The Orchid Shroud by Michelle Wan Page B

around for years before being used as a shroud. What’s going to happen with the body?”
    “It’ll be released to Christophe for burial,” Loulou told them. “Eventually.”
    Mara, whose thoughts had been elsewhere, stirred. “Julian’s taking care of the arrangements,” she said.
    “You?” Mado’s leonine eyes widened as she swung about on him. She shoved him with a sandaled foot. “Why you? You’re not a member of the family. You’re not even Catholic.”
    Mara, who saw the shove, and who half suspected Julian of nursing an old crush on Mado and Mado of encouraging it, said wearily, “You may as well tell them, Julian.” And when he shot her an annoyed look, she shrugged. “He’s doing it for the shawl. The embroidery on it is of an orchid that’s the same as the one Bedie photographed. Christophe said he could have the shawl, as long as the police don’t need it as evidence, if he took on the funeral arrangements.”
    “Why is it,” Julian cried out indignantly, “that nothing around here can be kept secret?”
    Paul said with a small explosion of breath,
“Bigre!
I don’t believe it. You’re still after that crazy flower?” The Brieux knew all about Julian’s elusive Lady’s Slipper.
“T’es fou.”
The restaurateur tapped the side of his head.
    “Of course I’m after it,” retorted Julian testily. “It’s the botanical mystery of the century. How do you expect me
not
to be after it? It’s as if someone were reaching out of the past to give me a vital clue.”
    “How the devil are you going to trace an orchid from a bit of embroidery?” Paul waved his arms.
    “Why not? If someone embroidered it, they had to see the original growing somewhere.”
    “They could have imagined it.”
    “No, they couldn’t. It’s too precise structurally. It’s a botanically accurate reproduction. In fact, it’s better than Bedie’s photo because it’s complete.”
    “So what?” Paul challenged, banging the table with the flat of his hand. “You’re still left with the problem of finding the thing.That shawl could’ve been embroidered—what?—over a hundred and forty years ago.”
    “Ah”—Julian shook a finger in Paul’s face—“but you’re overlooking one important fact. That shawl is associated with Aurillac Manor. That’s my starting point.”
    “Starting point?
Nom de dieu
, that’s where it ended up. You have no idea where it came from, and that’s what counts. All this for a flower?”
    Julian scowled stubbornly. “Not just any flower. Look, how can I make you understand? The discovery of a new species of wild orchid is an important event in the botanical world. The
rediscovery
of an ancient European orchid lost to modern science, especially one as morphologically rare as this one—well, it’s like finding Atlantis. You simply have no idea what this could mean. To me. To every living orchidologist.” Julian broke off. Paul, Mado, and Loulou were looking unconvinced. Mara’s expression was carefully neutral. Julian folded his arms across his chest and slumped down disgustedly in his chair.
    “Just promise me one thing. Don’t tell Géraud.”
    “Of course not,” murmured Mado, making a mouth at her son.
    “Why don’t I feel reassured?”
    O n their way out of the bistro, Julian said to Mara, “Sometimes I find Paul can be incredibly dense.” He added hopefully, “Your place or mine?”
    She did not answer. He took that to mean his place. Since he had come on foot, his cottage being only a short walk from Grissac, he climbed into her car. Bismuth and Jazz jumped into the back, while the pointer bitch, Edith, disdaining a lift, trotted off on business of her own. Mara started up and backed onto the road.
    “Well, at least I know the shawl was made and embroidered in France,” he sighed, “instead of on the other side of the world in China and imported here. But I was hoping Loulou could get a bitmore out of forensics than that. Not that I expected them to