammed it shut behind her. Then she picked up the glass dish covered in blackness for them to see. "I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere until I get the information I need, and neither are any of you. You're going to tell me, or we'll all get to carry out a little experiment. Anyone have a hypothesis for what will happen if I smash this?"

Number 28 was quiet as Saffron and Colin descended the stairs. She led him through the kitchen at the back of the house, fragrant with tea that had been left on the counter to steep. Every step, every breath, reminded her that she had a gun pointed at her back. Her neck wouldn't stop prickling.

Cold air met them as they stepped outside, then warmth as they entered the greenhouse. It was empty, but birds hopped on the glass roof, tittering and warbling at one another.

"Damned hot," Colin muttered.

"They keep it warm, since the daisies prefer warmer temperatures," Saffron said absently, looking intently around the greenhouse. Everything was perfectly in order. The daisies were as bright and fresh as they might have been on a summer morning.

What could she do? She'd wagered on stalling, but it looked like she'd be scrambling for something to hand over to Colin and Alfie after all.

She went to the shelves full of equipment and chose a shovel. She could just start digging in the dirt. At the very least, she could buy some time by giving Alfie something. A pot of dirt she could say contaminated the fungus from Farm E, or a plant she could claim was infected by it, or—

"What are you doing with that?" Colin snapped.

Turning, she saw Colin had the gun aimed at her again, clearly unnerved by the weighty shovel in her hands. She swallowed hard. In a careful, soothing voice, she said, "I believe Wells buried the materials. I'll have to dig for them."

"Fine," Colin spat. He was losing his composure, likely fearful that this was taking too long. Alfie had given them only an hour, and it was nearly up.

Saffron wandered down the rows, wondering where she should start. Colin wouldn't believe the fungus was simply living in the dirt, would he?

Her eyes swept over the plots, pausing on plot 13. The daisies there were still stunted, their white heads barely visible over the other plots' growth. They'd evened out some since she'd first observed their pell-mell arrangement, almost as if they'd adjusted to stretching their necks up high at the odd angle.

Her feet stopped on the brick, frozen by the understanding ricocheting through her mind.

But it couldn't actually be as simple as that, could it?

With equal parts anticipation and dread, she strode to plot 13 and drove the shovel into the dirt. Black earth and snapped daisies were tossed aside as she struggled deeper into the soil. Disregarding her shoes, she stepped into the plot and stomped on the ridge of the shovel blade's base to drive it deeper.

The beds were deep, and by the time she'd dug nearly to the bottom, she was panting and sweating and flecked with damp dirt. Colin was across the plot from her, watching with a mixture of malice and anticipatory greed.

She set the shovel down and started running her hands through the dirt, discarding mauled daisies and roots. Her fingers reached something hard and angular.

Heart thundering in her chest, she dredged it up out of the dirt.

It was a large box, two feet long and three feet wide. A briefcase.

The leather was stained with mud, for the bottom of the raised bed was wet. It hadn't been there long; the lock had only a speck of rust beginning in the center at the keyhole.

"Give that to me," Colin said, reaching his free hand out.

Saffron hesitated. This was doubtless what Alfie and his conspirator were after. A case hidden in the flower beds Wells had tended? There was nothing else it could be. It also explained why the daisies' growth pattern was strange; Wells had dug them up to hide this, then replaced them over top.

"Give it to me, now," Colin barked.

Saffron stood on the spongy earth, clutching it to her chest. "You'll telephone and tell them I've done what Alfie asked. You'll tell them to let Alexander and Nick go, and when I see they're safe, then you can have the case."

"You'll hand it over now." Colin's face twisted into a cruel grimace of a smile. "You don't want me take it from you."