EG03 - The Water Lily Cross Read Online Free PDF Page A

course, is water. Together, salt water. Nymphaea is the Latin name for water lily. The word “cross” means that the native plant has been cross hybridized or interbred, if you will, with another lily or plant.”
    “I still don’t get it.”
    “As I read it, it can only mean one thing. If you take salt water and grow this particular crossbreed of water lily in it, you end up with water. Pure water. As illogical as it sounds, from a botanical standpoint Stewart’s saying that the plant is desalinating the water.”
    “Surely, that would be quite a scientific breakthrough?”
    “It would, Becky. Quite may be an understatement,” Kingston replied, glancing one more time at Stewart’s scrawl before folding the sheet of paper and replacing it in the envelope.
    He stood and stepped aside to let Becky out of the pew. “Let’s thank the vicar and then get out of here,” he said.
    Back in the parking lot, Kingston fired up the TR4, slipped into first, and exited onto the leafy street, heading back to The Willows.
    Kingston took his eyes off the road and glanced at Becky. She had hardly spoken since they left St. Mary’s five minutes earlier. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “This formula thing—it’s why Stewart’s disappeared, isn’t it?”
    “It certainly looks that way.”
    “I think we should call the police when we get home.”
    Kingston nodded in agreement, as he downshifted, slowing for an approaching traffic light.
    Neither spoke for a moment. Then, back on a straight stretch of road, he looked at her again. The puzzled look on her face had turned to one of apprehension. She pursed her lips. “It doesn’t look good, does it? I mean, with Stewart making this big discovery and immediately disappearing?”
    He took a long time in answering. “I don’t know, Becky,” he said, finally, shaking his head and looking away. “I just don’t know.”
    A few miles slipped by, then Kingston glanced at her again. As their eyes met, she was about to say something, then stopped, as if what she was thinking was too unbearable to utter.
    “What is it, Becky?” he asked quietly.
    “Stewart’s been kidnapped, hasn’t he?”
    Her question came at a propitious moment, just as they were in the middle of a roundabout, surrounded by cars jockeying for their respective exits. The maneuver required full concentration, allowing him time to think before answering.
    “I don’t think we can rule it out, Becky,” he said. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. Let’s face it: As of now, we know very little and I think that sooner or later, the police will be able to answer that question.”
    Becky slumped back in her seat. His answer didn’t appear to have comforted her any.
    They arrived back at The Willows shortly after one o’clock.
     
     
     
    Before leaving for St. Mary’s that morning, Becky had prepared a plowman’s lunch: crusty fresh bread and a selection of three cheeses with chutney and pickled onions. They ate it in the conservatory, each with a glass of shandy, going over the events of the morning. An hour later, after coffee, Kingston helped Becky clear the table and they went into the living room.
    Seated in a wingback across from Becky, Kingston couldn’t help noticing how much she had changed since he’d arrived. Her usual poise was gone. She looked vulnerable and afraid. It was as though the awful reality had just dawned on her: the fact that Stewart really was missing and the likelihood of his having been abducted, no longer a question in her mind. Earlier, before Kingston had deciphered Stewart’s message about his botanical discovery, she had been able to cling to the idea that it was all some kind of mistake and that any moment Stewart would breeze through the door demanding to know what all the fuss was about.
    “I’d better call the police, I suppose,” she said, as if she wanted to separate herself from the reality of it all.
    “You should, yes. But let’s talk about it for a